Thirty-two
A few days passed without much incident. Sam and Dean had left after the prisoner had died, to go after Abaddon, and now that she was dead, it was one less thing to worry about. Unfortunately for them, and for Castiel and Brooke, things were never that easy. Abaddon may have been dead, but now, it looked like things with Gadreel and Metatron were ramping up, starting with a horrible multiple homicide case, wherein six humans and an angel had all been smote.
"I know he wanted a war," Castiel muttered to Brooke, Sam, and Dean, as they stood in the middle of the crime scene, posing as FBI agents. "But this…" He glanced at around, at the dead, and the destruction of the building. "This is abhorrent, even for him." He was upset at the loss of so much life, especially since the angel who had died had been one of his own. "A good soldier," he had called her, gazing down at her body with sadness in his eyes.
###
On the way back to HQ, with a box of evidence from the crime scene, Sam and Dean succeeded in lightening Brooke and Castiel's moods. Everyone was rather chipper again by the time they walked in.
Hannah saw them walk through the doors and immediately straightened from leaning over a desk, looking at a piece of paper. "Commander," she said, with a smile. "Mrs. Harris."
"Oh, it's just creepy," Dean muttered, behind them.
Castiel glanced back at his best friend with a look, then introduced Sam and Dean to Hannah, who smiled at them in a politely vague sort of way. "The Winchesters—I've heard so much about you."
"What can I say?" Dean quipped. "Cass is a fan."
The angel, Benjamin, stepped forward and took the evidence box from Castiel. "I'll start to examine this evidence," he said, walking away.
Sam began to argue against this course of action, but Hannah interrupted whatever he'd been about to say.
"Sir, Ma'am. This morning, Josiah wasn't at roll call."
Castiel drew his brows together, thinking back to that morning. So much went on at HQ that he hadn't noticed the missing angel.
"Uh, roll call?" Sam chimed in. "You hold, uh, roll call?" He seemed amused.
Castiel turned over his shoulder and explained, "They like to hear me say their names."
"I know a couple of women like that," Dean said.
Brooke went rigid beside her husband, forcing her facial expression to remain passive as a sudden, unwanted memory of Castiel huskily growling her name came to her mind.
Castiel, his mouth halfway open to respond to Hannah's worry, turned a fraction of an inch in her direction, eyes flicking to catch her face, one side of his mouth curling in something between amusement and arousal.
"No one's seen Josiah since Ezra's murder," Hannah continued, not reacting at all to what had just happened between husband and wife. "We think that—
"You think Josiah's the killer," Sam finished. "That he is the mole?"
"Well, who else?" Hannah asked. "We searched the grounds but he's vanished."
"Not without wings," Dean pointed out. "He's an angel, but he's still gotta travel like he's a human, which means walk, drive. Means he's gonna leave a trail."
Hannah had crossed her arms over her chest, as if irritated that Sam and Dean kept interrupting her.
"All right," Sam said, sitting down at an empty desk with his laptop pulled from his bag. "What was his vessel's name?"
"Sean Flynn, from Omaha," Castiel told him.
Sam found him in a few moments, and discovered that one of his credit cards had just been used, at a Gas-n-Sip in Colorado.
"Commander?" Benjamin said, from his desk, turning around in his swivel chair to look at Castiel. "I have something."
They all made their way over to him. He had found a video from a phone inside the evidence box that captured footage of what had happened inside the ice cream parlor, where the homicides had taken place.
Brooke watched the footage, neutrally, rather used to horrifying things like this after so many years of being a Hunter, and being married to Castiel. However, when the angel responsible for the murders appeared on screen, with strange runes carved into his chest, and yelled, "I do this for Castiel!" before stabbing himself with an angel blade, Brooke no longer felt so calm about it.
"Someone's trying to set you up," she growled to her husband, clenching his hand, hard. She could hear the flow of his thoughts, feel his sudden unease, shock, and horror at the footage of someone killing themselves, seemingly, in his name.
