1. "Love is vengeance that's never free"
It all goes down from here:
Welcoming arms spread widely open,
A rush of fresh air expected to entwine you.
Inept suddenly, tensed mind self-deceived, hurriedly shut down.
To finally inhale it, take it in, but you should've known it's gangrene.
Castiel's worries at this point are stacked one upon another, patched together into one entity by the feeling of guilt, which no matter how much he justifies himself – can not really leave him be. He had, however, faced the moment of having to play va bank.
He either regains everything that he willingly burnt or he loses it and himself as well.
By everything Castiel mostly means Dean. Well, he does mean Raphael, means the Apocalypse back on track problem, of course means Sam and his damaged mind, means also Crowley, but all of this, Castiel ponders, brings him back to Dean once more. Everything always did, didn't it?
This is the final moment and the Angel is alone in it. The man, because of whom he is here now, had cut him off completely, the trust that they shared now nothing more but a memory of safety. Castiel is hurt and disappointed but he cannot put all of the blame on Dean. Dean is only human. And he doesn't always understand everything, though he tries.
So Castiel nearly prays to the tiles on the poorly blue-lit walls of one of Crowley's torture rooms that through this he would win Dean back. If there is no God, he prays to the tiles, to the cold table, to the jar of blood, to chance. There is no God for him and he doesn't know where to pour his trust and his heart anymore. But neither the walls, nor the jar answer to console him. So he holds on tightly to the faith that lies within him. The one that tells him that this is the right choice, the only choice and that on this war, to rescue Dean, he would always end up here.
Because he's doing the right thing and finally he shall be understood and forgiven and so shall he understand and forgive them as well. These sacrifices will be the last ones to ever make. There will be a brand new start, this time for good. Castiel draws the symbols with the blood that he took with himself and thinks of the future becoming a tabula rasa. The liquid is thick, dark and it reeks in a way that could unsettle his vessel.
He steadies himself, suddenly feels so small in the silence and this space, so he focuses on Dean's nearby presence within the facility. He pretends that he is not alone. From the distance, he can sense the man's pain as Crowley and Raphael throw him around like a doll. Dean shouldn't have come here, Castiel decides. There is still something deep inside his grace that warns him that he shouldn't have come here, either. It gets dismissed once and for all. There is no time for doubt. Castiel speaks the words quietly but clearly nonetheless.
The souls come like a blizzard. It is all tensed light, something far greater than his own form and he hardly contains them, but they still keep coming. Every pore of his vessel fails to scream at the injustice and malevolence it is being served as his cells, his very grace chokes on the energy. It floods him like a raging river, the souls are anxious, violently awakened, terrified with the transgression, just as scared the infants are of leaving the mother's calm womb. Castiel is on his knees, trying to breathe as the power flows wildly between his muscles and around his veins, thrashing around like a stampede. Castiel thinks that it is over, but it's not. He only sees them for a glimpse and he registers himself feeling fear of a level he does not recall experiencing ever since Lucifer's fall, perhaps even bigger, more breath-taking and paralyzing. Creatures of which even God was afraid, the ones that were born out of pain and formed without purpose, the ones that were cast away to a place of which no one in the Host, not even the Holy Son, were told. Castiel knows where they were sleeping. Were.
They rush towards his mouth but once they get there, leviathan do take their time, as if they were sightseeing the Angel's insides. He can taste them as they writhe lazily inside. They are something bitter and they stench of decay, of old age. Thicker than blood, they leave the aftertaste and smell of tar. As they slide slowly down his throat and reach curiously and diligently where they may, Castiel is already crying. He knows he had just lost his chance, his green-eyed everything and himself. He's expecting death but it does not come. The leviathan settle down among the souls as if they were blankets. The immediate sense of dread becomes muffled by the feeling of invincibility that the pure energy delivers him. The Serpents do nothing at all. They are calm, they just linger, humming inside of his body, echoing and filling Castiel with almost soothing, dulling voices. They cradle his fear and put it to sleep. The Angel is no longer afraid. He is the Love, the Wisdom, the Justice and the Might. He is God. His face relieves itself into a content, drugged-like peaceful smile. He controls this, he controls all.
