We tell humans that they only get one chance at life. That's not strictly true. But if people were told that they could do it more than once, they'd never try their best the first time.

It's... not difficult to get into Heaven, but it's a straight path with many deviations. It's easier still to get lost, to wander astray. Yet, Father is merciful, so it's not too easy to get into Hell either.

Naturally, the only thing for the multitudes who land in between to do is try again.

I wouldn't remember at the time because Naomi wiped my mind, but October 30th, 2008 was not the first time I met Sam Winchester.

Mitzrayim is dusty, dazzling, a golden age of human civilization that would not come again for centuries. Blessed with some of the greatest mystical secrets ever revealed to mankind, it is a pity they are now ruled by an oppressive heretic.

Ordinarily, we do not particularly concern ourselves with non-believers. Father guides whomsoever He wishes and hardens the hearts of whomsoever He wishes. But Pharaoh has gone too far, and Father has heard the cries of His suffering children. The hand of judgment will soon turn upon Eretz Mitzrayim. Father will soon call upon Moshe, His next Prophet. My garrison has been sent to watch this land and bear witness before we strike.

As I seek out a suitable vessel, I look upon the people of Yisroel. Work is hard, and conditions are harsh. Even so, it is the killing of their children that they truly lament. I am deeply disgusted — infanticide is a great evil indeed.

To my surprise, I find my ideal vessel in Pharaoh's palace: a slave named Ya'akov, personal attendant to the firstborn prince, Djehutisam. I am glad when he accepts — this is a good place to watch. Indeed I stand off to the side and watch Djehutisam conversing with his brother, Djehutimose, as they gaze out a palace window over the city.

"This is madness, Mose," the older prince is saying, shaking his head. "Grandfather feared the Yisroel would rise against us and aid our enemies, yet here we are sowing the seeds of hatred and rebellion. And if we continue this senseless murder of innocent infant boys, soon, there won't be anymore slave men to carry out the labor we force upon them. Wasn't the objective of enslaving them in the first place to have them work towards the glory of this land?"

The other claps him on the shoulder and leads him away. "Isam, Isam... Even after Father punished you for your last outburst, you are still saying these things?"

"His punishment doesn't change the truth. It is but a matter of time before th—"

"No." Djehutimose clamps a hand over his brother's mouth, dropping his voice to a whisper. "The walls are hardly thick enough for you to talk like this, Brother. You saw what Father did to Queen Bithiah."

The older prince shakes his head, pulling the hand pressed to his lips away. "Heinous," he whispers back. "To punish a woman for having mercy on an infant because of the son's error. If we don't turn out as he expects, will Father torture our mothers too?"

"Isam!" Djehutimose gasps, grasping his brother by the shoulders. "I beg you; keep these treacherous thoughts to yourself. Surely, if you are heard, not even being Father's favorite will save you."

"Then the throne will be yours, Mose," Djehutisam says with a smile before pulling his younger brother into an embrace, cutting off the coming protest. "I jest. Thank you for your concern. I feel myself in need of a bath. Will I see you at dinner?"

"Of course."

He lets go. "Till later then."

"Till later."

The brothers part ways, and I return to the firstborn prince's chambers where I am expected to be awaiting him. From my vessel's memories, I learn all I need about his duties and decorum. "Your Highness," I greet on my knees as the prince enters, shutting the door behind him.

"Ya'akov, rise and draw me a bath." Djehutisam goes straight to the window, gazing out at the city as I move to obey. "The heat is sweltering. Your people are strong."

"Your kind words are more than we deserve, Your Highness."

The prince turns, smiling wistfully. "No, Ya'akov. A kind man would be out there doing something about this instead of trying in vain to reason with my father."

He removes his jewelry, disrobes and sits down in the bathing room. I pour some cool water out of a jar over his long, dark hair before rubbing some perfumed natron into his scalp in gentle circles, and he sighs, relaxing. Many of his people shave their heads to prevent lice, but Pharaoh's firstborn can afford to keep his in the moment's fashion that others wear wigs to achieve.

When I move on to the rest of his hair, he suddenly asks, "Do you have any relatives who were killed?"

I search my vessel's memories again as I rinse his head, careful to keep the water away from his eyes. "A few cousins and their children, Your Highness. My sister, fortunately, only bore daughters."

"Have you never thought to kill me in vengeance?"

