"I'm no leader, Hannah. I never was." Castiel averted his gaze, his heart burning in his chest. Pain and grief beyond anything he'd ever experienced set his stolen grace aflame, making it difficult to breathe. "I just wanna be an Angel."
Heaven's prison door slammed shut behind him as he made his way into the open air, every step heavier than the last. What's the point? He thought miserably. Metatron was right. I failed. Failed in the only way that mattered. The sky's warm light burned his eyes, the gentle breeze too hot and humid. Heaven, once splendidly beautiful and glittering with possibility and love, was now empty, useless, devoid of pleasure for Castiel. What's the point of paradise if I'm alone?
Without wings to carry him, it took Cas hours to leave the angelic center of heaven and find his way to the intricate labyrinth of individual heavens where human souls resided. Standing on the edge of a cliff—or at least that was how it seemed to him—he stared down at heaven's gates far below, at the hundreds of souls fighting to break through the veil. Leaping down toward the gates, Cas found the lock—which manifested physically under his gentle touch—and twisted it open. The enormous doorway swung open effortlessly, the souls rushing in with a sound like a dam breaking onto ragged rocks. A tidal wave of pain, fear, and joy surrounded the lost light-forms, like a tangible aura woven of thousands of human thoughts and emotions. Cas could only stand back and watch from afar as they slowly melted away into the matrix of heaven, each finding their place among the stars after nearly a year of imprisonment between death and life.
"Dean," Cas murmured, tilting his head as he regained his high perch and let his gaze flicker over the new arrivals. Thousands of humans had come through the gates, so at first he figured he just hadn't seen him, but after a few minutes of intense scrutiny it began to become apparent that the hunter wasn't there.
"Castiel?" a soft feminine voice spoke behind him, and he turned to see Hannah watching him with confusion and pity in her bright eyes. "The angels need you to come back. So far no fights have broken out between the previous factions, but it's still possible for everything to fall apart. I know you don't believe yourself to be capable of leading us, but you may be the only one who can. You were born different, Cas. A rebel. And right now that's exactly the kind of guiding light we need to get heaven back to normal."
Cas bowed his head, clenching his fists. "Hannah…"
"I know," she cut over him, her gaze taking on a steely glint. "I know that you've lost someone. We all have. During the fall, during our time on earth. But you can't let loses ruin you, Castiel. You have to keep fighting, even when…"
"When I've failed?" Cas felt anger fill the void in his heart, causing his whole body to tremble with emotion. Tears threatened to fall, burning his eyes and constricting his throat. "All I ever do is fail, Hannah. Fail God, fail heaven, fail myself… but most of all, I fail Dean. Metatron saw it, knew what it would do to me if he died. The other angels heard what he said. I failed Dean Winchester for the last time, and I can't live with that."
Hannah stared at him, obviously perplexed, her mouth hanging open like a gutted fish's. "Castiel, I…"
"I was supposed to protect him," Cas snarled, turning away and staring down at the milling souls far below. "I gave everything to save him. Everything."
Hannah's hand fell on his shoulder, and he fought the urge to shrug it off. "Is he here?" she whispered.
Cas shook his head, biting his lip against the fresh wave of agony threatening to overtake him. If he's not here, then either…
"Maybe he's alive," Hannah suggested, voicing the infinitely more preferable option. "Or…"
"Don't," Cas snarled, digging his fingernails into his palms to distract from the dull ache in his chest. "He's a good man. The Righteous Man. If he died, he would come here." Wouldn't he?
Hannah sighed, the sound soft and resigned. "So you're not coming back?"
"Not until I find him," Cas shook his head. "I'm sorry, Hannah, but the angels deserve someone stronger than me. Someone brave, powerful, and devoted to heaven. A true leader."
When he turned to face her, there was a tiny smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. "Castiel, you're the strongest among us, both in heart and spirit," she tilted her head, contemplating. "The bravest and most devoted of God's children. But it's not heaven that you truly love, that you'd live and die for. I understand that now. For you, there's something greater still."
Cas watched in silence as she turned and walked away, wishing he could help his family and knowing he never would. He could only hope that his loyal second-in-command would find someone worthy of heaven's throne, someone to heal the wounds of civil war and begin a new era after the evil of Metatron's reign.
. . . . . .
Castiel prowled among the new souls like a cat through an aviary, sorting and organizing them in his mind by personality and appearance. Mostly it was obvious that they weren't the man he sought, but every once in a while he'd stop and stare, his heart rising in his throat and hope scorching his thoughts. It's not him, he'd tell himself firmly when the light shifted and the illusion of familiarity disappeared. He's not here. You'd know if he was. He didn't know how, but he was sure that if Dean was here, he would've sensed it. Even with his fading Grace, he would know.
By his third time around heaven's newest block, Castiel had stopped seeing Dean in everyone and was finally faced with the truth: Dean Winchester wasn't in heaven. But Metatron had killed him; Cas had seen the blood on his enemy's blade, had felt the smug honestly radiating from Metatron's cold and self-absorbed being as he announced his fatal crime. And if both those conclusions are true, then… Cas closed his eyes, shaking off the terrifying answer to the question he didn't want to ask.
As he turned away from the human-soul matrix with fear and grief burning in his heart, he did his best not to feel, to remain numb and cold. Like an angel should. But since when had he ever been a model Warrior of God? Ever since that faithful mission, ever since he'd laid a hand on Dean's soul in hell, he hadn't been the same. Emotions had clouded his once-pure mind and spirit, pulling him down into the eternal damnation that was both humanity's greatest strength and most terrifying weakness.
His stolen Grace throbbed painfully, sending jolts of icy numbness and cold fear rushing through his blood. Like a dark flame that was quickly fizzling out, it pulled at his consciousness, draining his power and dragging him ever closer to the dark void of nonexistence.
Where do angels go when they die? He wondered vaguely as red spots swam before his vision. Lifting his hand to his lips, he felt warm stickiness clinging to his fingertips. The taste of iron and salt burned his throat and tongue, trickling from the corner of his mouth. I'm dying, he thought, a stab of panic shooting through him. I'm running out of time.
If Dean wasn't in heaven, then there were only two options left. Either the hunter was alive and on earth, or… or he was in hell. And either way, Cas was determined to find him before the last of his Grace faded. Before it was too late.
I never told him, Cas cast a glance over his shoulder at the now-open gates between heaven and earth, sorrow and self-disgust rising with the blood in his throat. I have to find him. I have to tell him why I fell…
Even without his wings, Castiel was determined to rescue the Righteous Man no matter the cost. Because if there was one thing he had to do before he died, it was tell Dean Winchester that he, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, was desperately and irrevocably in love.