Yes, you do – the leviathan purr and all of his entire being echoes with those words.
Castiel is victorious. Everything is his. Warmth and fondness take over him. It is time to attend his everything. And by everything, Castiel means mostly Dean.
The one who should be grateful, because just as he promised, he was right all along, his were the correct choices, those choices were founded by his undying love, which, Castiel allows himself to presume, should be easily reciprocated because he had saved his righteous man once again and once and for all. As for the wounds that had torn them apart if not almost asunder, Castiel will heal them, he will fix them and Dean will be grateful. Because Castiel is grateful. Grateful for his choices and for this exact path. He is grateful for everything. And by everything, he mostly means Dean. So, yes, Castiel always was, and still is grateful for Dean. But more importantly, Castiel reminds himself, Castiel is God.
And was it not written that God shall destroy his enemies and reward those of faithful hearts?
So he goes off, intending to do exactly that. He goes off to attend everything.
And when thinking of everything, Castiel smiles high on euphoria and on power, drunk with passion and his mission.
Castiel is a one smug peacock of a God. Where there is Dean – there is showing off. It has always been this way. But this time, Castiel goes far beyond his usual habit. In any other circumstances he would shun himself for the extent of his behavior. He doesn't. He does quite the opposite, he is warming himself with his own glory and takes it in with the nonchalance of a cat laying on a windowsill to bathe in the sunrays. He can do so, after all. God simply can't be reckless. Whatever God does is righteous.
Castiel puts his jar down with an audible click and he knows that Dean is making an effort to stand up upon hearing the surreal in this situation calmness of his voice. Castiel, undisturbed and unthreatened by Raphael's and the Demon's presence, is watching the man collecting himself, his blue eyes attentive and analytic. Their gazes meet in this eerie silence and Castiel straightens his vessel up, tightens every muscle and inhales all the air he can have even though he needs none. He ruffles up his feathers like a majestic and dangerous bird, he finds himself swelling up and his chest filling with a new sensation, one that still has yet to decide whether it is like ice or like fire. It floats in between his lungs and his heart just like the unspoken question lingering in his eyes and nearly dripping off his lips. Dean is watching him back with matching intensity, and Castiel knows he's trying to study his face, but no words ever fall because Dean fails to find an answer within the boundaries of the vessel's physiognomy. Yet, the urgency of Dean's look wields certain unsettling implication that whatever Dean is experiencing right now is not anywhere near relief. Castiel acknowledges it and somehow dismisses it at the same time, willing to explore the issue further but not just now, willing to prove his own suspicions wrong. He nods lightly at Dean and Bobby and there is something uncanny in that subtle movement, he knows that it is a declaration, and even though he is God, he does not know of what that declaration is, is it of love, of peace or of war? The purring from his inside and the hum of flowing souls distort his own thoughts, he blinks just once and still not feeling quite clear on the stance that he just made, decides to shift his attention onto what without a doubt is his foe. The corners of Castiel's lips barely make it any way upwards but his eyes are laughing at the other two victoriously, giving out a patronizing tone to the given promise of demise. He almost pities them.
"I see" the King of the Crossroads begins, having that silent message understood just fine. "And we've been working with dog blood. Naturally" Crowley states, already aware of his defeat and the fact that he's not even a player in this game anymore. He's buying himself some time and Castiel lets him, at that moment far more concerned with turning his gaze back at Dean, offering the man reassurance with a noticeable undertone of I told you so built within it. Dean, however, still understands nothing, the features of his face gradually spread wider and wider with terror.
"Enough of these games, Castiel!" Raphael cuts in, just as oblivious as Dean if not more. "Give us the blood".
When he attempts to carry out a threat, Dean already looks like he is about to cry. Dean does not know that the threats are empty. Castiel reads into him and sees that the man is afraid his friend will die any second now, that his bold mouth is going to bring death upon himself, just like the time when he attempted to offend Michael with the most beautiful insult of his own making. Castiel already calculates whether he should already tell Dean the truth himself in order to soothe him, or if it is not the right time yet, but before he makes a decision on the subject, Crowley finds himself valuable and kind enough to point out the obvious truth which the blinded by pride Archangel fails to see.
