9

Epilogue

Castiel stood on the edge of a park somewhere in the Midwest. The first hints of spring were declaring themselves timidly here. The grass pushed through the soil in pale green spears, spotted with clumps of darker leaves clumped together with heavy heads on them. One day soon, they would bloom into daffodils and blue bonnets, scattering dashes of blue and yellow across the quiet park lawn, adding more color around the brightly colored playground equipment atop their bed of wood chips. The slides and monkey bars already bore the weight and attention of children clattering up and down ladders and slides with the enthusiasm of the young when the cold of winter gave way to the promise of spring..

On simple wood benches, tolerant parents sat reading or chatting with each other as they watched their offspring go laughing and shouting past to the next amusement. It was a muted but constant chorus of comforting noise. Somewhere a toddler wailed unhappily, the angel's eyes tracked across the area and found him. A little boy, no more than three years old was sitting on the padding of wood chips around the playground structures, nursing his wounded ego from a fall but, Castiel could see the child was no worse for wear. No sooner had the child cried out than a young mother swooped in to rescue him, cooing and stroking the child's hair. The boy smiled and laughed at his mother who kissed him on top of the head, then smiled and laughed back. Just as quickly as he'd begun to cry, the child was off again, sprinting across the park's expanse to a merry go round, whatever had caused his upset instantly forgotten. The mother watched him go, pushing her light brown hair behind her ear as the breeze teased at it, beaming at her son.

Castiel watched and wondered at how oblivious they all were to what transpired in the dark corners of the world and what hid in the shadows just outside their perception, waiting for a chance to steal away their naïve peace. And yet, it heartened him a bit to watch his Father's beloved creations like this. Some of them tried, they really did, to be good people, to be what his Father had wanted them to be, even if they didn't believe in him. Unlike so many of his brothers and sisters, the angel couldn't see them as hairless apes, mud monkeys with no conscience that had usurped the angels' place as his Father's favorites. He loved them for all their flaws and faults…for their humanity. Just as his Father had wanted him to do.

If Erin Morgan had a penchant for high places when she wanted to think, Castiel was right the opposite. He preferred places like this, places where he could watch the innocent and unknowing creatures leading their normal lives and reflect. Erin wanted to remove herself from the rest of the world at times like this. He wanted to immerse himself in it, even if those he watched had no idea he was there.

The last time he'd checked in on the boys they had been heading toward Windom, Minnesota. They hadn't known he was there, he hadn't wanted them to. Dean was weighted down with the weight of the world, as he always was but it was worse now. Erin, the apocalypse, his destiny, all ate at him and only grew heavier with each passing day. The angel could see it in his every breath. The Winchesters were off on another of their jobs, one of those that they insisted on attending to despite the need to find Lilith or stop seals from breaking, to keep Lucifer from rising. They still found those jobs important in the scheme of things.

Castiel found himself admiring that about them. Before he hadn't, he'd only been able to see the immediate threat of the apocalypse. But now, he was starting to think differently. Anna had been right; feeling had only been the beginning and the angel was deeply troubled and confused. Watching his Father's favorites going about their lives gave him perspective but he no longer believed it was the perspective he once sought. Now he no longer saw a herd of instinct and emotion driven underlings that required the constant shepherding of Heaven to keep from destroying themselves. Now he was divided. He saw the innocence and joy but he also saw the destruction , the pain, the hopelessness. How many children that darted among the bars of the jungle gym wouldn't see their eighteenth birthdays? Of those that did how many would suffer so much in their lives they would wish they'd never been born? How many, that looked so innocent now, would become monsters one day or perpetrate crimes on their own kind? How many had had those same crimes already inflicted on them? How many of those smiling faces, parent and child, hid pain and grief so deep nothing could ever mend it? How many hid behind a façade of jovial congeniality while the world they knew crumbled around them and they could do nothing to stop it?

The pain so far outweighed the rest Castiel thought it might swallow him alive. Was this the world as the Winchesters and Erin saw it? Hopeless? Beyond saving? Once again, Castiel doubted. He doubted everything. Where was his Father in all this? Dean's words and Erin's ringing in his head. Shouldn't he be here saving his children? Shouldn't he be guiding the angels? Was Heaven's plan really for the greater good? Was there anything worth saving left of humanity except a sad few who themselves were so broken only the peace and forgiveness of paradise could begin to offer a relief from the dismal existence life offered them? Like Dean? Like Sam? Like Erin?

