Thanks for the reviews! Sorry for any errors in this one - posting quickly!
Does anybody have Ben Edlund's number? Because I would sincerely like to pitch a Ghosts of Angel's Past episode if only to get Balthazar and Gabriel in the same room...
Chapter Twenty Five
Heaven is like a Military School. But, without the inspired camaraderie.
Everyone is crew-cut the same, so to speak. There is pressure, unimaginable pressure, from superiors and from each other. From a father none of them have ever seen. Pressure to stay in line, to be somehow simultaneously both the same, and the best of each other. It always baffled Castiel how he could be expected to both stand out as the best of his brethren, and to not stand out from them at all. To be identical. He has never felt identical. He's blended in, gone unnoticed. But he has never been comfortable. He has had a millennium of bone-deep feeling of purpose, but still... he never felt the same as the others. And it always disconcerted him, pushed him to do better, be a better soldier, be a better son.
That was back when his concerns were small, relatively.
Back before Dean Winchester. The Michael sword - just a vessel he was meant to keep in tact. A job.
How easy everything was, before him. Castiel believed then. He was good. He was one of the many, serving the great purpose and toiling for the common effort.
But the righteous man was more than a vessel. He was challenging - so human and alive. And he has changed Castiel, he'd hoped for the better - but look what he's done...
And now he sees his brothers and sisters, rank and file, following the call and so much like he had...
and he hates them.
His gut (a thing he never would have even felt let alone consulted before) tells him to wake them up, to spoil for them the sugary lie of Heaven's infallibility. He looks at them, knowing their thousands, but seeing strangers. He knows them like one knows the alphabet. A fact. They are not people he knows in the way that he knows Sam and Dean and how he knew Bobby Singer. He's never known his brethren like that. They've been intentionally kept from knowing themselves.
He had hoped to return to Heaven, to pay for his transgressions and disappear into their ranks. But as he looks at them, suddenly he feels how alone he is. An Angel mortalized, then mutated, then vaguely mortalized again, only to be fractured irreparably and then somehow returned to his original state.
There are none like him. He knows it. They know it.
He assumed they would meet him, as they would have before the apocalypse, with force and numbers, retribution and shame, and reintegrate him. It would be violent and painful and expected and Castiel would secretly thank them for any brainwashing he received that managed to scrub down all he feels for the human world until it was dull enough to bury under reprogramming.
But that doesn't happen.
He stands. In the middle of Heaven, and no one comes for him. No one comes near. Some dare to look, fleetingly, as they pass by. There are celestial whispers, but no action. They are afraid, unsure. They know he is no longer invincible (if he ever was) but still, they give him space. And Castiel doesn't know what to feel.
He sees Naomi in the distance, and he knows if anyone will see him punished, it is her. His betrayal struck her too deeply for her militant constitution to allow it to pass. He doesn't go to her. He just... stands. And waits.
He isn't fighting anymore.
...
Castiel thinks perhaps this is his punishment - the lack of. The waiting for someone to strike him, and being suspended in that waiting, for the blow that never comes. Maybe, he thinks sadly, the harshest punishment of all, is disinterest. The why bother. The thought that maybe, Heaven has given up on him and no one even cares enough to tell him that he was wrong and bad and how dare he.
He's had a lot of time to stand here and think, and he knows now that his were the actions of a livid teenager - thinking he was smarter than he was, seeing what he could get away with, waiting for somebody to please God tell him No. Waiting, for somebody to care enough to tell him No.
But the only one who dared to say it was...
No. He closes his eyes. He doesn't think of him. His hands ball into fists and he chokes down any thought of him, and it feels so noisy in his brain as he tries to count the leaves of an oak in Massachusetts he remembers to drive away the lingering need to think of Dean's skin, of the way his knuckles have healed over, rough and imperfect, since his over-use of their strength in Purgatory...
Three hundred fifty five -
Rough scabs, blackened with old blood and soil, Castiel had kissed as a gesture of understanding...
Three hundred fifty six -
Rough against his lips, as he can feel Dean's hand unclench under his touch...
Three hundred fifty seven, three hundred fifty eight, three hundred fifty nine -
"It's been a long time brother," a young voice says, pulling Castiel from the riot in his mind - the voice is soft, almost so as not to frighten Castiel away. And Castiel appreciates the sentiment, especially considering that he had expected to be met with harsh punishment and hate. He half-wondered if his brothers and sisters would run screaming from him. The murderer.
He turns and sees before him the visage of his younger brother, Samandriel. His vessel suits him. Sweet and young and hopeful-looking. Samandriel smiles at him, and it is small and honest, if a little sad.
"Hello Samandriel," Castiel greets. It is a poor attempt at evenness.
"You have returned, at last," the younger angel almost looks relieved. "I have been wanting to see you. Wondering how you were since I felt you'd returned."
"Yes. I..." Castiel's head ducks in sudden guilt. He'd have killed this sweet brother too, if he'd been in his way. "I..." Castiel straightens up, puts on a brave face, his soldier-face, "I've returned to pay penance for what I've done."
Samandriel cocks his head at Castiel, "Have you not suffered the last year in Purgatory?"
