CASTIEL's POV:
"So tell me now, where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart?" ~White Blank Page, Mumford & Sons.
I suppose every great epic has an all-encompassing love, one big, heart-wrenching affair between common souls apparently destined to be together. From Shakespeare's two great romantics and their proclamations of desire to Achilles' and Patroclus' bond, love exists in excess throughout history. Unlike some romantic tragedies, this tale does not center around any great love, for this tragedy has far more important things than the state of a man's heart, especially one which has endured being torn and shredded and splintered, cracked and darkened almost beyond recognition, and yet remains to stagger wearily onwards. The man himself forgets it sometimes, forgets that it even still exists, that it has not been saturated by the black stains, but I... I do not understand how he's ever forgotten, when it is so obvious in his every move, his every word and glance.
The point remains that how this poor, ragged heart fares is, in the greater scheme of things, of little significance. See, this story is a short interlude of a thing, I suppose, in the grand epic of Heaven's tangled loyalties and Hell's fearsome lost souls. It has floated quietly in the background, a brief undercurrent in the raging sea of this mess of a world. However, though it is hidden, it has never wavered; though it is quiet, it has never been soft. For now, I will be selfish, as I always am when it comes to him, and I will tell my tale of a love so small that most of my brethren have almost forgotten it exists, so small that it hasn't come to surface for the years it's been wandering, waiting. It is a love so small that it cannot be the center of this story of ours, yet it remains so large as to save a broken man from himself, and pull an angel down from a grace that was suffocating him. It's the story of a hunter who loved his brother more than life itself, and an angel who loved the hunter far more than he would ever believe.
It is true, I have lived for centuries. I have witnessed the rise of civilizations and the fall of kings, the birth of children and the death of old men; I have seen families come together and fall apart (much like my own), seen lovers meet and dear friends part and workers toil, and I have seen the course of life take every one of them- while I remained. Humanity has always fascinated me, from its intricate workings and creations, to its remarkable capacity for chaos and destruction, but in truth I have been a bystander for the entirety of my existence, choosing to observe the world from afar, marvel at its wonders from a safe distance. I suppose you could liken it to stargazing, or mapping out the night sky- far enough away from the threat of the unknown, but still able to enjoy the beauty. Beauty is another thing- I had known what beauty meant, and likened it to many things- the architecture of the Romans, the art of the Greeks, even the voices of tribal singers from long ago- but I did not truly understand what beauty was until I encountered Dean.
"You don't think you deserve to be saved."
I saw it clear as if he had said it out loud, so bluntly was it written across his face, etched into his eyes. It was amusing, in a way, the emotions that flickered through him after I said that, and realized just how close to home it hit. He was scared of me that day, so terrified of this unknown being that he could not comprehend, that a piece of him recognized, as impossible as it was. I was apprehensive. It seems so silly to me now, and yet makes so much more sense. Yes, the bullets were not exactly what I had hoped for, though I had been expecting something of the sort. The knife stab was a bit of an annoyance, actually, but I could hardly blame the hunter for being wary. What I did not expect was the violence of his emotions, the sometimes terrifying extremes of them that broke through the glass I had been hiding behind for the entirety of my existence. Each word he spoke seemed to crack it a little more, stir something foreign inside of me- and it terrified me beyond belief. I was uncertain, confused, arrogant in my certainty, too easy to topple over. Dean looked so destroyed already, torn apart by hell as he was. I wonder that I was so naive as to think that the beautiful green light could not fade from his eyes more than it had. He was so much younger then, and so was I, though the years that followed should have felt like a mere minute in my life.
Dean Winchester was so destroyed by the world, by the monsters in it (both human and other), that he could not help but forget beauty. I suppose I should not think he would be able to see beauty within himself when he can barely see decency, but if he could see what I see, he would understand. His soul is a magnificent thing to behold, radiating such intense power and goodness beneath the tarnished surface, and it is more than a shame that people do not care to delve further than the shell. I think, if I could choose to experience one thing before my ultimate demise (death will not wait for me forever, and I have held him off too long already, I think), it would be to touch that soul one last time. Looking back, I think I should have realized that nothing would ever be the same for me again the moment I grasped onto his weary soul in the depths of hell. It was something more than distant awe that I held for him, more than I could comprehend at the time, something far greater than my petty angel instincts of obedience and pride. I knew nothing more than that at the time, but now I know of things far more complex than I could have dreamed. I know of loyalty born of something more than faith, of feats of bravery that are beyond idiotic yet that seem right, of choice and free will and freedom and a million other things that will end up hanging you in the end- yet leave you not regretting a thing. And all of it was because of him- the righteous man.
