Men can lie to angels, but the angels will always know the truth.
So it was that every time that Dean Winchester told his brother or Bobby Singer that he was "okay," Castiel's head would tilt ever so slightly to the side. From what he'd gathered observing humans, it often made them feel better to lie to each other about their emotional turmoil. He guessed it made them feel better to lie to themselves, as well.
Dean wasn't "okay." He hadn't been since he spent time in the Pit. Resurrection may have healed the scars on his body, but not even an angel's touch could eliminate the scars on his soul. Not unless they wiped his mind clean, and that would destroy the person Dean Winchester was entirely. Castiel didn't think that would help them stop the apocalypse.
Sometimes Castiel wondered if Dean hadn't been "okay" since he had to watch his brother die the first time. Sometimes he thought he'd never been "okay" at all, not with his mother's death and his father's hunting.
It didn't show most of the time-maybe you had to spend time around them to see it-but the Winchesters were sadder than most humans. They were sadder than most hunters. They did their job well, and most of the time they did their job without complaint, but the severity of the life was starting to weigh down their spirits. it dragged them down like gravity. Castiel could see it in the haunted look he sometimes caught in Dean's eyes.
It worried him. Castiel had kept a tendril of his awareness tethered to Dean's soul since he'd pulled him out of Hell. He didn't focus on it most of the time-did the man never tire of listening to the same music for hours on end?-but he knew when Dean was in true danger, and he knew when Dean was exposed. Though the former did not happen often, as the Winchesters were quite adept at the art of escaping death, Castiel could feel Dean moving closer and closer to a place of emotional vulnerability. He felt it when Dean's heart opened, heard the pain in his voice as he spoke of his time in Hell. He felt a numbness settle in Dean's chest where the confession should have allowed him some release from his guilt.
This concerned Castiel on a level that went beyond the role of guardian he was supposed to be playing, which in turn caused his concern to grow. These sorts of tendencies-these sorts of feelings-they were dangerous for angels. This was exactly the type of thing that caused his superiors to grant authority to Uriel over him, the type of thing that weakened his connection to Heaven, the type of thing that stripped him of his power.
A small part of him he didn't want to admit existed told him it might be worth it if it strengthened his bond to the Winchesters. To Dean.
Denial. That was worryingly human as well.
The more time he spent around the Winchesters, the more they troubled him. There had been a number of candidates for Lucifer's true vessel, and Heaven kept its eyes trained on each one. Castiel's garrison had been made aware of Dean and Sam Winchester long before Dean traded his soul for his brother's life. Castiel was familiar with them-at least, as familiar as an angel can be with humans. He was having to redefine those borders almost daily.
Something was different about Dean these days. Really, there were many things about the man that were different, though some had remained the same. It took some time for Castiel to place the changes. Maybe it took Dean's confession to truly send the blow home. But now, Castiel thought, now he knew what it was.
Hell had stripped him of the easy confidence that had marked Dean Winchester for years. it stripped him of his assurance that he still knew the difference between right and wrong, between good and evil, between the hero he used to convince himself he was and...whatever it was he believed himself to be now. Castiel suspected that to be a broken man undeserving of any kind of salvation.
Humans are such strange creatures. They hold hope through the most desperate situations, yet they abandon it when it would lead them true.
Whatever the cause, Dean seemed to be losing his old self in favor of a soldier's mentality. He still wanted to save humanity, but he seemed to care less and less about what the cost was to him as long as the job got done. His decisions got bolder until they hovered just shy of reckless. Sam tried to say something about it, tried to convince his brother to keep his feet on the ground, but Dean didn't listen to anything he said.
Castiel kept his words to himself. If Dean refused to take counsel from his brother, the man he would do anything to protect, he certainly wasn't going to hear anything some meaningless angel had to say.
