Castiel is in a dark room.
Not so dark he can't see, but dark enough for him to know that there's nothing worth seeing in the shadows. He is surrounded only by his thoughts, his demons, and his solitude is a living thing that grows hungrier by the minute.
Castiel feels a separation. Like he is being hollowed out. He thinks it may not be a bad thing.
"Stop looking at me, Lucifer. I don't need the pity in your eyes."
Lucifer tilts his head, a macabre parody of the original-even with this face they share. "Is that what you think it is, brother? Pity?"
Lucifer hovers behind him, a tall shadow of dark curiosity. Castiel is crosslegged in front of him, shoulders bowed, head hung. Sitting as low as he feels. Lucifer's words are posed softly, but Castiel doesn't bother to wonder at it. All he sees is nothing, and all he hears are the far away echoes of Dean and Sam's voices. All he feels is the lack of conviction where he is concerned.
"What else would it be? I am nothing, and you've all but won."
"I suppose I have."
"You're free. Gloat somewhere else."
"You're angry."
"No."
The word is said too firmly to be apathetic. Lucifer has no reply to it, but Castiel can practically feel the unspoken words. Another memory of the brothers flashes across his mind, and he remembers them leaving him at the mercy of Lucifer. He remembers every punch, slamming the point home with vicious clarity.
Expendable.
Forgettable.
Useless.
Weak.
Unloved.
The Winchesters have already moved on, and Castiel is left to rot. Why is he surprised?
Why is he always surprised?
Cas, you child.
Lucifer hears the tears in Castiel's voice before he can even see them fall.
"Please, just leave me alone."
The Devil considers that. After a moment, he drifts closer out of the darkness. "That's the problem though, isn't it, Cas?" He lays a hand over his brother's shoulder. Castiel flinches at the touch. "You've always been alone."
There is no malice. No undercurrent of satisfaction. The words are cold, but they lack the usual serrated edge.
Castiel shudders around a hitched breath, the presence behind him vanishing. Complete darkness enshrouds him then, and he's perversely glad for it. Arms tightening around himself, Castiel bows his head and cries.
So have I, are the words the Devil never says.
Lucifer's visits are more frequent.
Between the hunt for Amara and the intermittent raising of hell, he retreats within this vessel he shares to offer companionship. He's bored, he tells himself, but perhaps he also has a void that needs to be filled.
Sometimes he shows Castiel mountaintop vistas, and gardens teaming with insect life. Other times he restores Castiel's wings and lets him explore those conjured realities himself.
Castiel is, of course, resistant.
On the worst days, when his brother is all but catatonic, Lucifer begins telling him stories. They're usually outrageously inappropriate, but sometimes they veer off into something resembling heartfelt. Stories of Father. Of Michael, and Gabriel. Stories without war and bloodshed. Castiel begins to covet those rare moments when real fondness can be heard in the Devil's voice. Castiel wishes he could feel anything anymore.
Occasionally, he'll open his eyes to the feel of a familiar demon at his side. She's running small fingers across his jaw and smiling into his neck. He's not in the darkness anymore, but instead Castiel finds himself beneath warm sheets in a sunlit room.
"Hiya, Clarence."
The words are purred at him through a velvet smile, and Castiel realizes he is smiling too.
"Meg."
He forgets that she is dead. Forgets how the Winchesters didn't bother to tell him, didn't bother to save her. All he knows is that she's the only one who's ever sacrificed anything for him. The only one who's ever loved him without condition. She is twisted and ruined, but saw something in him and fought for it.
In her eyes, he is worthy.
Sometimes the faces change, but overall they are warm memories.
He is driving down a winding highway. Hannah is at his side. She is not an empty seat, but a constant presence encouraging him on. When he stumbles, she is there to catch him.
She cares for him. She wants him to succeed.
Hannah helps him heal, she defends him. She'll follow him anywhere. She'll fight beside him and die with him.
Castiel forgets that she betrayed him. Forgets that he was used. Instead, he understands now that Hannah was only ever trying to protect him from the Winchester's broken touch. She was trying to save him.
Claire is knotting his tie, laughing at how it's somehow turned backwards all its own. She asks him about her parents. She starts confiding in him about her day, about boys, about school. The more awkward he inevitably makes it, the wider Claire smiles.
He forgets that she has called him monster. That he is the thief who stole her father's face.
Charlie teaches him to play Dungeons and Dragons. As she's painting his face and fixing the elfin ears epoxied to his own, she tells him he's a natural and that they should hang out more often. She teaches him other things too; like computers, and video games, and how to have fun. Charlie is his friend, and it shows through her actions.
Castiel forgets that she was murdered. He forgets that he should have followed her, should have protected her, should have saved her. He could have brought her back to life. They could be binge-watching Orange is the New Black together instead of laying flowers at her grave.
The Winchesters take him hunting. He's sitting in the back of the Impala when Sam asks him if he wants to trade off for awhile, and suddenly Castiel is riding shotgun. He tries to hide the megawatt smile spreading over his face, but then Dean and Sam are telling him they're proud of him. They're praising him.
"Good hunt, Cas."
"You were awesome, man!"
They stop at a roadside diner, taking the last circular booth. They're all on equal ground. There is a burger on his plate and laughter in everyone's eyes.
Hands clap his back, arms snake across his shoulders and squeeze, fries are shared. Castiel forgets that he was abandoned.
He is family.
He's loved.
He's not alone.
In the end, it's these false memories that build him back up and give him the strength to overpower Lucifer. To take back control before the Devil can kill the boys and rain down fire on the earth.
Lucifer should have seen it coming. He is the Morning Star. He's an archangel-a fierce and roaring lion. But maybe he did see. Maybe he felt Castiel's heart growing warm again, saw it filling with color, with hope, and creed. Maybe he dug his own grave in spite of that pride he wore like a second skin.
If you'd only stopped the dreams, the voice in his head reproaches.
Sure, but maybe it was time for Castiel to win.
Maybe it was finally time for him to be the hero.
He sure as hell deserved it.
"Who are you?" the brothers ask, when the dust clears.
They're afraid, and they should be. Because is it Castiel? Is it Lucifer? Is it another creature entirely, born from both of them?
But Castiel stands tall and strong among the flames, until they're commanded to settle. He looks at the Winchesters then, with eyes bright as stars, and says:
"I'm an angel of the Lord."