"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded, turning to Castiel.
Brooke, still holding her husband's hand, felt the Grace inside her flare in anger that Dean would automatically assume something so vile of him.
"I don't know," Castiel said, shakily. "I didn't—I would never ask an angel to sacrifice himself to kill innocents. I'm gonna be sick."
"Cass, why would an angel blow up a Colonel Scoop's in your name?" Sam asked.
"That's not what he was doing," Hannah interrupted, raising a finger. "Roll it back," she told Benjamin, leaning down over him to stare at the computer screen. "There," she said, pointing at the little girl sitting in the booth, the one that the male angel had stopped in front of before vaporizing the entire room. "That was an angel—Esther. She's one of Metatron's." Hannah turned back to look at them all.
"So, this was some kind of hit?" Sam asked.
"I don't know," Castiel said, despair clear in his voice. He was still so shaken up about the fact that an angel had claimed to be killing himself in his name.
"Stop saying you don't know," Dean snapped, suddenly.
Castiel looked at him in disbelief. "You can't think that I would allow something like this," he growled.
"Cass, I know you try to be a good guy, okay? I do. You try. But what you got here is a freakin' cult."
"Dean," Castiel said, hurt by such words.
Slowly, the Grace inside Brooke was rising to the surface, furious that Dean Winchester, once again, was being a complete ass to her husband, the angel that Dean claimed was his best friend.
Dean was not to be stopped, determined to have the last word, like always. "Last time you had this kind of juice, you did kill humans and angels, and you did nothing but lie to me and Sam about it the whole damn time!"
Brooke spun on her heel, pointing a finger at Dean Winchester. "You will stop accusing my husband of such vile acts, or you will GET THE FUCK OUT!" She screamed the last part, very loudly. The Grace in her blood roared to life and scattered the papers off of a few of the desks around her, slapping Dean in the face with a gust of wind, as if she had suddenly sprouted angel wings.
Everyone was stunned into deathly silence. Dean stared down at her with something that looked dangerously like murderous thoughts.
Brooke felt, suddenly, light-headed, and wobbled on her feet, holding her head in one hand. Castiel was just as shocked as everyone else by her outburst. He squeezed her hand, hard, and then quickly grabbed her by the arm as she stumbled.
After a very awkward few seconds, Sam cleared this throat. "Can—Can we take this somewhere else, guys?"
Are you all right? Castiel asked Brooke, his entire body rigid with social discomfort, but mostly with fear for her wellbeing.
Brooke pulled herself back together, blinking the white spots out of her vision. I'm fine, she lied, knowing very well that he could tell that she was lying.
Sam led the way into Castiel's office. Brooke was the last one to enter, and Castiel immediately placed his body in between her and Dean.
"Will all of you just stow your crap?" Sam asked, becoming the voice of reason as the office door closed. "Look, we've got a case. Let's work it."
Brooke said nothing, leaning heavily against her husband's desk, winded by the sudden exertion of her—Castiel's—Grace.
"Cass, did you know the angel in that video?" Sam continued, his tone of voice suggesting that he was a hair's breadth from slapping someone in here upside the head.
"Yes," Castiel replied, facing away from the brothers. "His name was Oren. He was a new recruit. He worked in community outreach." Sighing, he turned around to face Sam and Dean again.
"And what does that mean?" Dean asked.
Even hearing his voice set the Grace in Brooke's blood alight again, though she fought it, tooth and nail.
"Some of my troops are stationed at a local hospital," Castiel explained. "They help where they can. Minor miracles—it's nothing that would draw attention."
"So, what was he doing in that video?" Sam asked. "With the stabbing?"
"The Enochian runes that were carved in his chest—I… I think that they were meant to focus energy. When he stabbed himself it unleashed all that power."
"So, what about the girl? What happened to her?"
"If she was the target, if the blast was focused on her, then, more likely than not, she was—she was atomized."
Brooke grimaced, thinking of the little human girl that had also been atomized. Not just the angel possessing her.
