What would the world be like without angels?
Well, to start off it'd be chaos. There would be no one to hear the prayers of the weak and the young, of those whose desires are self revolved. No longer would there be a listening ear to hear all our woes and all that we hope for. We'd be so utterly alone. God may not even care.
Demons would be running wild, tearing us apart just from messing with our heads. Deals would be made just as quickly as lightening struck, death just as quick ten years later. There would be no one to save us from ourselves.
We'd be shut off from kind hearts, although only so many angels have them. Most think of us as disgusting, writhing insects so pathetic even God didn't want to stick around to see our end. But the others, they admire us. Our ability to love and hate, to empathize and sympathize. We show a variety of emotions and ways to deal with them. Compared to us, they're all robots.
The cold hearts don't listen, they pamper themselves and say they are just in their movements, but the kind hearts watch and listen. They help us and they wish us no harm. They want us to see the end of days, find our paradise.
Without them we'd be destructive.
We'd burn our neighbors, steal their spouses and ruin their homes. Monsters, that's all we'd be. We would be worse than demons, bringing our own ends.
At least they have order and rules. Without the love and listening ear of the kind hearts, we'd be unruly and about ready to implode inside ourselves. We'd be rotting from the inside out, our souls so tainted and dirty.
Now, we're all just burning to a crisp. No one to save us now.
The angels are falling like tinted rain, their wings burning off mid flight. The fear across their faces is unmatched, to sorrowful and dying inside. They want to die, they just want it all to end. Why can't it end?
The sky was crying tonight as Castiel watched, the first of many to fall that night. It was all his fault, you know. He believed Metatron, listened to his every word and did what he was asked to do. He believed he'd be saving the world he was born from.
All the angels are walking the Earth tonight, so maybe there are people to save us. They may not be grand displays of God and Heaven's work, but they'll be good enough.
They'll be the helping hand when you can't pick yourself up, the good friend to talk you through your woes. Saving people, hunting things, not just the family business anymore. They'll all lend in a hand. Change their ways, realize we're not as bad as all the cold hearts thought we were.
Saving each other from the fall we've all taken.
Together we will die, as equals. Together we will rise into Heaven, as equals. Grace will be a thing of the past. The pain it left behind will always linger, carving holes into the angels' souls, but the wounds will heal with passing time.
Some may fall into drugs and sex, like Castiel from the future once did. Others may heal by assistance from others, of from doing their part to help others. All of our wounds heal in different ways and rates.
All they need is a little love.
Castiel doesn't want to fall into the pit the future brought him into. He can't let that happen, it just won't be. He'll keep his heart open and soft, malleable. Instead of closeting the things he feels he'll be a little more forthcoming. He won't hide behind walls made of flesh and nerve endings.
And all it took for him to come to this little resolve were a few little, beautiful words from Dean Winchester.
"You're still an angel to me."