It has crossed my vessel's mind, of course, but it would be far safer to deny it. Yet, I sense this prince seeks honesty, so as I wipe the make-up off his handsome face with a piece of clean linen dipped in oil, I answer, "I wouldn't risk familial execution to murder the only man of Kemet who has been kind to me."

He chuckles, ducking his head. It's self-deprecating. "A kinder man would set your people free, yet I can see the role of slaves in the building of our Empire. But this senseless murder of innocent infants… I'm sorry, Ya'akov. I shouldn't have asked. Perhaps… when I am Pharaoh…"

And even if it were something I am allowed to say, I have not the heart to tell him he never would be.

Invisible, I watch the first audience of Moshe and Aharon. After they are dismissed, Pharaoh summons the taskmasters and supervisors and orders them to make the slaves gather their own straw to make bricks without reducing their quota.

Beside him, Prince Djehutisam gasps, "But Father, that's impossible! They barely meet the daily quotas as is!"

"That's because they're lazy, my son. If they worked as hard as they should, they would meet their quotas easily. That they have idle time to think of their god is proof of this."

"Father," the prince sighs. "I could recite the laws of mathematics as I make bricks. It's not fair to say their hands are idle simply because their minds are not. They're only asking for three days to honor their god. We have plenty of bricks in our storehouses yet, and they make the bricks faster than our masons can lay them. Surely we can afford to allow this three-day reprieve? It won't affect any of our ongoing construction projects, least of all the pardjed."

"You will see, Isam, if I allow them these three days, next time, they will ask for four. If there is a next time. Can anyone here," and Pharaoh stretches his arms in invitation to all his officials in attendance, "say for sure that, if they go, they will return?" He does not wait for an answer. "We will speak no more of this, Isam."

The edict passes, and only two days later, after a visit to the city, Prince Djehutisam is asking his father to at least supply the straw as before, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. "This is unreasonable," he rants as he paces his chambers. "But what can I do?" He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. "Alone, I will accomplish little, but anyone who aids me will be executed for treason."

Soon, Moshe and Aharon come again, and I can see Djehutisam's disquiet after watching the feat with the Staff. When he returns to his chambers, he barely speaks to Ya'akov. As I tend to him, he is lost in thought, and when I perform my vessel's routine prayers, the prince watches, perhaps for the first time, with great interest. As I rise, he looks as if he wishes to ask me something, but another servant brings him dinner just then. Instead, he smiles wistfully at me as I pour his wine, and I mirror it.

"Father!" Prince Djehutisam cries, bursting into the audience hall, and I turn to watch. "All the water, the entire Nile, has turned to blood! I heard it was when you met Moshe and Aharon this morning. Is this not a clear enough sign for you?!"

"Even our sorcerers can do that, my son," Pharaoh replies calmly without even looking up from the report he is reading. "It's nothing special at all."

"Well, is it something they can undo?! And, either way, are we to scorn Seth simply because Sekhmet can perform the same feats? By the gods, Father, let them go!"

"We will not," Pharaoh declares firmly, setting the sheet of papyrus aside, "be so easily cowed by a few magical terrors!"

"We are paying for your stubborn arrogance in our people's lives!"

"Enough!" Pharaoh thunders, leaping to his feet. "Go to your chambers, Isam, and stay there until you are ready to beg forgiveness for your insolence! Guards!" He points at his son. "See that he does not leave except when I summon him!"

The prince does not wait to be escorted, turning on his heel and storming out.

"I cannot believe," Prince Djehutisam says as he swats another frog off his bed with a look of deep distaste, "that Father is subjecting all of our people to this over a few holidays we can well afford to grant the Yisroel."

"You know Father," Prince Djehutimose sighs as he throws another frog out the window. "As the Son of Ra, he cannot show weakness."

"What shame is there in conceding to a god?" the older prince asks, crossing his arms. "As you say, Mose, we are sons of Ra, mortal and many generations removed. If Ra himself will not fight for us, then let us send the slaves away and be done with this madness."

"Send them away?" The other turns around. "How is any work to be done?"

Djehutisam slides under the linen covers and turns away. "Once, before we had slaves, we managed just fine; we built much of what we had today. It is not the slaves who have become lazy as Father says, but we, at their expense. And the Yisroel are not the only slaves we've taken."

His brother climbs into bed beside him, shifts close to embrace him from behind. "Brother, will you not apologize to Father? How long do you intend to remain locked up in here? We've missed you out there." Djehutimose drops a light kiss onto a broad shoulder.