Castiel reached back and placed a sympathizing hand on her shoulder, and asked the boys, "So, what do we do now?"
"Well, you don't do jack," Dean replied. "Me and Sam will head to the hospital, see if we can find someone who knew this… walking nuke."
"Hold on," Castiel argued, offended by Dean's suggestion that he sit and do nothing. "These are my people. I can help."
"Well, that's sort of the problem," Dean said. "I mean, the Manson girls aren't gonna give us a straight answer with Charlie in the room, so just hang back."
Brooke, who was still not looking at any of the men in the room, felt Castiel's eyebrows raise to his hairline. "So I should just sit here," he said.
"Pretty much," Dean replied, flippantly.
"No," Castiel said, full of sass—and Brooke cheered him inside her head, for sticking up for himself. "If you don't want my help, then I will follow Josiah's trail to Colorado. I have to do something, Dean."
There was a pause. "All right, fine," Dean snapped. "But Sam's coming with you."
"Oh, I'm not good enough?" Brooke spoke up, raising her voice.
At the same time, Sam said, "What?"
And Castiel said, "Because you don't trust me?"
Brooke blinked, massaging her head at the sudden din of three voices going off at once. Lingering in her mind was the anger rising in her husband at Dean's asshole-ish behavior.
"Sam's going with both of you… to help," Dean replied, but underneath all the crap was the clear indication that Cass had been right. He didn't trust the angel, which meant he didn't trust Brooke, either.
Brooke sighed and massaged her head some more. If Dean says one more goddamn word I'm going to throw him through your window, she told Castiel.
Not if I throw him first, Castiel growled.
So, you're not angry at what I did back there, in front of everyone? Brooke asked, a little hesitantly.
I was… a little shocked, he admitted. But… in your defense, Dean started it.
Wow, Brooke said, smiling a little. You, standing up to Dean Winchester? That's hot.
###
"Does Dean seem different to you?" Castiel asked Sam a little later, as they drove to Colorado. He sat in the back seat with Brooke, having insisted on doing so, to make sure she was truly all right after expending part of her Grace. Oddly, she seemed fine, despite having used part of it, something Castiel had always warned her not to do. What small amount lay in her blood seemed to be regenerating, something that they had thought was impossible, considering she was not an angel.
"Ha!" Brooke barked a mirthless laugh at the question about Dean seeming different.
Sam sighed at her laughter, but answered Cass' question. "Yeah. Lately, he seems to be… amped up. You know, on edge."
"Effects of the mark?"
"What else?"
"He does seem angry," Castiel noted. "I mean, he's always a little angry, but now it seems like…" He shook his head. "More. I think a part of him actually believed that I ordered those angels to, you know…" He paused, a sudden uncomfortable thought entering his brain. "Sam, you don't, do you?"
Sam sighed, glancing at Castiel in the rearview mirror. "No, man," he said, quietly. "Cass, listen. You got a weird thing goin' on back there. Those other angels, the way they stare at you, it—it's like you're part rockstar, part L. Ron."
"Castiel is finally exactly where he should be," Brooke spoke up, her arms crossed over her chest as she sat beside her husband.
He glanced at her with a half-smile, shaking his head. "I don't know if that's true, but… the angels have put their faith in me."
"And maybe that's the problem," Sam replied. "I mean, people have been doin' messed up crap in the name of faith—in the name of God—since forever."
"Well," Castiel said, "I'm not trying to… play God. I'm just trying to get my people home."
"Like Moses," Brooke piped up, with a smile. "Let my people go… home."
Sam sighed again. "Brooke, I don't know if you're exactly the best judge, here. You're a little too close to Cass to see things objectively. No offense, guys."
Brooke said nothing aloud, but thought, I see things more clearly than Sam or Dean, or even you, Castiel. You've learned a lot since you wanted to open the doors to Purgatory, like I said. If I were gonna pick a new God, it would be you.