"You…" he begins, raising his finger in a explanatory, yet mocking way, still probably astounded with how much of a fool Raphael is and Castiel can't help but agree with him on this one. "Game is over. His jar is empty".
A reaction to this enlightenment is beginning to make its way through Dean's face and this is where Castiel's still lingering eyes retreat because for a moment he caught a glimpse of Dean's own and the first thing he had seen there was pain. He feels bitterness and coldness falling down upon him like the first note of a woeful song of disappointment but before he can make the step to open himself up to it, Crowley proves himself worthy again and offers a needed distraction.
"So, Castiel. How did your ritual go?" Castiel turns his eyes on the Demon, they're filled with relief, but just as well they are giving out a fair warning. "Better than ours, I bet?"
Castiel wishes not to talk, he finds his mouth being sealed with yet unsorted annoyance, so what he does is letting his Godhood speak in his behalf. He focuses himself, closes his eyes, unfolds his Grace and becomes the light itself. His right wing, something magnificent and unsettlingly enormous, a thing more powerful and fearsome than anything Raphael or Crowley have ever seen, spreads above Dean and Bobby's unaware, hidden heads like a fiery shield. Left wing unfolds behind Castiel as well, looming upon the room like an omen of misfortune, like a death sentence. It presents itself to them like a flag of the conquering army. The Demon and the Archangel know two things: they are dead and what kills them is not an Angel anymore.
Dean knows none of this as of yet, but the lack of information does not make him feel any safer, apparently, Castiel sadly notices. Dean can't close his mouth still. And Castiel finds it surprisingly hard to stop looking at it. Deeply hidden serpents emerge once more, purring somewhat louder, hissing even, while moving inside him subtly, curling and uncurling themselves, content all out the sudden for what Castiel finds to be a no apparent reason. The sensation of satisfaction spreads around and reaches him as well, and soon he too is on the verge of purring. However pleasant it seems, it is confusing, so Castiel cuts them off deliberately, dulling them through the infinite power of the souls.
"You can't imagine what it's like…" he speaks for the first time in what he, being God, can hear that Dean considers ages. "They're all inside me. Millions upon millions of souls."
"Sounds sexy" Crowley says, just as uninterested as Castiel is in the Demon's answer. "Exit stage Crowley" he informs just as he flees and Castiel allows the escape for the time being, busy mostly with Dean and his attempt to erase both Castiel's words and the commentary for them from his consciousness, just before he can actually come up with an opinion on the matter and he does not want to have one, God forbid him that, he doesn't.
But Castiel, also God, does not wish to forbid him that. He sees no need to forbid Dean anything as of now.
The only thing he needs to do now is to end this. End the dreadful road that finally has taken him here.
"What's the matter, Raphael?" He asks, all of his rage contained in this innocent question. "Somebody clipped your wings?" The coldness of his voice makes something inside of Dean cringe – the man he had known is different. Castiel on the other hand thought that Dean would be different.
"Castiel, please." And yet, when Raphael is begging for his worthless life, Castiel knows that Dean, instead of being peaceful and relieved, is worried, tensed, almost sorry for the celestial bastard that is about to meet his end. Castiel is displeased and he shall not be going through this for even a second longer than it is necessary, he doesn't want the family talk and the pity poison Dean's ears. Castiel's patience with Raphael has worn off the day when the Archangel first threatened to put the Winchesters into danger. So yes, Castiel is not kind enough to explain anything to the cockroach beneath his foot and he ends it with a pause, with an alien, vile smirk, with a snap of his fingers. With a rain of blood and a stain next to the dog blood painted sigils.