Then again, was that the wrong way to look at it? Was it the slim light that still shone so faintly among mankind what made all the pain, sacrifice and suffering worth it? This entire sequence of events with the Winchesters, with Erin Morgan had made the angel reassess everything he'd ever thought he believed in. They affected him in ways he found terrifying and yet, he had no regrets about it. He found himself, feeling—really feeling, for the first time in his very long life. He had grown attached to them despite his best attempts not to. He found himself questioning Heaven's plan for the boys, for Erin. So many questions—about everything, and not an answer anywhere.

All his questions had kept him from reporting in the weeks since he and the Winchesters had watched Erin drive away on that Florida highway. He'd checked in on Erin twice during that time. The last time, she'd been in the Seacouver International Airport, about to catch a flight out of the country for parts unknown in pursuit of Cassandra, the Immortal and prophet who had put into words, what her destiny was foretold to be. Erin had driven straight from Florida to Seacouver in five days, stopping only to sleep enough that she wouldn't fall asleep behind the wheel and then pressing on. She'd spent the time prior to her decision to go out of the country on her hunt trying to weasel, beg, and buy any information she could about Cassandra from Joe Dawson, the retired Watcher she had turned to about Christian, before he and the Winchesters had become entangled in the affair. She hadn't looked good. Oh the smile was there, the laid back, devil may care attitude, was cranked up to eleven but the depths of her eyes were more shadowed than they'd ever been.

Castiel would like to have known more, he wished he dared to read her thoughts, though he suspected they still lay with Dean and the Gathering, but he didn't dare. Whenever he'd come within enough distance that she could have sensed another Immortal, she would stop whatever she was doing and look around with a confused expression, as if she knew something was there and couldn't quite place it. So the angel had kept his distance. It would seem Erin's speculation that she could sense angels in much the same way she did other Immortals was proving to be true but it was rudimentary at best.

If time allowed he would continue his occasional check ins in the future. But, he knew it was unlikely time would be on his side. As it was, the two he'd already indulged in, and it was indulgence on his part and he knew it, had cost him valuable time he should have been using to report what had happened to his superiors but he couldn't do it. Not in as much turmoil as he was in. Yet it ate at him that he still didn't understand the real purpose to what had transpired. He needed to know, he wanted to. He needed to understand why Zachariah had lied to him.

Castiel stood, his back to the thin stand of evergreens behind him that served as a taste of 'wilderness' in this manicured and sculpted park. He let out a long sigh and shoved his hands into his trench coat pockets, his fingers playing over the hilt of the dagger he'd given Erin use of. The metal was cool against his skin.

"It figures I'd find you somewhere like this," said a chipper voice behind him. Castiel's spine stiffened and he turned, keeping his expression blank and emotionless.

"Hello Castiel, been busy I take it?" Zachariah asked, his mostly bald pate reflecting the sunlight like a dull glass dome. His perfectly pressed suit, creased and fitted neatly to his vessel's frame. Castiel started to open his mouth in a humble reply only to realize the question had been rhetorical.

"Too busy to make a report certainly. Because you wouldn't just forget about reporting on something you'd been assigned to would you?" the elder angel went on, his voice deceptively happy and cordial. Cass eyed him warily.

"Of course not."

"Hm, I didn't think so. After all, you're dependable, you follow orders, you get the job done. Isn't that right Castiel?"

Cass backed up a pace, putting distance between him and his superior. Zachariah moved forward to prevent him and Castiel knew without a doubt that this wasn't a social call. He'd been half expecting this to be honest. Dreading it in fact. You did not disobey an order without dire consequences. Heaven didn't look kindly on it.

"And yet, that vile little half breed is still alive. Now correct me if I'm wrong but I thought I instructed you to make sure she died."

Castiel's eyes turned hard and angry but he kept the flare of fury in check, barely.

"You did. And for a time she was dead but it would seem that our Father had other plans," he said choosing his words carefully. One wrong word could and would put him at Heaven's mercy. All Hell's torture, twice the righteousness.

"Really? And what proof do you have of that?" Zachariah questioned his expression still casual and deceivingly open, then it turned to stone and wrath. "You were supposed to kill her! Prophecy, destiny, fate. That's what we do Cass."