I don't want to be God, Castiel said.
I know. That's why I'd pick you. We've been over this—the best politicians are the ones who don't want to win. They're the ones who care about their people.
I appreciate your vote, Castiel said, quietly, taking her hand in both of his and tracing her palm lines. But I will not become God.
Fine, she replied. You will be no one's God but mine.
He stared at her. I am not your God, he said, shaking his head, as if surprised that she would say something like that.
Are you not? she asked him. Have you not been in my head for years? Have you not heard what I think of you, felt what I feel for you? She shook her own head, now. Castiel, you are… guardian angel, savior, master, husband… commander.
Master? he repeated.
In the bedroom, she explained. When I'm feeling particularly naughty.
He shook his head. We are equals. I-I may call you names, during sex, because you enjoy it, but—
Yes, we are equals, Brooke interrupted, trying to explain. And, as your equal, I have chosen to follow you, to support you, to beat the shit out of anyone who would get in your way, or talk badly about you. I have chosen you as my God. There is nothing you can do about that now. I chose you as my God long, long ago, the first time I ever laid eyes on you. You don't have to be happy about it, but you will not change my mind.
And, indeed, Castiel was not happy about it. But… why? he wanted to know.
She took a breath, leaning her head back against the seat behind her, not really wishing to tell him the reason, but knowing that the second she even began to think it, he would already know. Because I am the only one who gives a shit about you, at the end of the day. Sam and Dean care about each other, more than they care about you. You're in love with Dean, a man who treats you like shit. You've been stepped on by angels your entire life. God abandoned you, and all of your siblings. Even you don't like yourself. So who's left? Me. I care about you. I love you. You are… my everything. My all. You are the Way, and the Truth, and the Life. The Alpha and the Omega, Beginning and End. My religion. My God.
I fear you may be a little obsessed, Castiel cautioned her.
Too late to worry about that, she scoffed. Far too late.
He fell silent, troubled thoughts teeming with all that she had told him.
###
They discovered, through the cashier at the Gas-n-Sip in Colorado, that Josiah was headed to Pray, Montana, and it was right back in the car for the three of them. Before they even got out of the car at the location that the cashier had given them, both Brooke and Castiel could feel the power radiating from inside this old, abandoned building. Protected by Castiel's Grace, it did not overwhelm Brooke, but it was a lot, even compared to having been around so many angels at once, back at the Headquarters. No words were shared between her and Cass, but a mutual feeling of worry lingered between their minds.
As they got out of the car, Sam looked over the top of the hood, at the other car, parked next to them. "That looks like the car the guy at the gas station was talking about, right?" he asked. "Maybe Josiah's still around."
Castiel barely even noticed the car, too focused on the mass of angelic energy pulsating from inside the building. "Sam, this place is… radiating power," he cautioned. "I haven't felt anything like this since… since Heaven. We have to get in here."
Sam nodded and tried the door, but it was locked. Slamming his shoulder into the door did nothing, and neither did attempting to pick the lock.
Brooke stood, waiting, with her arms crossed over her chest, wondering whether the entrances had been warded against all common ways of getting in. It would make sense, given the amount of raw power inside.
Castiel watched Sam's failed attempts at getting in, also, and seemed to take pity on the Winchester. "Step aside," he said, finally.
Sam turned back and raised an eyebrow at him.
"I got this," Castiel proclaimed.
This time, Brooke raised an eyebrow at her husband, and prepared herself to see some kind of sexy show of strength. Her angel slammed his body into the door and… nothing. He slammed into it twice more, jiggled the handle uselessly, and turned, chagrined, to Sam and Brooke. "I don't got this."
Brooke glanced at her feet, trying not to smile.
Castiel sighed at her. "Would you like to try?" he asked, tauntingly.
"Oh, no," she said, looking up at him again. "If my big, strong, angel husband can't get the door open, I certainly can't."
A half-smile turned up one side of his mouth as he turned away; Brooke was, at once, teasing him and complimenting him, and he was not quite sure how to take that.