"Heh." Unexpectedly, dark eyes fall on me where my vessel stands, awaiting his command, in a corner. "I will seek forgiveness as soon as he sees reason."

Despite visits from his mother and brothers, Prince Djehutisam refuses to be swayed and so remains in his room under house arrest. He lies unadorned now on his bed as I rub a perfumed oil to repel the gnats around us into his golden brown skin, and the scent of lemon and lavender permeates the air.

"He went back on his word…" he murmurs in disbelief, shaking his head. Even confined to these rooms, he hears the news. Disbelief turns to disappointment in his eyes. "Even though the sorcerers cannot do this," he waves his hands at the swarms of gnats, "Father refuses to concede. How long must the people suffer for his stubbornness?" He covers my hands on his chest with his own, and I look up to his face in surprise. "Ya'akov, t— Your eyes…" His tone grows bemused. "I'm certain they weren't blue before."

Not knowing what to say, I merely ask, "Y—your Highness?"

He shakes his head. "No matter. I was going to ask... If my father releases your people, you'll go with your family, won't you?"

"Yes," I answer honestly per my vessel's thoughts. "Of course."

He chuckles, a little sad. "Before this, you would have lied." Hastily, before I can respond, he adds, "I'm not complaining. I like this better. Although..." He grins teasingly, a twinkle in his dark eyes. "I'd hoped to hear you say you'd never leave me. Then I wouldn't have to think who should take your place."

It's not something he has to worry about, but I can only drop my gaze to our hands. "My prince..."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to manage." He lets go, leaning back with a ripple of well-toned muscles. "Put a little strength into that, won't you? I won't be enjoying your massages for much longer."

I've hung a fine net around the prince's bed to keep the flies away from him, and when they come, they come in swarms, buzzing nastily about the room. His breakfast is brought tightly covered, and I set it on the nearby table as I wait for him to wake.

"Ya'akov?" he calls, raising his voice to be heard above the constant buzz. "You can't be standing out there in this… infestation. Come in here with me."

I bring his breakfast tray in with me, careful not to let any flies into the tent of netting. As soon as I set the tray down, he grabs my elbows and pulls me towards him. I could resist, of course, and he wouldn't be able to budge me, but I let him and end up half sprawled over the prince. His body is warm, even through the linen sheets, and fragrant with the oil of aromatic woods and spices.

"Who are you?" Djehutisam's voice is soft but firm as he searches my eyes. "Ya'akov has been with me for a few years now, and his eyes aren't blue. You prepared this tent and that herbal oil for me as if you knew the insects were coming. And out there… all those flies, even the gnats from before, and not one of them will touch you. Tell me honestly, and that's another thing — Ya'akov would never speak so frankly as you have. Who are you who wears his face before me?"

I cannot lie, not that the truth matters. "Castiel," I answer quietly. "I'm an Angel of the Lord."

Dark eyes widen. "The Lord as in… the God of the Hebrews that Moshe and Aharon speak of?"

"The same."

Djehutisam sits up abruptly. "Then you must come with me to see my father! Let us put an end to this!"

To my surprise, he believes. Without question. Without hesitation. It's more than I can say for some of those whom we have come to save.

I hold him back when he moves to climb out of bed. "It won't work."

"But w—"

"The Lord has hardened Pharaoh's heart."

The prince stills, gaping. Several moments pass in stunned silence before I see a spark of realization in his dark eyes. "We are to be made an example of," he breathes, sinking back down to the mattress.

Surprisingly insightful. "Yes."

He turns away, squeezing his eyes shut and fisting his hands in the sheets. It's only natural for him to be angry. But all of a sudden, all the rage drains out of him, leaving pained resignation.

"A cruel fate to match the cruelty of our sins," Djehutisam whispers hoarsely. "Will it end?" he asks, turning back to me. "Will there be anything left after?"

"Yes." I uncover the goblet of milk and offer it to him with some dried fruits out of a covered dish. "Your people will rebuild quite quickly."

He takes the goblet and sips the milk before eating the fruits off my fingers. His tongue swirls around two, cleaning the traces of a fig off, and it's a strange sensation. "Why are you here?" he asks at length.

"To watch." I pass him some bread filled with stewed fava beans.

"Me?" He starts eating hungrily.

"Everything."

