Summary: Cas has finally been convinced that God is, in fact, Dead. It's not the victory Dean thinks it should be. Also, Crowley is surprisingly helpful.
No idea where this came from. As always. Part way through next chapter of 'We All Fall Down', for anyone who cares.
I'm rewatching the fourth season of Supernatural; I'd forgotten how intense Cas was at the beginning! Except somehow I just wrote angst despite that. As usual. Also, it always sort of made me angry how Castiel's whole crisis of faith wasn't given much care by the Winchesters. Seriously, angel with a religious dilemma, sort of a big deal.
Disclaimer; I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters, ideas, concepts, or other materials within.
Warning for general angst and typical levels of blasphemy.
And [Angels] Shall Desire to Die
And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them. -Revelations 9:6
"God is dead."
"Told ya," says Dean, not missing a beat.
"Dean!" Sam hisses. To Castiel, cautiously; "Why do you say that?"
"Because God was never apathetic. God never let the faithful come to harm. If Father were here, the Apocalypse would be over and done with already."
" - Could be he just doesn't care," Sam volunteers, hesitantly. Hesitantly, because that option really isn't much better.
"He is dead," says Castiel flatly.
"Uhm, Cas?" Dean quirks an eyebrow at the angel, tilting back in his wooden chair. They're halfway through a case, doing research in a sub-par hotel room in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and Dean's really not in the mood for a religious crisis, thanks. "We just got back from Heaven, with a message from Joshua who got it personally from the big guy that he brought you back and saved us. Yeah, he doesn't care anymore, and yeah, he's a bag of dicks, but that's a helluva lot different from dead."
"He is dead," Castiel repeats, face stony. "And we are lost."
In a flutter of wings, he vanishes.
"...Well, that was uplifting," Dean snorts. "What the hell?"
"...Maybe it's a coping method?" Sam asks dubiously.
"Deciding your dad's dead is a coping mechanism?"
"Might be better than the alternative."
"Yeah?"
Sam tries to imagine John Winchester, sitting in chair and smoking a cigar as he idly watches Sam and Dean kill one another. The incredibly improbable thought is enough to have him wince. "Yeah," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes Dean go quiet. "I think it is."
Castiel decides to get drunk.
He doesn't quite know why, but he wants to. This is what Dean does when troubled, what humans do, and isn't he almost human now? He's Fallen, a step away from mortal, so maybe it will help, maybe it will kill him, hopefully it will kill him, and either way he can hardly feel worse.
So Castiel flies to a closed liquor store. And he drinks.
And drinks.
And drinks.
There are a few dozen bottles of bourbon and vodka on the ground before his fingertips even start to tingle, and somehow this makes it worse, because Castiel is hungry and sad and terrified and doubting and everything an angel just shouldn't be, but he can't even get drunk. That's one gift left to him, the one fucking thing, and the thought makes him angry enough to just throw the next few bottles at the far wall. And then he starts drinking again.
It doesn't help, not really, but at least his thoughts go fuzzy enough that it's hard to remember why everything is wrong and cold and black, so that's something, and he keeps drinking, because that's what Dean does. Dean drinks, so drinking is supposed to heal and help, except only Grace and faith can do that, and the burning sting of liquor in his throat is nothing like prayer except for the flare of desperation that's swallowed with it.
He checks his phone, later, when the store is empty and his head is spinning like he's flying through a nebula (except he can't do that anymore, fly that far that high, no more never again) and he finds a message from Sam. Sam Sam Sam. Demon-spawn Sam, he thinks. He fell from Grace for a demon-spawn.
He'd always thought God would like Sam. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe God has left because Castiel is wrong?
But he goes. Of course he goes. That's what Castiel does, now, he goes when the Winchester's call. What else is he good for?
Sam wants to know if Castiel is 'okay'. And for a moment, something tears in him, and he beckons Sam forward. A terrible twitching in his chest screams the words, no, no, never again, he's deadgonedoesn'tcare it's all the same, he left us left me and why are we here please please God Father why, why does anything matter why did he leave me why we're going to burnlosedie just let me die -
"Don't ask stupid questions," Castiel says.
Leah Gideon is the Whore of Babylon. Castiel helps the Winchesters, because, why not? What's one more sin, one more show of his slavery to humans, nothing matters anymore anyway.
Castiel sobers up, miserably (but maybe sneaks a whiskey every now and then) and Dean - Dean tries to say yes. There's no God and no Plan and no meaning, and Dean is suddenly trying to say yes, and doesn't he care at all? Dean is everything, all that's left, and he's leaving too -
Castiel is rough with Dean. He'll admit that. He throws the hunter against a hard stone wall and hits and beats and yells and doesn't care at all, because how dare he, that bastard, he's not leaving he is not -
"I rebelled for this?!"
Traitor, traitor, traitor, Castiel's mind chants, and he doesn't know if he's thinking about Dean or himself -
"Suddenly you surrender to Them - "
He Fell, he Fell for this, for Dean, for humanity, and now God is dead and he's killed his Brothers left his Brothers abandoned his Brothers like God abandoned him and now there is only Dean and Dean is trying to leave -
"I gave everything for you, and this is what you give to me?!"