Sam sighed, half-groaning at the lovey-dovey turn in the conversation. "I'm gonna take a look around the property," he said. "See if I can find another way in. You two stay here, in case someone comes out, and… don't… distract each other, while I'm gone." He wandered off, around the corner.
Brooke stepped up to the door, placing her hand against it and closing her eyes. The hum of angelic energy beyond the door was very powerful, reminding her a little of what it had been like the first time she'd seen Castiel, without the protection of his Grace and without any kind of mental barrier between them. Sure, her eyes had not been burned out of her skull, but it had not been, exactly, a pleasant experience. He had been beautiful, but also absolutely terrifying, the vastness of him overwhelming to her senses. Brooke pulled her hand back from the door and stepped away.
I've been thinking about what you said to me in the car, Castiel said, hearing her thoughts in regards to him, sifting through her memories of that night, so long ago, in the warehouse. He sighed. I have known what you thought about me for as long as I've known you, and I never tried hard enough to stop you from thinking such… overzealous things about me. I am not your God. I would never presume to take so much from you, to take such power from you.
You take nothing from me, Brooke said, staring at the door. I give it to you, willingly. As I said, we are equals. And I, with sound body and mind, choose to give myself to you. It is my choice, Castiel.
He approached her so that she would look at him, and said, It feels wrong.
She studied him, and replied, shortly, It feels wrong that you carry so much self-hatred. The moment you stop hating yourself, I will quit calling you my God.
He blinked quickly, startled, but could think of no follow-up to such a blunt statement.
A semi-awkward silence filled the air between the two of them as they waited for Sam to return. Brooke spent the time waiting by focusing on the energy inside the building, attempting to sift through it to see if she could feel any one particular thing, like an angel about to burst through the front door to attack them. But nothing of the sort happened.
After a few minutes of silence, Castiel turned to face the building, holding his chin in his hand, and Brooke could feel his mind working. There are… words, he said. I didn't notice them at first, but… look. He lifted his hand up, facing it toward the front of the building, and shone some of his angelic light out from his hand, beaming it onto the wall above the door like a flashlight. Enochian words were written above the door.
Brooke read them and laughed.
What's so funny? Castiel asked, staring at the words above the door like they were some kind of legitimate riddle.
"Seriously?" Brooke asked, aloud.
Right before she was about to explain it to him, Sam came back with a frustrated look on his face. "I checked all the windows and doors. No luck. What about you two? You find anything?"
"Sam," Brooke said, trying not to laugh again. She turned and smiled at the Winchester. "You wanna explain to Castiel why six is afraid of seven?"
"What?" Sam asked.
Castiel shone the light from his hand again, above the door. "There, see?" The Enochian wording appeared again. "It's some kind of riddle," he muttered. "I don't know why Brooke is laughing so much. She won't share the thought with me. Anyway, I assume that six is afraid of seven because seven is a prime number and… prime numbers can be intimidating."
Brooke burst out laughing again, bending over herself and bracing her hands on her knees.
"No, man," Sam said, staring at the angel. "It's because seven ate nine."
The door suddenly opened.
Brooke rose to her normal height again, sucking in breath and trying to quell the remains of her laughter.
Castiel glanced at his wife with a small smile, finally understanding why she had found everything so funny. "It's wordplay," he murmured. "And the answer is the key, like the Doors of Durin in Lord of the Rings."
Brooke stared at Cass as he began to walk toward the door.
"Wait a second," Sam called after the angel.
Castiel stopped, turning around.
"You know about the Lord of the Rings?"
Cass inclined his head, nodding. "I'm very pop culture-savvy, now," he replied, seriously.
Brooke snorted, but otherwise kept her composure, and began to follow her husband.
Sam's phone rang, which stopped them all in their tracks again. It was Dean. Brooke was kind of annoyed that Dean hadn't called her husband, instead, because it prevented her from spying on the other end of the conversation through Cass' ears, but she paid attention to Sam's end:
"He's, uh, he's Cass… What about you? How's it going? … What's goin' on?"
