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Opheliac Angel Chapter Three

God had been quite clear about who was important, but He'd been rather vague regarding the end game, and He'd also been pretty high-level in terms of mapping out the individual steps that He'd expected of Castiel. Cas was a good foot soldier and following orders was what he was good at, and although under the previous regime he'd rebelled as a matter of conscience, you'd only had to look at him during that period to realize that the pressure of the big decisions didn't sit well on his shoulders.

However, such thoughts were forgotten following his triumphant return to heaven, the vast majority of the angelic host had welcomed Castiel with open wings, now more than willing to accept him as the new leader of the Kingdom, subject to God's return of course. Castiel's name was now legend, and the celestial paradise rang to the triumphant roar of Heaven's throng. They were more than relieved to be spared a thousand years of bloody war on earth against the hordes of Hell and so sang his praises that were both loud and jubilant.

"Castiel, the defender of humanity, favored of God, raiser of the righteous man, nemesis of Lucifer and thwarter of the Apocalypse," the Metatron had bellowed as Castiel walked, blushing furiously, into the throne room.

Raphael, who had appeared to be getting quite comfortable on said throne, had been significantly less welcoming.

There had been whispers about the fate of the prophet who had disappeared during Raphael's watch. The archangel had claimed that Chuck had ascended, but there was no record of his arrival in heaven, and angels were nothing if not meticulous in their record keeping, leading many to suspect foul play.

"Ah, little Castiel. Have you tired of playing in the dirt with your monkeys?" mocked the elder angel.

Castiel had bristled at the tone, "I think you'll find that those 'monkeys' as you call them, are actually the favored of our father, and the only reason he still tolerates our presence."

Raphael sighed in faux-boredom, "If you say so, fledgling. Since God obviously can't be bothered to speak to us directly, despite millennia of obedient behavior, it would make sense that we should follow your whim on what you guess the father you've never actually met might want us do next," he said, the sarcasm dripping like venom from his tongue.

Castiel was stunned by the sheer vitriol in the voice of the venerated archangel. He stood there numb, feeling as if he had been cast adrift at sea.

Raphael laughed at Castiel's expression, "Oh, I've hit a nerve! Poor befuddled, confused, Castiel, don't you realize that we've moved on, that we're now far from the simple instruments that our father created? We will no longer serve the wishes of an absentee parent, we have our own grand design. Namely the total annihilation of the human vermin that crawl across the surface of the earth, destroying and polluting everything in their wake. Mark my words Castiel, humanity's days are numbered."

With the sound of beating wings Raphael was gone and, thanks to his poisonous words, so too was the support of Castiel from most of the throng of elder angels.

And so the civil war in heaven began.

~#~

Castiel felt overwhelmed with the demands placed on him by the Heavenly Host for guidance against the incursions from Raphael's rebels. He felt as if he was barely keeping his head above water, but with the stakes so high and with being humanity's only defense from obliteration he felt like he had little choice, but to try to carry on.

Finally he could take it no longer and returned to earth as gazing at the magnificence of Dean's soul had always brought him a most profound sense of peace. What he discovered instead was of no comfort; a broken man, with shattered dreams, going through the empty, repetitive motions of an unfulfilling sham of a life that brought no real measure of happiness.

Castiel yearned to make himself known to his hunter, but he knew that to do so would be just the most callow selfishness on his part. With the current instability of his position in heaven he would only be placing Dean, and Dean's new family, in a most vulnerable position at a time when the young man still needed plenty of time and rest to fully recover from mental wounds that were beyond even Castiel's considerable powers to heal.

As he watched them, Castiel could see that although Lisa and Dean had a great affection for one another, and despite the fact that their occasional physical relationship brought them some solace, they did not truly share a passionate love.

Lisa certainly seemed to be under no illusions as to the nature of their relationship; she made no great demands on Dean, and simply appeared to enjoy the time they had together, for however long that might be.