"Then does it not hinder you to be with me all the time?"

"I'm not with you all the time. I'm a celestial being. You simply don't notice when I'm gone."

Suddenly, he grins, eyes twinkling. "I was hoping you'd say you liked the distraction."

I don't really understand his meaning, but I'm glad his good cheer is somewhat restored. Prince Djehutisam is a righteous man. He shouldn't live what little remains of his time in misery.

As the livestock die outside, Prince Djehutisam asks me to tell him about Father, about the world, about myself. Having received no orders to refrain, I oblige him. His time is running out, and I'm glad his heart has not been hardened also.

He stops looking out the window.

When the boils break out over his beautiful skin, he only hisses and gasps in pain as I cover him in warm compresses. In the end, I take pity on him and heal him.

"Is this allowed?" he asks, taking my hand.

I shake my head. "It's not of import." He won't live to tell the tale, and his sad smile says he knows.

As my brothers and sisters spread thunder and hail, I let the prince rest his head in my lap and stroke his hair soothingly. When the locusts come, we remain in our tent of netting, and Djehutisam grieves to hear his father won't listen to his advisors even, that despite the urging of all the officials, Pharaoh refuses to release the slaves.

Still, he finally goes to his father and apologizes. "Despite my disagreement, I should not have spoken rudely," he says on his knees. "Forgive me, Father. Let us not end on bad terms. But let the Yisroel go that no further ruin shall come upon our kingdom. Even if they never return, did we not once build these glories with our own hands? I beg you, Father, deceive and withhold them no longer."

But though his house arrest was lifted, Pharaoh refused to listen even to his favored son, and in grief, Djehutisam remains confined to his chambers.

When the darkness comes, it is like a cold, pitch black sludge from the depths of some far off abyss creeping over the skin. No torches will light, no sunlight reaches Mitzrayim, and Prince Djehutisam only clings tightly to me in his bed as he shudders.

"Tell me more stories," he murmurs, and I do. When I leave to bring him some food and water, I find him shivering beneath the covers when I return. "It's cold without you here," he explains as I feed him.

I don't leave his side till the darkness passes.

The warning of the final plague comes in the morning, and Prince Djehutisam looks at me in silence for a long time. He's afraid, though he hides it well. Unlike his father, he believes.

"You knew from the start," he says without acrimony.

"Yes."

"That is why you have been so kind."

I know not what hesitation grips my tongue, why it's difficult to say, "Yes," again.

Visitors come —his mother, his siblings, his less immediate relatives— anxious and frightened. They also go to Pharaoh to plead his case in vain. The prince doesn't go with them. In the set of his shoulders, in the hollows of his gaze, I see a man resigned to his fate.

As the sun begins to set, we are alone again, and Prince Djehutisam is looking out the window once more for the first time in many days. I wonder what he's thinking now that he has but a few hours left to live, what he regrets.

"I used to think," he speaks up softly before I can ask. "When I am Pharaoh, I would improve working conditions. I could make the people happy, bring greater prosperity to Kemet."

"My prince..."

"Isam," he corrects me quietly, glancing back. "A celestial being shouldn't pretend to stand on ceremony with me. And what meaning is a title? In the end, I am powerless. Here I sit in this Great House, and yet, there is nothing I can do. Not for myself, not for my people, not even for Ya'akov."

I repeat his name, coming to stand beside him, and he smiles slightly.

"I would have liked to see those distant lands you spoke of, Castiel. My sister, Neferure, will be married to a foreign royal soon, and I would have escorted her to that distant kingdom. But now, it seems like I won't be able to make the trip."

His voice cracks, and I pull him into an embrace as his shoulders tremble. When I lay him on his bed, he begs me to stay, and I lie down beside him. Mercy, I tell myself, is all right. I can comfort a dying believer even if I cannot change his fate.

As the last rays of the sun sink below the horizon, I wave my hand to light the torches in the room, and he turns to me again. "How—"

"I'll make it quick and painless, I promise."

He nods. "I'm glad it's you. Is there... Is there something beyond this for me?"

"Yes." For some reason, I feel compelled to add, "Not Gehinnom." I'm sure of it.

Isam sighs, and I can't tell whether it's relief or weariness. "Will I see you again?"

In spite of everything, I smile. "Perhaps."

"You honor me," he murmurs, cupping my cheeks. To my surprise, his hands come away wet. He smiles, teasing like so often before. "Kiss me goodnight?"