Bobby and Dean take a step back. Castiel turns his head slowly to look at the righteous man with heavy lidded eyes and an unquestionable sense of finality. He registers his nostrils widening considerably and his lips wanting to shut themselves tight into a thin line. At the same time, he forbids them to do so. They end up subtly corresponding to something, the something being exactly an observation that Dean's mouth is still gawking wide open. For a moment that seems to have no end, Castiel stares at that earnestly shocked face and lets his eyes linger on its remarkable features. The shock inside him is tangible and Castiel is convinced that if he touched that face, he could effortlessly read an entire epic through his vessel's fingers, written with each single shiver of Dean's muscles, with every line that forms around his face, with every movement of his eyes. But the story would be incomplete, Castiel muses, it would be lacking fundamental details without which it all is devoid of meaning. The void distorts the context, therefore Castiel considers it necessary to add an editor's note, an exegesis.
Instead of walking straight towards the men, just as he begins to speak, he finds himself circling around them, his steps deliberately slow, long and firm. Like a freshly crowned emperor judging his newly acquired lands, like a predator stalking and nonverbally daunting the prey. He is not sure why exactly does he act so, but his vessel behaves as if it had a mind, or to be more precise, an instinct of its own. He ignores it for the time being for he wants to focus on choosing the right words, and these, surprisingly, are not that easy to find. Castiel needs the words that will bring Dean back to him. He needs words that can make things right. Words wielding the power to create. Locution is one thing, merely a verbal construct. Illocution, Castiel calculates, is a matter of his wants, and those can be only fulfilled if the perlocution is done right. He somewhat wishes Dean could read out of him just as easily as he can reach his mind.
"So you see…" he begins, eyes hollow and distant, yet his mind fixed intently on Dean alone, even though Bobby is also in the room, even though he knows Sam is making his way down here with great difficulty and a matching determination. "I saved you." He stops his victory march the moment he registers Dean making his first, unsure step in his direction. He does not however turn around to face him, as he probably is expected to.
"You sure did, Cas" Dean finally manages to say and something inside Castiel jolts with electricity as he hears this intimate version of his name being once again worded. "Thank you" Dean adds. For a moment Castiel is pleased. But it is not the only thing he needs to hear him say. He wants to hear that Dean's sorry.
"You doubted me…" a broken smile forms on his secluded face as the words come out, "fought against me," and he finally turns around to them, "but I was right all along."
Bobby is wearing a pained expression, as if he was listening to a mad man crying out his misery. Castiel feels almost offended. He is no mad man at all. He's having none of this look, so he shifts his eyes to Dean.
"Okay, Cas, you were. We're sorry" he hears Dean saying meekly, testing the water. Castiel blinks, tilting his head slightly, but says nothing for he isn't not yet convinced of sincerity of those words. "Let's just defuse you, okay?" Dean offers and Castiel knows instantly that it isn't the doubt in his intentions that really makes the man feel sorry. Dean is sorry everything ended up like this here and now. Sorry that Castiel stands in front of him, victorious, powerful and new. And he doesn't quite understand why would that be regrettable.
"What do you mean?" He asks sadly, but calmly just as well.
"You're full of nuke. It's not safe" it is hurtful and offending for him to hear that Dean might think he would have caused him any harm with the power that he had obtained in order to do good. He does not know what to say for a moment and as an after effect of the temporary speechlessness, his lips seal. Dean however, has mustered enough bravery to continue.
"So before the eclipse ends, let's get them souls back to where they belong."
Dean is very wrong. But Castiel tries to understand. Dean is simply afraid of the change.
"Oh, no. They belong with me" he assures.
"No, Cas" Dean replies, stressed enough to the point where he actually stutters. "I-It's scrambling your brain."
Castiel begs to differ. If anything is messing with someone's brain here, it is Dean's human fear clouding his judgment. So he takes the time to explain, hoping that it will suffice.
"Oh, no. I'm not finished yet. Raphael had many followers and I must…" he pauses, searching once more for the right words, but all he hears echoing through his vessel's skull is must shed blood. The noise startles him slightly, these aren't his thoughts, this is not his goal. He assumes that perhaps it is just the adrenaline busting in, twisting his thoughts to something they clearly are not. "Punish them all severely" he decides to say and dismisses the fact that the idea of severe punishment he intends to serve matches the dictionary definition of bloodshed perfectly.
That pause apparently made Dean feel even more uneasy, but somehow it raised his confidence as well, because Castiel sees him taking a few steps more, almost closing the distance between them, and hears him getting indulgent enough to say "Listen to me." Castiel smiles bitterly at that. "Listen… I know that there is a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we were family once."