Not that Castiel was that to him. Not exactly, anyway. Their relationship was...strained. But these days they worked to the same end, and that made them allies. They had a loyalty to each other, and that meant something. They weren't the type of people to discount the value of trust. But they were also friends.
Friends. A human concept. Castiel didn't quite remember the first time Dean called him a friend, but it had been in the early days of knowing each other. He remembered not understanding the implications of the term. Kinship he understood, but friends were different, weren't they?
He came to understand. Both meant trust, both meant loyalty, but one chooses one's friends. And that choice is important. He wondered if any other angels understood the implications. Angels don't decide their allegiances-they are placed into a garrison, and their brethren become their comrades. All follow the same commands, none question them. You fight for yourself and for your fellows. There is never any confusion, never any doubt, never any ambiguity about who you spend your days-years, centuries- alongside.
There's never any freedom to choose a friend.
Since he made his decision to ally himself with the Winchesters, he had the freedom that no angel in Heaven had. And he used it to befriend Dean and Sam.
In retrospect, Castiel wasn't sure if he'd expected to be able to make that one change, that one tumultuous advancement, without more following. Desired or not, they came.
One body cannot contain both a human soul and an angel's Grace. Not for long, anyway. He supposed that was why Anna changed so soon after regaining her power, how even the memories of her life as a human could not stop her need to follow the course of action she believed righteous. He supposed that was why it had been so long since he had felt more than just a trace of Jimmy Novak's presence inside of him. There were times he considered asking Dean to get him a hamburger to try to appease his vessel's soul, but then he thought that might be crueler than it was merciful. Why try to lure Jimmy Novak's spirit from whatever crevice it hibernated in if he had no intention of letting the body go?
Castiel had lost contact with his vessel's soul. He'd lost contact with Heaven-he didn't even know how long it had been since he last received Revelation, but he'd stopped believing in those orders long before he stopped hearing them. All he had now were his connections on Earth. Most of that meant relying on cell phones. He didn't know how humans could stand relying on these little pieces of faulty technology, but it had him aching for the days when anyone he needed to contact would come to him with only a spoken word.
He still had his tether to Dean, but no one knew about that but him. It was simply a quiet reminder of the choices he'd made, a comforting sign of the bond Castiel now had with Earth. It was a reminder of the man Dean had been before the hellhounds ripped open his chest and his time in Hell tore him apart. Castiel needed that reminder on occasion. The Dean he saw today was different.
Some days Castiel could see Dean trying to be his old self, the man who drove across the country just to see his brother again. The man who enjoyed the hunt. The man who enjoyed life. On those days, Castiel could see how hard he had to force it. He could see how much effort it took Dean to fake a smile, to take the tiredness out of his walk, to stop himself reaching for the bottle when he knew he was being watched.
It shook Castiel to his very core. It made him feel sad. It made him feel so much that he didn't even bother denying it. He wished he had enough power to take Dean back to those days, but he barely had the strength to exorcise a demon anymore.
Unlike Uriel and some of his other brothers, Castiel never once believed that God had left both Heaven and Earth permanently, never once considered that God might no longer exist. But the longer he watched the Winchesters struggle with their destiny, the longer he watched them fight that which every fiber of his body told him they were born for, the less he believed that God watched over His creations. How could his Father cause these men so much pain without even leaving them hope for happiness?
Doubt. Doubt was bad. Doubt meant he had a foot through the door already; doubt meant he was just a few steps from faithless.
As skepticism grew in Castiel, determination bloomed in Dean. He had a world to save, and he had never been the kind of man to let something as paltry as fate get in his way. The Colt hadn't worked on Lucifer. Nothing had worked on Lucifer. They had no plan and no prospects. All they had was their conviction.
But that was enough for Dean Winchester.
Castiel didn't know how Dean had found a way to access Heaven's power; he hadn't known it was possible. But the sudden ease with which he spoke Enochian was disquieting when Castiel knew he had often struggled with Latin in the past. More substantially, Dean wielded the righteous power of the angels when he fought demons these days. There was a certain radiance about him when he was on the battlefield, one that would have been familiar on one of his brothers but which felt strange on a human. It was off-putting.