"Just do it!" Dean yells. He's on the ground, staring up at Castiel with bitter hate and bitter pity, fresh blood streaking his face, and he's desperate and grieving and hopeful all at once. "Just do it!". Like Castiel could, as though he could ever kill Dean -
He doesn't. Of course. He takes Dean to Bobby's. The humans, naturally, promptly release him and Dean and Sam run straight to the angels.
Dean betrayed him earlier with the banishing sigil, and that gives Castiel his own idea.
So he carves a bloody sigil on his own chest, using his angel blade even though it's totally unnecessary, and the marks stand out red and blunt and flaming against his skin. Afterward he never tells the Winchesters that he didn't really expect it to work, not really, doesn't tell them that he half thought the sigils would tear him apart from the inside out and make eveything endstopfinish -
He goes outside, later - walking and not flying, because he can barely feel his wings these days - and he stares up, up, up at the dark sky, at the glimmering stars he once flew with, the distant planets he first spied at their creation. Castiel should be able to see a shadow of Heaven in the clouds, but he doesn't.
And suddenly he's shaking, shaking, knees on the damp earthy ground, dew staining his coat, and his vision is blurry and dark and wet. Everything is gone, gone, nothing can ever be the same, and he knows that now, hates it, and Lucifer has won. He's sure of that, suddenly. There's no stopping Lucifer, the Apocalypse has already begun, already reached its peak, because what can be worse than this?
If this isn't Hell, what is?
"Well, aren't you a pathetic sight."
A demon. Crowley. Castiel can't even care, and he's so miserable he thinks of praying, except the words get caught in his throat and stuck there. Because, really, praying? Praying? Praying to who?
DeadgoneleftDOESN'TFUCKINGCARE -
"Well, I was going to chat with you about a possible way to end the Apocalypse, but if you're going to mope..."
Deadgoneleftdoesn'tcare why did he bring me back why didn't he let me die it's all nothing, nothing, a losing battle, paradise or hell on earth angels or demons I'm dead and they're dead we all die and God's dead -
CRACK.
The blow has Castiel falling over, landing hard on an elbow, and he's human enough now that his face actually hurts. He stares up, bewildered, into Crowley's angry face.
"Look, Angel," the demon snaps, "I don't know what's got you crying like a nine-year-old girl kicked out of the popular crowd, and I don't want to, because I'm not your human boytoy, and I'm not taking it. Go whine to your Dean, pray, whatever the bugger you do, but you are not falling apart during the freaking APOCALYPSE while a demon works to end it because that, Angel, is just plain PATHETIC."
Crowley seems ready to continue, but the fist that comes at his head makes it difficult.
The fist doesn't belong to Castiel, though, and he blinks blearily as three demons attack the King of Crossroads, apparently dismissing the almost-human angel on the ground.
And that, for some reason, makes Castiel angry.
He can't pull the demons from their vessels with a touch, not anymore, but a sword strike and one is dead, then another, and Crowley finishes off the third. The demon slaps his hands together at the end, sauntering over to Castiel with a scowl, uncharacteristically unfazed by the angelic blade still in Castiel's grip.
'Thank yous' aren't exactly the norm for any demon, and Crowley doesn't surprise him. "Look," Crowley says, picking up the tirade like nothing had happened at all, "See that? That is the type of thing an angel should be doing. The smiting. Not smiting me, preferably, but smiting, and not wandering around crying like the pathetic homeless person you look in that trenchcoat."
God is dead, Castiel thinks, but he doesn't say it, because what does a demon care about God?
He surprises himself by speaking, though, and his voice is raspy and raw."Why do you fight? Why? You're a demon. You have nothing, what do you stand to lose if Lucifer wins?"
"Well, currently, my life." Crowley snaps. "Now that I've officially signed over to Team Free Will, I'm not, as you just saw, the most popular man in Hell. But before that?" Crowley waves an irritated hand, gesturing to the general area around them, and Castiel takes it in anew; the solemn moonlight, the glittering stars, the gentle breeze, and, far off, the low whisper and creeping presence of humanity. "I like Earth. It's comfortable, changing - interesting. Not the humans so much, but, well, nothing's perfect. And if I can't run deals, well, what do I have? I'm not letting the angel brigade take that. Anyway, better this than Hell on Earth, and Paradise would probably exclude me, so." Crowley snorts. "Don't tell me you can't find a reason to fight, Mr. Angel-that-could? You freaking rebelled. If you try to give up now, I think I'll have to kill you on principle. And I doubt the Winchesters would thank me for that."
Castiel is quiet a moment. His vision is clear, but his limbs still feel leaden, his chest hollow. "Why did you seek me?"
"A little birdie told me you don't have enough juice to fly." Crowley taps his foot, starting to look truly impatient. "And a moose once mentioned that you're bad with cellphones, so. Dumb and dumber are headed to Chicago, if you're quite done. Go or weep over the flowers some more, I don't really care, but I'm leaving."
And, true to his word (for once), the demon vanishes.
And Castiel doesn't care about anything Crowley said, really, he swears, but something in this is wrong, that a demon sees value in life and Castiel doesn't, that a demon likes Earth and Castiel finds it so very hard. Castiel has been commanded to protect humanity, and if Father is dead or gone or just a general dick he still owes them that much. Castiel has become many things, but he is loyal. And he can't let that be taken from him.
Castiel takes a bus to Chicago, the human way, and maybe he'll die, maybe they'll all die, but damn if he isn't going to try.