Dean has never outright shown his affection for me, and for all I know he has none- how could he feel anything for such a thing as me? Battered, twisted, nearly-fallen angel... Hester was not mistaken, though I told myself she was: I have fallen in every way imaginable. The weight of my sins was too heavy for heaven, too twisted for earth, too innocent for hell. If there is one thing I have done right, for I cannot find much that I have, it is raising Dean from that fiery pit, though in doing so I destroyed myself (but the destruction was by choice, you see: it was as if I wanted to fall, as if I let myself be dragged). I do not know much about humans, despite how I have tried and tried to understand them (perhaps that is why I cannot comprehend them, that I have pushed and prodded and analyzed so much that my nature strayed further and further away from humanity), but I do know that Dean Winchester deserved another chance.
Regardless, I love him. Whether or not he understands his love for me, I love him. It is a realization that frightened me at the time, petrified me more than anything I thought ever could. In truth, by the time it was clear to me, it was too late for me to turn back anyhow. My brethren made fun of me for it, taunted me for my infatuation with such a petty, breakable thing as a human. They seemed to be under the impression that it was, as you might call it, a "phase". Only two of my siblings seemed to understand the depth of my need for Dean: the first was Anna.
She never confronted me outright, but I saw it in the pity within her eyes as she looked at me, spoke to me softly. I remembered Anna from long ago, before she fell. When my brothers taunted me for fascination with earth, she was kind to me, would listen to me ramble on for days about the new discoveries I had made. I realize now that she must have understood all that and far more, that my interest in humanity was nothing compared to hers. Sometimes I feel as if I should have known, should have done something, anything, to help her. She has done so much for me. That night, under the pale light of the street lamp, I think we both remembered the distant years of ogling the earth from far above, safely tucked away in our own safety nets, and I think we both understood how utterly those nets had been destroyed. I think we both knew that neither of us regretted a thing, and we both knew that for it we would endure torture far worse than hell. I think she knew that I didn't care, because for me, Dean was enough. I tore through hell to retrieve that man, and I would tear through heaven and earth and hell again if it came to that.
Gabriel and I never had the easy relationship that I shared with Anna. He, after all, was an archangel, so much older and wiser than I (and I could see that, when I lost saw him, the centuries hidden beneath those sparkling eyes, the intense storm of pain within the bright, pulsating orb of his grace), and had matters more important than one confused little angel. Regardless, he took an interest in me when he could, chatting in that playful way of his that shocked me sometimes, and amused me others. As a fledgling, I never would have guessed the path he was destined for. I understood though, later, when he caught sight of me and Dean, that he knew what had brought me down to earth. There was a sort of glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Not that it stopped him from wanting to bring on the apocalypse, have the Winchesters play their part so this great tragedy of his Father's would finally be over, done with, and he could rest. Gabriel and I were similar in ways I had never understood before- we both had too much heart. His heart was torn for his brothers, and mine for the righteous man. Two creatures who were never supposed to feel pain, never supposed to feel at all- yet there we were, hurting. I think that, he understood, and when he went to confront Lucifer, I was confused by the look in his eyes, but now I think I know it- the desperate exhaustion of a weary traveler, the burden of a heart- it is all too familiar to me now.
The three of us all understood something, and perhaps others understood too, but were too afraid or too smart to act on it. Heaven is not perfect, Angels are flawed because all creatures are flawed, and perfection doesn't exist. We, however, were ingrained with the knowledge that perfection is attainable, that it exists- that it exists within us. We were fed with lies about who were supposed to be, what we were supposed to think, and when some of us realized that we could not be that idealized figure... we broke. Some angels pushed the thought away, denied it, but others, like me, like Anna and Gabriel, refused to hid it. In the end, it destroyed all of us. Sometimes, the weight of our wings is too much to bear.