Castiel's throat tightens. He blinks at his brother, but can't respond. All he can think of is how good that place felt, how free, how not alone... how beautiful Dean was speckled with dirt and blood and sweat. And how wrong it is to feel so.
"Oh..." Samandriel says suddenly, his mouth hanging somewhat open as he looks at Castiel very closely.
Castiel feels himself blush, and he has the urge to flee but he holds himself steady.
"I see," Samandriel says sadly, nodding, and Castiel is shocked by the lack of judgement in his voice. There is an almost tired acceptance to it. And then he straightens up and looks Castiel in the eye, "Castiel, may I speak freely?"
"Of- of course..."
Samandriel takes a breath, seemingly organizing his thoughts. "God has made us of the same matter. All of us, we're woven from the same cloth and thus, much the same in thought and practice. We're designed that way," he says with a shrug. He squints at Castiel, tilting his head to the side and looking at him closely, "But you..."
Castiel's ducks his head in shame, not able to look his brother in the eyes when he says out loud everything Castiel knows to be true - he is weaker, he is more selfish, less dedicated. Castiel is wicked, different from the rest of his lustless, humbly dedicated brethren.
But Samandriel instead does something Castiel does not expect. He reaches forward, and tilts Castiel's head up by his chin.
"You are different, Castiel," he says it with a smile, like it is good.
Castiel can do nothing but stare at him, captivated, his eyes starting to prickle hotly, years of emotion he shouldn't even have bubbling up like a vice on his lungs.
Samandriel smiles at him warmly, if a little sadly. "Despite your... mistakes, your heart was always in the right place." He looks at Castiel as though thousands of years worth of thought and memory surge up, and he is saddened by their weight. "Too much heart has always been your problem brother."
Castiel closes his eyes. He feels hot tears roll down his face and it is so foreign. But he has no control over it anymore. "I can't..." he stutters weakly, "I don't know what I am supposed to do anymore."
Samadriel gives a short laugh, "If there was ever an angel who was destined to choose his own path Castiel, it is you," he says as if it should be obvious. Then he sighs heavily and turns to stand shoulder to shoulder with Castiel, leaving his older brother his dignity as he wipes his face hurriedly, and they both look out at the legions of their brethren bustling around them.
"You tried to tell us," Samandriel muses quietly. "About freedom. About choosing for ourselves. But... we are not like you Castiel. We ...can't. Well, most of us," Samandriel smirks. And Castiel gives a small smile in return, because Samandriel is an individual, one of a kind in his own way. "Perhaps, this was your chosen destiny all along," he suggests lightly. "God has chosen for you to follow this path, instead of ours?" he wonders.
Castiel longs for his kind of love for their father, love that he himself used to have. Faith that somehow, it is all still part of his plan. Samandriel at least can admit that he has no fucking idea what his plans are. That, Castiel respects very much.
"Maybe you were always meant to be different," the younger angel supposes. "To be... more of Earth, than of Heaven. A different mission..."
Castiel looks down suddenly, in what seems to Samandriel to be great agony.
"Would that not make you happy?" the younger brother asks, confused.
"How can I be what I am... a traitor, a murderer of my own kin, selfish, egotistical and self-indulgent and cruel, and be allowed ..."
He doesn't have to say happiness. His brother knows how happy he is with Dean and how guilty he feels for it. And Samandriel looks back out across the scores of brothers who will never have such concerns, and he says nothing. Because he doesn't know what to say.
Castiel never was a talker. Frankly, Samandriel is surprised he got this much out of him. He was always stoic. Always empirical, but fair. Honest and faithful. He's fallen a far way. And it is sad to Samandriel, who has always looked up to Castiel, the brother blessed with such fierce goodness, who went utterly unnoticed.
"You are a good angel Castiel," he says simply.
Castiel stares at him, shocked.
"You have committed... crimes," Samandriel continues, "But God does not hate you."
He says it as though he knows it to be true, and Castiel listens, begging to be convinced.
"He loves you, somehow, the way he loves them. With forgiveness for you weaknesses. It is a rare thing."
Castiel swallows thickly.
"When you finally see that this is no longer the place where your time is best spent, please don't forget to say goodbye."
Castiel turns, shocked, but his brother is already moving away from him.
...
There is a certain hard-wiring in the angelic brain that longs for structure and the strict enforcing of rules, and doesn't know what to do when those things are lacking. Obedience is bred into Castiel, and with the amount he has disobeyed, he feels hopelessly lost. Even knowing his betrayal of Michael and Lucifer's plan for Apocalypse was right, he still suffered an utterly lost feeling.
It was right to disobey then. But it was a gateway to the spiral that's lead him here - a stranger in his own home, a murderer of his own kind, a freak no better than his brother cast down into Hell. Terrifying and wicked and looked at by his siblings, who he'd once so longed to protect and gain acceptance from, as something to be feared and to remain at a distance from.
They accept him back into their ranks as one accepts that the lover of their spouse, whom they blame for breaking up their family, is an unfortunate existence - with pain and bitterness and the wish that he would disappear. But for the good of the family, they let him in.