He makes a sound of surprise when I cover his lips with my own, and I realize I've misunderstood. But when I try to pull away, he holds me in place and deepens the kiss. I embrace him and let him take the lead. This, I think, I really shouldn't be doing, but it won't matter in a few hours anyway.

"Thank you, Castiel," his voice ghosts over my lips when we part, and I let him hold me, rest his head on my vessel's chest and tuck the linen covers around us both. "C—can you promise I will see you again?"

I… don't think that it's allowed, but it is within my power, and I can't bear to dash that last spark of hope. "Yes. I promise."

I feel his smile against my vessel's skin, the featherlight brush of his lashes as he closes his eyes. Despite the tension, we don't speak another word. I only run my fingers gently through his soft hair, and I'm glad it soothes him enough that his breathing evens out into sleep. As the minutes pass, I calm his dreams, keep his waking fears at bay. Finally, when the appointed hour comes, I reach out to complete my mission.

My hand freezes.

The cause is just, I tell myself as I gaze upon his face, so peaceful in sleep, and a soldier of God shouldn't feel this pain. And it is pain, unexpectedly, not mere pity. I can't… I can't be like this.

In the distance, the wailing rises from the first homes stricken, and I know I can hesitate no longer. Quick and painless like I promised, and it isn't until the light leaves his body that I realize how beautiful it is. I reposition him on the bed, so he looks like he's merely asleep, and take my leave, for I can't bear to remain a second longer.

Around me, I see my brothers and sisters slaughtering the firstborn of Mitzrayim, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. How can this be? Some of them are mere children; even the livestock are not spared. Must so many innocents perish for the sins of two kings?

No, I remind myself as I take my vessel to his family home in Goshen. It is not for me to question Father's orders. He knows all; He knows best.

I leave Ya'akov in his house and prepare to join my brethren, but all around, I hear only the wailing despair of the people. In my mind, I see only the resigned grief in Isam's eyes as he kissed me.

I am not needed here. The angels have almost finished their work.

I turn and flee Eretz Mitzrayim.

"What are you thinking of?" Sam asks where he's reclined beside me on the bed.

I haven't been paying attention to the Christmas movie playing on the motel television for the better part of an hour now, and really, the movies are the only thing he likes about the holiday. Still, despite the fallacies and commercialization, we could all use some festive cheer these days. Or at least a break. I'm content just to have him with me, and I know he'd say the same.

"You," I answer honestly with a smile.

He hasn't changed much, really — a man predisposed to faith despite his dark upbringing. This time, he even got his wish — he saved not merely a kingdom, but the entire world. He's not powerless anymore.

"Oh." He ducks his head, blushing a little. "Good things, I hope."

"Of course." I tilt my head up, shifting in his arms. "There isn't much else."

Sam chuckles, makes light of it, but in his eyes, I see he's genuinely comforted by those words. "Merry Christmas, Cas," he murmurs before capturing my lips in a kiss.

"Merry Christmas," I agree when we part, snuggling closer as the next movie starts.

I'm glad I could keep my promise.

Notes:

Castiel uses primarily the Hebrew names for people and places as per the Orthodox Jewish Bible. (Eretz) Mitzrayim = (the Land of) Egypt; Moshe = Moses; Yisroel = Israel; Aharon = Aaron; Gehinnom = Gehenna (Hell).

The land/people of Kemet (black soil i.e. of the Nile) is what Ancient Egypt(ians) called itself/themselves. Pardjed = mastaba, a type of Ancient Egyptian tomb. It seems Egyptian hairstyles for men varied with fashion trends from bald to long, and if you didn't have the hair for what was in fashion, you wore a wig. Being crown prince, Sam probably started trends, so I vote he rocked his fabulous long locks.

Hellenized, Djehutisam would be Thutisam, and Djehutimose would be Thutmose, but Castiel wouldn't have any reason to use the Greek versions. On the other hand, I'm led to believe that the original Egyptian would have been spelled a series of consonants, so I've taken the middle ground of a reconstruction with vowels filled in.

In keeping with the theme, the title is from Isaiah.

After some thought, I decided I'd rather leave Djehutimose's identity open to interpretation. OC or not, it's your call.

All mistakes are mine. Let me know if you find any. I'm glad we managed to get this posted while it's still 2014 somewhere in the world.

I love any and all kinds of feedback. Please leave some!