Those months after Sam jumped in to the pit, dragging Lucifer down with him, were the worst. I wanted desperately to come back to earth, to comfort Dean and surround him and never leave his side, but at the same time I knew that was not right for him. Without me, he had the chance to live a normal life- wife, kid, white picket fence- the whole deal. He had the chance to be happy. I would have to be content to watch over him, from afar, as I had done for so many centuries before him. It was somehow more difficult this time, to watch on the sidelines, where he could not see or hear me. I ached for him to look at me, glance my way, anything, even though the logical part of me knew it was not possible, and it was my own doing. It was for his own good, I reasoned, and he was happier for it. Besides, I had work in heaven, the state of which was utter chaos after all the turmoil I had caused, and I felt that the only right thing to do was to fix it. I comforted myself with saying that I was doing the right thing, being good. I could not have been more wrong. I grew more and more distant, arrogant and over confident in myself, to the point where I could no longer understand why Dean would not be enamored by me, would not bow down in awe at what I had become. I had forgotten the most basic lessons he had taught me, twisted the very values that caused me to fall in love with him. I abandoned him, betrayed him, and for that I will never forgive myself.
For all my failings and short comings, Dean's faith in me seemed to grow stronger as the years passed. I cannot express the regret that I have for how much I have pained him, in my recklessness and my blindness. He was the only person to ever hold unwavering faith in me, and time after time I let him down, I tore down that trust and burned it... yet when I resurfaced, he was there, holding out the ashes. I never understood humanity's glorification of angels, and there in front of me stood the proof of that confusion- the real angel was never me, it was Dean, always Dean.
For all the pain that both Dean and I have endured, there are some events that have left me with greater joy than I have ever felt. The den of inequity was, frankly, terrifying. I do not understand Dean's need to bring me there, when I was content to spend the time with him alone. However, it was worth the confusion and the discomfort to see him laugh as hard as he did.
The time he came to visit me was more bittersweet, but all the same I was glad for it. Being human was an entirely new experience, confusing and chaotic compared the placid curtain drawn over angel's emotions. I was still hurting from Dean's abrupt announcement that I could not remain with him and Sam, something made a thousand times worse by the suddenly vibrant human emotions within me. I felt a mixture of confusion, frustration, and joy as he stood in front of the counter, smirking down at me, a kind of softness in his eyes. I am glad now to be able to categorize the feelings- at the time, it was mostly a tangled mess. It was discerning to lack the ability to read his emotions immediately, as I had been able to do as an angel, but comforting to realize that I could read his face nearly as well. Neither of us wanted him to leave, but at the time neither of us had much of a choice. I only thought that I had finally proved his "baby in a trenchcoat" theory correct, and was thrown out when they realized I would be too difficult to look after, so Dean's happiness in seeing me, and his regret in leaving, confused me. Of course, when the true reason was revealed, everything fell into place and I thought no more on the matter. Or at least I tried. It did not surprise me that he would choose his brother over the fallen angel, but at the same time, it saddened me to realize he thought he could not trust me with the truth.
Weeks later, Dean declared himself poison, leaving Sam and I on the bridge as he drove off, doing what he thought was right. Sam stood in pain and shock, and I... I felt nothing but sadness and remorse, to see him drive away. Oh, he thought he was doing the right thing, that he was protecting us, when in truth, all I wished was for him to stay!
I have strayed from my point though, the reason I had to share this story, because when the world falls and my elder brothers rise again to resume their eternal argument (because as much as I have come to believe in how free will can change events, of how powerful one man can be, the life of the Winchesters is not a lucky one, and in the end fate will take its course, and we will be powerless) I will stand beside Dean. As my brothers and sisters flee to safety and the earth crumbles in Lucifer's grasp, as my Father's dearest creations are destroyed by the sons he used to love most, I will stand beside Dean. This I know, more surely than I have ever known anything. I have done so much in the righteous man's name, what is one more favor compared to the rest? I do not know where we shall go, for my home in the sky will be empty and hell will have overflowed. You have to understand why I would not return home. Much in the same way Dean would not remain on earth without his brother... I do not think I can bear the echoing chambers of heaven. Without Dean, though, I would be lost. I was lost long before I met Dean, confused and wandering, without a clue of why I felt this struggling, strangled wanting within me. He has helped me discover purpose, and through him, I pray I will find peace.
I am tired. There are others who have lived far longer than me, and those who have lived far shorter, but I am too tired to ponder the matter much. That is why I must tell this story to someone- it is such a small thing, and my words are inadequate to describe it, but I have to hope that someday, someone will find this, and someday they will find my brothers and sisters, and they will explain this to them as I never could. I have to hope that someday they will understand why I had to stay, that they will understand that to me, anything that ever was and ever will be beautiful lies within Dean Winchester. They will understand all that and more and maybe, just maybe, someday, when this epic is over, the tragedy lost and the heroes receded, I will be forgiven.