Despite the sickening anxiety of returning home utterly full of shame, Castiel feels the hot poker in his brain recede, and the ache in his Grace dull significantly. But, relief from his pains does not cure him of his obsession with Dean and it doesn't convince him he should be here. He tries to ignore that in favor of the hope that Heaven cures all with time and penance.
Things on earth are... messy. Difficult. Complicated. Painful. Castiel had hoped that coming back to Heaven might silence all of those oh so human feelings he has been having and restore him to his former solidarity.
A miracle cure is what he is looking for. But for all his expectations, and the slight dulling of his pain, Heaven is offering him no peace of mind - no quelling of the doubt that he has, once again, made the wrong choice. And Samandriel's words echo in his brain. Castiel is still so tired. Still complicated. Still full of feeling. And still irrevocably connected to Dean. He wonders what his brethren think about in their quiet moments, as all of his are full of memories of the Winchesters. He tries to remember what he used to think about before he knew them... but he simply can't.
And suddenly, looking out across the legions of Heaven, Castiel has an epiphany.
He will never forget Dean.
He will never be able to cover him up, to stop feeling for him. It should have been obvious perhaps. It is now.
He is never going to be a normal angel again.
The thought is terrifying.
He is never going to be like them. None of them knows the feeling of Dean's soul, reaching out for him in Hell, clutching to him so desperately, begging not to be left, begging to be saved. None of them knows what it feels like to save someone. To be saved in return. None of them knows the curve of his lips into a simple smile like Castiel does, and the joy that soars inside at the sight. None of them knows how it feels to hold and take and give and be absolutely certain that it is real, that it feels right.
They may have touched, kissed, given and gotten, even healed a man of earth... But none of them has felt the things that Castiel has, as intimately or as honestly. Castiel is drowning in the knowledge - he isn't like them anymore.
Because he knows every prayer in every language, but he doesn't know them with the fervor with which he knows that Dean's eyes are green - but they're not just green. They're full of little flecks of colors and refractions of light. So much of Castiel's waking mind has been used to record these little nuances, details of Dean.
Samandriel comes to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. "Your mind is elsewhere," he comments lightly, and Castiel nearly blushes. He does not respond. He simply straightens up and aims his piercing blue eyes forward, looking far away.
Samandriel nods, knowing that Castiel will not mince words. He won't chat for the sake of it. He is glad to see Castiel's old attitude and strength returning to him. A proud stance, a solid look about him. Finally, the brother he recognizes.
But Samandriel knows better than to trust it. Castiel the Angel of the Lord has returned, but Cas, is still here as well.
Samandriel stares forward, "You are thinking about him," he states carefully.
Castiel levels a dangerous glare at him.
Samandriel laughs, he can't help it, "Relax, brother."
Castiel turns forward again. Visibly stiffened.
"How are you finding things in Heaven?" Samandriel asks, business-like.
"Organized," Castiel returns flatly.
Samandriel smirks again, before walking away, and Castiel finds it to be very frustrating. If there is one thing he's learned from his time on earth, it is the look of a smirk that says, I know something that you haven't figured out yet.
...
Castiel waits and waits for one of his brothers to snap, for someone to exact revenge upon him...
But it doesn't happen. And it is infuriating to him. And that too, seems to be beyond his brothers' comprehension. Which only serves to flummox Castiel further, vexing him until he finds himself wanting to throw up his arms in a very human expression of frustration.
His brothers only glance at him sideways, vaguely disapproving.
They don't want anything from him - retribution, penance, allegiance. They don't know how to want.
The thought is so foreign to Castiel now. Impossible to understand... He's kissed human lips and desired for everything from friendship and acceptance to sensual touch. He has wanted, with every fiber of his being - for another's safety, for his happiness, his well-being. Wanted that more than anything at some moments.
But none of his brethren, none of them, can understand that. Castiel's experiences, his feelings, Dean's life, it all means nothing to them. Another drop in the bucket. And that feels so wrong...
Suddenly, Castiel doesn't give a single fuck about Heaven and what he owes it.
He feels something for Dean that runs deeper, feels realer, than anything he has ever felt for the Host. It hurts to realize it, but it's true.
Dean is life - he is emotion and action and spark. He is beauty and love and imperfection and all of the things that Castiel has always cherished about his Father's children embodied. Castiel is hopeless in his love for him. Twisted though it may be.
Looking out over these emotionless, loveless creatures he has always felt he owed so much to, he suddenly realizes,
he doesn't give a good goddamn what any of them thinks. He's no better than them, sure. But he's no worse.
...
With the abundance of structure in Heaven these days there are a multitude of meetings for the most pious and strong to decide things which Castiel doesn't bother to imagine. He blows into one of said meetings without a care for propriety or the stunned expressions on their faces. In secret, there is a part of him that enjoys the way their mouths hang open at the sight of him, how his mere presence and lack of pomp and circumstance seems to throw them completely off their game. The gall of the angel who tried to play God...
He heads directly to Samandriel, whose body language is relaxed and open at the sight of him. Castiel is glad to know him.
"Castiel," the younger angel greets happily, though he seems surprised to see him here.
Castiel stands solidly before him, looking clearer and stronger than ever, and states, "I'm here to say goodbye."
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