Castiel's head tilted in contemplation. He'd chosen his words because he'd thought God interceding to change the outcome in Erin's favor would be unquestionable proof that they had taken the wrong course of action. He knew Zachariah had lied to him, he knew the elder angel was up to something but to openly show anger that their Father had chosen another path for Erin came dangerously close to disobedience.

"You weren't entirely honest with me though. Were you? You neglected to mention there was a second half to the prophecy, you deliberately kept the knowledge that the Immortals have their own prophet, Cassandra, from me. If this was about fate and destiny then why didn't you tell me? But it wasn't was it?" Cass said, stepping forward, his frame rigid in anger.

Zachariah paused with an expression of arrogant superiority. "Are you accusing me of something? I'm your boss. You follow orders, you don't question why you were given them."

"And who's giving those orders Zachariah? God…or you? You can't buck prophecy remember? As it is written so shall it come to pass. You purposely tried to subvert prophecy. The Immortals aren't Weapons of Heaven, they're Weapons of God. Erin is fated to keep her kind from falling to the demons…from falling into Heaven's control. They belong to God, our Father, not you," Cass told him, openly accusing the other angel.

"Do they? I'm not the only one who tried to buck prophecy am I? So did you," Zachariah pointed out. Cass's mouth tightened and he studied the blades of grass at his feet briefly. That was true, all of them had tried to thwart prophecy in one way or another for different reasons.

"If they belong to God then why hasn't he stopped me? The nephilim, filthy half-breed abominations that they are, are only good for one thing. They're our secret weapon if we lose the big prize fight. They belong to Heaven and I will have control of them."

"You're dangerously close to blasphemy Zachariah," Cass said, his heartbeat thudding suddenly and forebodingly in his chest.

"Blasphemy Castiel? There is no blasphemy. Our Father has left us high and dry. We're running the show now," Zachariah said with a smirk. Cass felt his racing heart drop to his feet in horror.

"You don't get it do you? You're just a grunt on the ground. Did you really think you knew what was going on? You have no idea, it's way above your pay grade. You were sent to eliminate a problem and to learn a lesson, to teach the Winchesters a lesson and that's it."

Castiel's eyes were cold and hard with fury but beneath the anger was a violent undercurrent of fear. Horrible mind numbing fear and disbelief as his brain put two and two together and came up with the Atom bomb.

"You can't be—no," he breathed, shaking his head slowly.

"Give the boy a cookie! By George I think he's got it! The seals, Ahriman never knew about them. He was a means to an end, a way to teach Dean Winchester that he's under our control and if he won't do what we want willingly we'll make him do it. A way to rid us of the threat your pet nephilim poses to Heaven's control of her kind, among other things. Why do you think her and her 'brother's' situation so closely mirrored Sam and Dean? It's synergy, the same inevitable end they are going to face. You think Ahriman would have gotten out of the Devil's Gate if we hadn't wanted him out, that any of them would have gotten out? We don't want to save the seals Castiel. We never did. This has all been a very carefully plotted plan of action," Zachariah explained with vicious glee.

Cass gaped, wide-eyed, completely dumb founded.

"You might not have gotten the job done but we will find Erin and we will kill her. We will have the nephilim under our control. And the Winchesters? They're the key to the whole thing. Dean's our golden boy. He's the Michael Sword, Michael's vessel. Sam, he's Lucifer's vessel. The apocalypse will happen, it's destiny my friend."

One line of the prophecy took on a whole new meaning with those words. These three shall be the trinity of god, angel, and demon.

"You can't do this Zachariah. You'll destroy half the planet!" Cass exclaimed in horror and betrayal. "Humans are our Father's creations you can't just wipe them out. We can stop this."

"You still haven't learned your lesson have you?" Zachariah asked looking down his nose at Castiel. "Your sentimentality, your attachment, to those mud monkeys God calls his favorites, the nephilim abominations. None of them matter. We want paradise; we want it to be over and we will win at all costs. You serve Heaven not man, not nephilim. Heaven."

Cass's breath came in quick gasps of terror and revulsion. This couldn't be happening. This was wrong. It was Lucifer's fall all over again.

"Oh, I learned a lesson. It just wasn't the one you wanted to teach," he managed to growl. He had to tell Dean, he had to warn him.

"You listen to me," Zachariah threatened but Castiel disappeared into thin air as he spoke. Zachariah tensed and clenched his jaw in rage.

"Castiel!" he roared at the empty air.

And so began the beginning of the end…