This is not what Castiel had ever expected to hear in this moment. The four last words pierce him like a blade even though he is God and nothing should be able to bring him pain. What does he mean by were family once? Is this how Dean really feels right now? That it is a matter of the past? He had saved him more times than he is willing to count right now and for this he gets to face rejection? The pain blurs his mind and he falls gradually more and more deaf to whatever Dean is saying next.
"I'd have died for you. I almost did a few times" and he fails to really hear this. "So if that means anything to you…" Dean stops, licking his mouth, gathering the courage to beg. "Please. I've lost Lisa, I've lost Ben and now I've lost Sam. Don't make me lose you, too."
But Castiel is nothing more but an aching wound cut open and burning. His ears and his mind are on fire, his heart compromised. Nothing is clear and the only thing he understood is that he's merely the last position on that list, far behind a woman and a child. Foreign jealousy is leaking from somewhere within and it is oil for his already overwhelming fire.
"You don't need this kind of juice anymore, Cas" Dean says and Castiel solemnly wonders if there is anything that he needs anymore, if even godhood is not enough for Dean to value him as much as he wishes he was loved. "Get rid of it before it kills us all." A direct order falls and Castiel feels further betrayed. All he's been doing was taking orders from Dean, one after another. But when he asks for something, Dean apparently fails to hear. But Castiel cannot let go, so he tries once more, this time trying a different path. He does possibly the most human thing he's ever done. He says things that are meant to hurt, he says something he would have never said because it still is not what he thinks of Dean. But he lets the gruesome words slip out of his lips so Dean would deny those accusations, he would tell him that it's not true. He wants to hear that he is loved, that it is him that matters, that he is not Dean's blunt little instrument.
"You're just saying that because I won. Because you're afraid. You're not my family, Dean. I have no family."
Dean looks as if he had just taken numerous blows on his chest and he breathes as if he's hurting. But a verbal answer does not come because for some reason Sam Winchester and the hell inside his broken mind decide to interrupt this moment with a rude, but failed attempt at murder. Castiel isn't more annoyed with it than a mother rolling her eyes at her unruly child's poorly thought-out snarky comment. With an angel blade piercing through his chest, he's still having his gaze fixed on Dean and the man's reaction to his brother's doing somehow is like sudden rain, slowly putting the fire out. He has gotten his answer. What Dean Winchester is really afraid of is losing him. Castiel takes the blade out with no effort and looks at it with certain fondness before putting it down. Even if the resemblance is minimal, it somehow reminds him of how he and Dean have first met. Partially because of the attempted assault itself, mostly because of Dean's eyes. They were the same back then. Besides that, hardly anything is the same now.
"I'm glad you made it, Sam" he offers nonchalantly. "But the angel blade won't work." Sam gawks at him dumbfounded, his mind shifting between the two urgent, and in Castiel's opinion – very amusing problems: why didn't the angel blade work? And why have I done this at all? Well, the first one Castiel is more than willing to explain, but as for the latter, he's not so sure of that either. "Because I'm not an Angel anymore" he plainly says. "I'm your new God" with this he turns to Dean directly. "A better one" he tells him, nodding and through this he makes a personal promise, a promise for Dean only. By "better" he means to offer a new paradise. A paradise that is meant for them to have. And there is just one thing Dean has to do to have it. Castiel admits that perhaps, all out the sudden he worded it too harshly, but at least he does hope it shall convey how important it is to him, how important everything is. And by everything Castiel means mostly Dean.
"So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your lord" he says, quite convinced that it was all he was meant to say, but right away, startled, he hears his mouth adding "or I shall destroy you." He blames it on adrenaline, he blames it on meaning something else with it, but he does not make a correction, either. God doesn't make mistakes. God cannot appear as weak, as uncertain. He pretends it did not happen. After all, he knows best he's not here to destroy. Castiel is here to mend those who are hurt and to fix what has been broken.
Castiel is the good God.
Castiel doesn't notice that he is alone with his opinion.
Castiel doesn't notice that his eye has twitched regardless of his will.