Brooke's ears perked at that last question from Sam. The tone of his voice suggested something was wrong. Somehow, when it came to Dean, that did not surprise her. It turned out that Dean had run into some Reaper named Tessa—they had a past that Brooke was unaware of—and Tessa had been about to sacrifice herself in Castiel's name, like that one angel had in the ice cream parlor.
Cass was worried about that, but the power coming from inside the building was drawing most of his attention at the moment. He seemed determined to figure out what was inside, and became laser-focused on it the moment they stepped foot through the door. He was like a dog, tracking a scent.
"You sure you don't want to go back, Cass?" Sam asked, sweeping his flashlight beam across the dark interior. "Look, if Dean is right about Tessa…"
Castiel, still hunting for the source of the power, was hardly paying attention. "No, I, uh… I do," he assured Sam. "I just… Give me a second."
Brooke said nothing, focusing mainly on not tripping over anything in the dark or making too much noise as they walked down the echoey hallway.
Sam shone his flashlight beam onto the wall, lighting up words—English words—that had been carved there: "Only the penitent man shall pass."
A flash of a memory went through Brooke's mind, a scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, wherein Indy had read those same words, and had to duck down, hastily, as saw blades shot from the walls.
Experiencing the memory for himself, Castiel quickly took a step backwards, shining his own flashlight beam onto the walls. There were deep grooves cut into the walls in front of them… Castiel turned back and looked at Sam and Brooke, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.
"Guess we're crawling," Brooke muttered, and got down onto her hands and knees without hesitation, making absolutely certain that she was well below the grooves in the walls. She began to move forward.
"I should go first," Castiel said, wanting to stop her.
"Shut up, Cass," Brooke replied, continuing to crawl forward on her hands and knees. Above her head, circular saw blades shot out from nowhere, sliding back and forth along their tracks a few times, as if wanting to be absolutely certain that they beheaded whoever was trying to get past. Brooke could feel the air above her rustling a little from the spin of the blades, but she was unharmed, and soon stood on her feet again, well past the saws.
Castiel and Sam followed her, but did not crawl, choosing, instead, to walk in between the blades, very carefully.
"The Last Crusade?" Sam asked, mostly talking to himself. "Okay…"
Brooke glanced at the two of them. "It's Metatron, isn't it?" she asked. "It has to be him who set all this up. The wording at the door outside was Enochian, which suggests it was put there by an angel, but the clues have been… jokes and pop culture references. What angel even knows those sorts of things, besides Metatron?" She gestured at Castiel. "Well, you too, now, but only because Metatron zapped all the information into your head."
Castiel nodded, slowly. "So, this whole thing… It's probably a trap."
"Right," Sam chimed in, looking worriedly between Brooke and the angel.
Still, they could not stop moving. The power was calling out to Castiel like a siren song, and it dragged him forward, almost unwillingly. They turned a corner, and he stopped, his breath momentarily taken away. "Brooke," he murmured, seeming to forget that the Winchester was also there. "We found it." Up ahead, through a door at the end of a hallway, was a cold, clinical, bright light, seeping through the cracks and the small window in the door.
Brooke felt its pull, as well, the Grace inside her nearly yanking its way up and out of her mouth to get to the door. She stood her ground, digging her heels in.
"What?" Sam asked.
Castiel blinked, as if waking up out of a dream. "It's the door to Heaven," he said, moving toward it.
"Seriously?"
"What else would Metatron go to such great lengths to protect? I can hear it; it's calling to me. If we control this door, we can take the fight to Metatron. We may not even need to fight at all." As he had spoken, the three of them had moved down the hallway, toward the door. And as he said the last words, he opened the door and went through it, forgetting that humans could not follow angels to Heaven. Not without dying.
"Cass, wait!" Brooke and Sam called, at the same time, and Brooke reached out to grasp her husband's coat.