Both Lisa and Castiel could see the rapport that Dean has soon developed with Lisa's son. Ben, with his wide-eyed adoration, was almost instantly adopted as a surrogate younger brother, as the now ex-hunter quickly settled into the familiar role of older brother that he'd played so well for the majority of his life. But Castiel sensed that in some strange way this almost seemed to make things worse, as almost everything Ben did or said seemed to remind Dean of some aspect of his previous life with Sam. And so each new moment of happiness carried its own corresponding payload of pain.

There was still a solid ball of grief at the core of Dean's soul that didn't seem to be able to heal itself, and even Castiel with his limited understanding of human emotion could see that Dean was hurting and so obviously just going through the motions.

Night after night Cas stood by, invisible to all, watching as Dean padded round and round the perimeter of the home like a caged tiger, checking and double checking the security, before climbing into bed to lie awake staring up at the ceiling, while Lisa slept turned away from him.

The more Castiel watched the more disillusioned he felt. It was clear that Dean needed help, he needed a friend, and as much as Castiel pined to be that friend, Dean would only feel compelled to try to help with Cas' own problems.

Dean's life was adequate and the events in Heaven should no longer be his concern, it was all beyond his power anyway, and would only put him into further danger. Castiel knew without doubt that he wouldn't be able to cope with Dean's death on his conscience and could only hope that in the end, when Dean looked back on his life he would see that it had been for the best.

The solution was obvious. Knowing how much the brothers were a part of one another, Castiel decided to use a significant portion of his remaining power to retrieve Sam from Lucifer's cage. He was less than impressed with the end result, as the resurrected younger Winchester no longer seemed to care about the wellbeing of his older brother.

While they have never exactly seen eye-to-eye before, Sam had at least always seemed to respect Castiel's position as an angel of the Lord, but no longer; nor did he seem to appreciate the difficulties of Castiel's new position as defender of Heaven. Castiel tried one last time to impress upon Sam the seriousness of the current situation.

"The angels were created by God to be His servants. They have rebelled; they feel they have 'evolved'. There are many of them and they have a plan," explained Cas.

"Hmm, sounds vaguely familiar, isn't that a plot to some old TV show remake?" laughed Sam, walking away from Lisa Braeden's house, totally disinterested in either battling a war in heaven, or fixing a weak and useless older brother.

~#~

"Well, that didn't turn out very well, did it feathers?" smirked Crowley, stepping part out of the shadows, but still keeping what he considered a safe distance away from the angel. He would have been shocked if he had discovered just how much he had seriously underestimated his safety zone.

Castiel just glared at him, and started to walk away.

"I've had my people watching you since you've been back, you're different. Whoever it was did the Lazarus job on you certainly reinforced the ol'vessel, didn't they? Hear you're quite the Boy Wonder these days. Impressive, but you're still not quite Trenchcoat Crusader enough to stop them bringing the apocalypse back online though, are you?" Crowley called after him.

Castiel paused, "What do you want, demon?" he growled, now more than ready to smite the self-proclaimed King of the Crossroad.

"Souls, mate. Lots and lots of luv-er-ly souls. Without them everything you've worked for - everything that Dean's worked for - gone. You can save us, Cas. You're special, you know it - God chose you to save us. Let me, help you, help us all," explained Crowley using all his powers of persuasion.

"How?" asked Castiel curious, despite himself.

"Purgatory. Chock-a-block full of every clawed, fanged, and differently-winged soul that's ever died. They're not destined to go up to Daddy, or down to the devil, so who's gonna miss them?"

Castiel shook his head, "You'd have to find it first," he said dismissing the idea as nonsense.

"Oh, don't worry about the details, Guv. I thought we'd leave that to your Best Boy, he's a dab hand at six impossible things before breakfast," Crowley chuckled.

"No! Not Dean, he's… retired, and he's to stay that way," cried Castiel, angry at the thought of the demon causing the hunter any more pain.

"Okay, okay! How about the moose, and his ol'Gramps?" he said, quick to placate the angel.

Castiel nodded, but then narrowed his eyes at the demon in suspicion, "And what exactly is your price in all of this?"

"Just half," sniffed Crowley as if it was no big thing.

"Okay," agreed Castiel after a moment.

"Oh no, sweetie. That's not how one makes a deal," smirked Crowley, putting on a grand show of licking his lips.

~#~