He never asked how Dean had done it. Dean didn't often lie to him, but Castiel knew him well enough to be sure his inquiries wouldn't have gotten an answer. He didn't ask why Dean had done it, either, but that was because he didn't need to. He knew the answer to that question.
Dean serving as a soldier of Heaven meant no demon on Earth stood a chance. He could stop the Horsemen. Armed with Heaven's might-and some of that strength would be Michael's, it had to be-not even Lucifer would be able to stand in his way. He would banish the Devil back to his cage, and Sam would never be in danger from him again. The world would be as much at peace as it had ever been.
And it wouldn't matter that Dean's soul would be gone. The world wouldn't know who had saved it. Heaven wouldn't care. And Dean certainly wouldn't regret it. Not when he finally got to escape the pain he felt and the pain he'd caused. Not when he was numb to everything around him.
Sam would. Bobby would. Castiel would.
Castiel would be hit with the kind of regret he once looked down on humans for. Emotions like that were so unreasonable-they used time and energy that could be spent serving Heaven, or whatever it was humans usually did, and Castiel could never comprehend why.
But he knew now. God, did he know.
It took months for Castiel to admit to himself that he was Falling. It was slow enough that he could blame it on the chaos of Heaven, but he knew his Grace was fading. It was a lengthy process, but an inevitable one.
He wondered if God had created angels like himself and Anna deliberately. They had served Him faithfully for centuries, but each of them had given up their entire world for humanity. It wasn't what angels were supposed to do; it was rebellion, it was heresy, it was treason. But loving humans-it was what Lucifer was cast down for failing to do. Castiel's path confused him, but he followed it. He would follow it as long as it felt right.
He didn't mind the loss of his old strengths as much as he should have. He was far too attached to Earth, to the Winchesters, to humanity to regret becoming a part of it.
He just wished that Dean still felt the same.
When Castiel felt his connection to Dean go dead, he knew there wasn't much time left. Three days, maybe. Certainly no more than a week.
They were working a job when it finally happened. Castiel might have lost most of his powers, but he still had some connection to Heaven. He could feel it when he was no longer the only angel in the motel room. He walked slowly to the bathroom, knowing what he was about to see there and wishing with all his heart that he would be wrong. Hoping against hope that he had read the signs wrong, that he had come to the wrong conclusion, anything but the cold truth that awaited him.
Dean stood at the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were fixed on a point just over his shoulders, where an angel's wings now stretched. They were white, bright white; they were the same white that Castiel's brothers-and Dean's brothers, now-always said Michael's must be. But the white feathers gave way to a cold gray, like steel, before turning a deep black. Had they been tangible, they would have filled the small room. Here on Earth, however, there was enough space for Castiel to step into the room behind him.
"I see you've attained Grace," he said quietly.
"Yeah, I... I suppose I have."
Dean turned to face him, mouth opening to speak, but whatever words he had prepared left his mind when he saw Castiel's wings for the first time, when he saw what Castiel did every time he looked into a mirror. The black feathers falling to the floor even now, the light bones shrinking back into his shoulders as they became bare. The tattered wings of a fallen angel. He had hardly more than a handful of feathers left on each wing. He guessed it was something like two months before the rest drifted to the ground and the bones sank back into his flesh completely.
Dean's eyes widened and his lips parted, showing the kind of concern Castiel knew from experience he wouldn't be able to feel for long.
"Castiel, your wings," he said haltingly. "I never knew."
Dean still had enough human in him to try and comfort a friend, and Castiel had more than enough human in him now to let himself sink into the hug. He even had enough human in him to feel tears welling up in his eyes for the first time in his life. Dean had never addressed him by his full name before.
He knew enough about angels to know that the man Dean Winchester had been was gone.