Title; You Shall Be Blessed.
Author; Tarklovishki
Rating; M
Warnings; Mentions of past murder and torture. Drug and alcohol addiction. Major character death (before prologue begins).
Spoilers; Season five's "The End."
Summary; When the war against Croatoan is won, Castiel is the only survivor. There he is confronted by God, who sees fit to give him a second chance. From there, he and Dean must figure out how to survive in a world no longer plagued with death, and learn how to live with each other.
Authors Notes; Updates should come every week. This prologue is a little rushed, but there was no other way I could have written it, and somehow it just feels right. Enjoy!
You Shall Be Blessed
Prologue
Castiel lay on his back, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, numb. He couldn't remember how to move his body. All around him lay the dead from the battle, corpses strewn around in various positions. Castiel was the only survivor. Dean's body lay among them.
He didn't know what to think or what to feel. This feeling inside of him, this emptiness, was different from when he'd been an angel. It was difficult for him to describe, not that he could have even if he wanted to.
Lucifer had been killed, but in doing so he'd taken everything Castiel knew. Everything Castiel loved.
Dean included.
How does someone recover from that? Castiel had no clue. When they were struggling to survive, trying to rid the world of the Croatoan virus, at least he had Dean. Now, he didn't even have that.
People who hadn't been fighting in this war, people who had been under the effect of the Croatoan virus would no doubt be waking up, back to their normal human selves. Well good for them. They could find a way to deal with the fact that they've been murdering their way through U.S.A. Humans were nothing if not crafty in their coping mechanisms.
But Castiel had not been born a human. He had not been raised a human. He had been an angel who had existed knowing that there were casualties in war … He'd never had a reason to mourn until now. Castiel figured he should find Dean's body and burn it before it rotted, yet he could not pick himself up off the ground. His brain sent signals to his body and they were ignored, because for all intents and purposes, his body was dead too.
"Castiel."
Castiel knew that voice. It came from somewhere over his head. Numbly, he arched his neck back, ignoring the screaming protest of his muscles.
"Chuck?" he asked, his hoarse voice barely making any sound at all, for his throat was very dry and a lump had formed in the middle of it. "Chuck, you survived?"
"I'm not Chuck, Castiel." Chuck knelt down next to Castiel. Sadness leaked out of every pore, through every cut to his cheek, through all the grime and blood that caked his face and clothes.
"What are you … talking about?"
"I wish it hadn't happened like this, Castiel," said Chuck, or not-Chuck. There was something different about him. He was not stuttering his words, not nervous. "But some things are just set in stone. You can't change them, no matter what path you take."
"If you're not Chuck, then … who are you?"
Not-Chuck's lips curved into a world-weary smile. "I think deep down, you already know the answer to that. You just don't want to accept it."
Castiel let those words play around in his mind for a minute. Then he gasped in a breath that seared his chest. He tried to push himself up but he couldn't.
"... God?" he asked, scared to believe it true.
Chuck—God—nodded. "Yes, Castiel."
"You've—you've been here the entire time?"
"I couldn't interfere with fate, but yes, I was here. Watching out for you."
"What about Dean? You weren't watching out for him; he's dead."
"It had to happen."
Castiel licked his dry, cracked lips. Tears were pooling into his eyes. "Why didn't you give us a sign that you were here? Why did you let this happen to us?" he asked. "If you truly loved us—the angels, humanity—you wouldn't have let us fall this far. Wouldn't have let Dean fall this far."
"You've been through a lot, my child," said God. He drew his fingers down the grime of Castiel's cheek. "You're not listening to what I'm saying, for you are grief-stricken, and that's understandable. You know how fragile and fluid time is; if I had stepped in and stopped everything, I would have ruined the balance. Chaos would ensue. All these centuries have been leading to this. But what happens after this can be changed."
"What are you going to do to the angels?" Castiel asked.
"Nothing they didn't have coming already," said God. "Despite all this being 'meant to be' they still made some poor decisions. I think it's about time they went to sit in the naughty corner, don't you?"
"... What about Dean?"
"I think Fate won't mind if I … return him to where he belongs," said God, pinching his chin between index finger and thumb, humming thoughtfully. "Just don't lose him this time."
"Sam, too?"
"No. After what Sam has been through, I think it's time he took his place in Heaven and rested for eternity, don't you?" God said. "And when it comes time for you and Dean to leave this world, you can both join him … as humans."
God rested his hand against Castiel's chest, fixing broken bones, sewing up torn flesh … mending Castiel back together.
"Don't waste this gift I've given you," said God, standing up.
Castiel grunted as he, too, got to his feet unsteadily. "I won't."
With a smile, God vanished. Immediately, Dean was in his place.
For a second, Castiel was dumbstruck. His heart started hammering in his throat as he watched Dean stammer and stumble, dazed and confused, trying to figure out what had happened.
"Cas?" he finally asked. "Cas, is that you? Is this Heaven?"
A wet sob burst free of Castiel. He launched himself forward, throwing his arms around Dean's neck.
"No, Dean," he said, laughing into Dean's shoulder. "This isn't Heaven."
But for now, it was close enough.
To Be Continued. . .
