SPN fanfic: "The Angel who Dared to Tread" (PG, Castiel-centric)
Title: The Angel who Dared to Tread
Author: Vasiliki (May 2, 2011)
Beta-reader: Kate
Rating: PG
Warnings: Written after 6x19, spoilers up to the promo for 6x20. Angst, but ending on a hopeful note.
Genre: Gen or pre-slash, depending on your goggles.
Synopsis: Sometimes you look but not see. Circumstances brought Castiel here.
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"SHIELD YOUR EYES!" you yelled, and Dean did't see your Grace flooding the diner. Like he didn't see you when you touched Bobby's soul, the veins visible under the transparent skin of your face, your eyes flying open, shooting your Grace out like laser beams. For a moment, as the power seared into you, it felt as if your Grace was abandoning your vessel. For a moment, it felt like a premonition.
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You were restless, agitated, hurried, while you were all looking for Eve, yet Dean wasn't really looking at you, so he did't see.
You asked Dean to stay, in vain. You pleaded his name, "Dean. Dean!", in urgency, yet it made no difference to them. Your best friends left you. You asked Dean to stay, and were denied, and only then you went in and tortured. Somehow, you couldn't do it while Dean was there. Your shame was holding you back - you could kill a vampire in front of Dean as an angel, but you couldn't suffer him looking at you killing a monster with your bare hands. Perhaps you were afraid he would finally see the creature you were becoming, and forget forever the angel of the Lord who raised him from Hell. You tried to clean your bloodied hands with a piece of cloth, but this also was in vain. Even after your powers were restored and your clothes spotless, you could still see your hands drenched in blood.
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What brought you here? A long chain of events, circumstances, and defining moments in your life. Sitting next to Dean in the Impala, you told him you wanted to help restore order in Heaven and he called you "sheriff". You liked the sound of that, having lived subserviently all your existence. But when you arrived, Raphael was already there, and laughed at your plans to rally the angels against him. "Learn your place, at last!" he dismissed you.
You recalled instantly the pain and humiliation you had felt when your siblings ripped you from your vessel and dragged you to Heaven, your shame at how easily Raphael's brutality broke you and your convictions, his pleasure when he ordered you to go back and tell Dean you didn't serve him. You remembered his ruthlessness when he killed you, his taunting "I shall have to teach you again your place, Castiel!" cutting even deeper than his Archangel's blade. You recalled the infinite sweetness of the moment you rendered him helpless in a ring of holy fire, Dean by your side, the unexpected satisfaction when you called him your "bitch" - for once, you were the one belittling him and walking away.
The traditionalists regarded you as a rebel, responsible as much as the Winchesters for the entrapement of Michael in the Cage, as the bringer of chaos. You started working against Raphael underground, you brought old friends over to your cause, and Heaven was plunged into civil war. But most of the angels were still on his side, so you found yourself losing. You didn't know whom you could ask for help. Dean was as close to happiness with Lisa and Ben as a hunter could get. Sam had given everything for humanity already. You had no-one to turn to.
Crowley still wanted to avert the Apocalypse - he had helped Team Free Will before. You thought you could keep him in line, but he got out of line with the Winchesters, the one line he should have never crossed. He disregarded your orders, and used Samuel Campbell to banish you from their side. You returned with the wrath of an avenging angel and burned his bones to show him the Winchesters were off limits, regardless of how much you needed his help to find Purgatory and its souls. Yet, you kept a sliver of bone hidden, so he didn't perish. He learned his lesson, and didn't threaten them again.
When you got in this, you had thought you would be making just one concession, but it snowballed. For months you anguished, you called for your Father, you prayed for guidance. At the end, you begged, your voice ragged, full of despair: "Give me... a SIGN!" But there was only silence.
The tremendous power of Heaven's weapons was dazzling, and the sight of Raphael cowering before you gave you a heady feeling that an entire liquor store had not given you. In this new world, you could be a ruler. And then, everything started unraveling, got out of control. Atropos used your Achilles' heel to force you abandon your Titanic plans. Your trusted lieutenant, your friend, Rachel, tried to kill a falling angel, but you were faster. Eve ascended from the bowels of the Earth to defend her Firstborns and you needed to defeat her too.
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Now Dean suspects. They have you trapped in a ring of holy fire. You plan on lying, yet you are exuding the truth from your very being, and you marvel at how nobody who looks at you can see what you are thinking.
Only now Dean finally looks. And he sees. His face twists in pain and his voice cracks, as he asks you to look him in the eye and lie. You could never look Dean in the eye and lie. Even in a future that didn't come to pass, when Dean didn't blink as he stared at his soldiers and saw only cannon fodder, you could only lower your gaze to hide you knew he was leading you to your deaths. That he was leading you to your death. Of course, you knew. Your vision had always been clear when centered on Dean.
Your game is up now. You think of your millennia of servitude in Heaven. You have to accept that you will never be the one to run the show. All your life it was drilled into you that it's preferable to be a servant in Heaven than a king in Hell. Yet, you don't think so anymore. "Learn your place!" Raphael had punished you, and you still rebelled.
You recall the year you spent on Earth looking for the Father you have been serving your entire life. The Father you kept yearning for, the Father who never answered your calls, who refused you guidance.
Yet, he made you complete, he gave you free will. How did you use it, wayward son?
Your Grace flickers, it feels darker, heavier, foreign. Another premonition. You suddenly know with certainty that soon you'll reach the end of your road, and you'll find rest, like Rachel. You will behold the face of your Father at long last, and Jimmy Novak will walk free.
But as you open your mouth, you find you have a speck of human left in you, because you can't abandon all hope. Not yet.
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You look Dean in the eye. And you confess.