But the door was already open. And…
It was not Heaven.
Brooke blinked, confused, as she was immediately confronted with… balloons and… the flashing of a disco ball and… banners and streamers and… music. Yet the room felt disturbingly cold and clinical, all the same.
"What the hell?" Castiel asked, staring around the room.
Sam wandered farther in, to the back where a table draped in red tablecloth sat. Atop it were red party cups, the plastic kind one brings to barbecues and birthday parties. And a note, that the Winchester picked up, and read: "Welcome to your own personal Heaven, Castiel. Good luck finding the real one."
Anger flashed through the angel and he grit his teeth as the disco ball assaulted his vision. "But… why?"
Sam turned around—and jumped out of his skin, staring at something on the ground in the corner.
Brooke turned to see what it was, and immediately wanted to be sick. It was an angel, but his vessel and true form were so destroyed, and his Grace, consequently, so weak that she had not even noticed him. His vessel was one big burn wound, whatever skin that was left blackened, and the rest of him was red and blistered. His true form, underneath, was barely perceivable, a flickering light so dim that it was outshined by the disco ball winking on the ceiling. He lay against the wall and a filing cabinet, barely conscious. Barely alive.
Castiel knelt down beside him, reaching a hand out toward the angel. "It's Josiah," he said, his voice breaking. "He reeks of holy oil." Castiel stared at Josiah, unspeakable anguish tearing at him as he watched the angel's light go out. He did not try to heal him, thinking his brother too far gone. This trap had been meant for him, and someone else had paid the price for it. "So, all of this," he said, shaking his head, gritting his teeth as anger replaced anguish. "It was a lie."
One of Josiah's blistered, blacked hand suddenly snatched at Castiel, startling them all. He stared at the angel with unseeing eyes and murmured, "Supposed to be here… Gate… He told me… After Ezra, he told me that I should come to him."
Castiel stared at Josiah, uncomprehending.
"Metatron told me that I could go home," Josiah continued, breathing heavily, the exertion of speaking almost too much for him. "I just wanted to go home." His voice cracked on those words.
Castiel reached out toward his brother's forehead with a glowing hand. "Here, let me…"
"No!" Josiah cried, and Castiel pulled his hand back in surprise. "I would rather die than owe my life to you, Castiel," Josiah declared. "You play at being noble. You play at being one of us. But I look into your eyes… and I don't see an angel staring back at me."
Shock and despair flowed outward from Castiel, and Brooke reached down from where she was standing and squeezed his shoulder. It was an awful thing to be told, after all that Castiel had done—had tried to do—for his people. All these weeks spent building up an army against Metatron, trying to stop the violence, trying to reopen Heaven… And here was a dying angel, laying in a crumpled heap on the floor, come to crush Castiel's hopes and dreams.
The last of Josiah's Grace flickered out, and he died.
Castiel knelt on the floor for a long time, unable to speak, unable to move, racked by guilt and self-doubt. Everything I've done, he thought, has it all been for nothing? I try and try, yet there are multiple angels out there killing themselves in my name, even though I would never ask such a thing of them. And now Josiah… who would rather die than be indebted to me. He stared up into Brooke's eyes as if begging her for answers.
But Brooke had no answers for her husband. She was starting to regret ever talking him into becoming a Commander at all—not because she thought he had failed, or because there were a couple insane angels claiming that Castiel wanted them to suicide-bomb themselves, but because if this all went to shit, he would fall into a deeper despair than before. And she had been integral in raising him up.
They did not have long to regret their life choices, however, because Castiel's cellphone rang a little while after Josiah died. He was being called back to HQ, and the angel on the phone sounded absolutely desperate.
"Slow down," Castiel said. "What happened?"
"It's Dean Winchester, sir," came the reply. "He… he murdered Tessa."
Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he stared up at the ceiling. Here was one more horrible thing he had to deal with. "All right," he murmured into the phone. "We're coming back now."