Chapter 23.
The sunrise, as usual, lifted Castiel's spirits a little and he sat in the golden glow and considered his next step. Rowena had nothing and could have nothing because angels and archangels were beyind her understanding, though not beyond her curiosity.
If he ever wanted to work on the thoughts he sometimes had, about grace and life and protecting those he loved, Rowena might be a natural ally, if he could endure her company. He would only have to wave the opportunity to experiment with grace in front of her and she would agree.
Of course, he would have to be careful. Grace held great power and he could easily become her lab rat and victim. Rowena had ambition to match her intelligence and her intelligence was formidable.
Michael had not acted. Dean had not broken free and made contact. These were bad signs. Bobby thought he was being cruel to Jules. This was also not a good thing. Bobby was her species, came from her world. If it seemed like cruelty to him, maybe she saw it that way too.
He probed the back of his mind, poking around for some trace of the mental connection he already knew was dead. Maybe Michael had closed it, maybe Dean or maybe Dean was just no longer there to communicate.
But Dean had been dead before. He knew the drill. He knew so many ways to make contact through the veil. The very fact that he was not haunting the bunker suggested that he was still alive. He was still alive. He had to be.
His angel blade slid easily into his hand. The weight and balance of it were familiar and comforting and so was the knowledge that this blade could terminate his life and end his suffering. Eternity, if no longer the promise, would not be allowed to be the sentence.
Jules hated seeing him handle the angel blade. She saw it as dangerous, as an indication of self-destructive thoughts and he told himself that, although he had just been contemplating the possibility of suicide, she was foolish to be so worried. He was a rational being, thoughts unclouded by unnecessary emotion. He would end his life only if that became the best choice, objectively, logically and sensibly.
Thinking of her made him miss her more. The day before, he knew he had badly mishandled their interactions, making her feel he didn't care. Even as he ached to feel her loving arms around him, he had avoided eye contact and backed away. He had seen the hurt in her eyes and he had wanted to make things right with her, but knew that he could not.
He never should have let her think he loved her. He wasn't even sure love existed in angels. He wanted it to, but even archangels exhibited no sign of tender feelings and archangels were, by definition, better than ordinary, rank and file angels like him.
He looked at the blade, meant for meting out Heavenly justice, asserting what was right, punishing what was wrong. If he were less corrupted, he would probably cut deep into his own flesh until he cut out his selfish needs and desires and stopped hurting the very humans he was supposed to protect.
Then again, he had little confidence in his own moral judgement. Maybe love hurt because it involved change and growth and maybe it was necessary and important. Perhaps the pain he inflicted and the pain he felt were both vital to some greater purpose. If so, he should not be so quick to close doors and burn bridges.
Whatever the existential issues, whatever the philosophical import of his feelings, there were two people at the farm who had shown him nothing but love and he was hurting them with every hour of silence and every terse reply to their gentle overtures. He remembered Bobby's words, "Jules deserves better." She and Sarah both did.
"Good morning." said Jack, behind him.
He turned. "I didn't hear you come out here."
"I think your mind was somewhere else." said Jack, "Have you been here all night?"
"What makes you think that?" said Cas.
Jack smiled. "Two things. You were out here when I went to bed and your hair looks a little ... dewy."
"So you did go to bed. Did you sleep?"
"Eventually." said Jack, "I sleep a lot. I never needed this much sleep and food before. And I get weirdly thirsty."
He fell silent and Cas had the feeling there was something else on his mind. "What is it, Jack?" he said.
"It's probably nothing and compared with archangel possession, it's nothing anyway, but there's something different, since I lost my grace."
"You came to the right person. I've been through it myself, remember? What's the problem?"
"I may be going blind. The range of colours I see is smaller, the range of clear vision much less. Is that normal?"
Cas stood. "Your senses are closer to the human norms now. You won't be able to see the infrared or ultraviolet. You can't see on a microscopic level either, probably."
"No, I can't." said Jack, "And my hearing is diminished."
"That's normal too. These things will return to our normal when your grace returns."
"Okay. Good." said Jack, "Forget I said anything."
"Jack, you can always talk to me, about anything."
"I know, but adding to your burdens now ... "
"I need to know you will always talk to me when you need to. Your silence would be a burden. Sharing your problems with me is a compliment."
Jack smiled. "Sam and I know things are rough for you. I'd like to think you felt you could also talk to me."
"I know I can." said Cas.
"I hate these limitations. I hate this weakness. I need to kill Michael."
"You are very human for now, but I have seen humans do things no angel could. When the time comes, one of us will find a way to deal with Michael and save Dean."
"Then why are you sitting out on a hillside all night, getting damp and lonely?" said Jack.
"Because, sometimes, life is hard." said Cas.
"And always harder alone." said Jack.
"Like you, I am trying not to be a burden."
"Like me, you don't need to do that." said Jack.