Disclaimer: Much to my unending dismay, I do not own Supernatural.
Prologue- Nights in White Satin
Castiel watches the moment play out, allowing time to slowly swirl around him; his very molecules vibrating too fast for human eyes to see.
The house is flaming, the origin somewhere in the infant's room. A small child runs out of the house with a tiny bundle of blue blanket and pink skin stirring in his arms. Once they are a distance away, the boy stops and watches his home burn.
"It's okay, Sammy," his little voice reaches Castiel's ears, as the angel peers over his shoulder to look into the face of the bundle. Large hazel eyes stare back at him from under wisps of brown curls. It doesn't surprise Castiel, considering what the babe had imbibed minutes ago, but it startles him; the look is far too familiar. Castiel thinks that perhaps the child already possessed unique attributes.
Glancing away from the mysterious little package and his brother, the angel sees John Winchester at the threshold of his ruined home. This is the moment that he must act, he realizes. He must not allow John Winchester to take hold of both children, for he knows it would be nearly impossible to separate them thereafter.
Castiel quickly stoops down and scoops the babe out of his brother's arms, just as the father is upon them. He tries desperately to stave off the squirming suspicion in his Grace that his orders are wrong. He neutralizes the father first, then the son. He removes the memories of John Winchester putting Sam in Dean's arms, Dean's memory of standing in the yard and holding the only thing that could possibly keep him calm in his arms. He constructs new memories in their places.
…John heard Dean calling him and hollered at him to run outside as fast as he could. Dean ran out of the house, confused, scared, and hoping with all his little heart that Mommy and Sammy were okay. John watched his wife burn on the ceiling and flaming debris fall around and over the crib along with the still crying infant inside (Castiel can't bring himself to construct a memory of a burning child). John pulled at the wreckage, fingertips blistering and nails breaking, until the wailing has quieted and he can barely see. The man ran out of the house, smoke in his lungs and burns on his hands from clawing at the debris. He clutched his son, his only family left, and hurried to the Impala…
Castiel leaves, knowing how this moment will play out and not willing to watch the remaining Winchesters shatter.
The next moment, he stands on a hill and stares down at the Campbells' base camp, what they call a home. The hunters here are efficient, clinical about how they go through life. The hunt is literally the family business, and everything they do from the moment they can hold a weapon is for the greater good. The Campbells are good soldiers; they are righteous.
The angel looks into the face of the babe once more. His eyes are still opened wide; however, now it is not inquiry but alarm that they are expressing. He is without his family, his home. Castiel looks into his frightened eyes and feels pity and compassion. The child needs love, not the reserved fondness he will receive here. He reasons that any hunters will do for the child, not necessarily these. He is not disobeying orders, as long as they are hunters. The Campbells, the child's extended family was simply the most logical choice. Castiel does not feel exceptionally logical in this moment.
He thinks of hunters he has heard praying, for they must pray to house such an important child; Sam must be important to warrant direct contact with any angel, though Castiel is not sure of how.
Jim Murphy prays, but he is close to John Winchester. That would not do.
Perhaps Pricilla McFarlin? No, she will retire soon, and the child must be raised a hunter.
Wayne Courage? No, he will be killed by a poltergeist hours later in Jerusalem.
William Harvelle? Ah, yes. He and his wife are righteous, despite their recent purchase of an alcohol selling establishment. William longs for children, though his wife remains slightly reluctant. Castiel stares into Sam's troubled eyes and is certain her will would bend.
Castiel appears in front of the bar, surveying the area. The night is in full swing, as the bar sings with life. Castiel nods to himself, sure the babe would be discovered before the cold could touch him; he even heard the sound of an engine nearing the establishment. He places the bundle on the step where no one would tread on it and soothes the babe with a soft stroke of his Grace.
"Fear not, Samuel Winchester," he murmurs in Enochian, the ancient tones soothing down to Sam's very soul, "for my Father is with you. I am with you, and no harm will come to you. His plan is unknown to us, but I am certain it is just. Fear not, child, for I will come when you call."
Castiel is unsure what it is that endears this child to him, whether merely curiosity in his fate or the beautiful, keen glow of his soul, but he feels solemnly bound to protect Sam Winchester.
When he travels back to his home, he is directed to a plain white room, where another angel awaits him. She dons a severe bun and a callous, disapproving face, as she confines him to a metallic, alarmingly clean bench.
"You must always meddle, mustn't you, Castiel?" That is the last thing he is fully aware of, before she sinks a thin drill into his brain.
His memories are carefully sifted through and hidden away, leaving another of Heaven's question less soldiers in his place.