Chapter 83.
Cas stood by the beehives and watched Sam and Jules go past him towards the creek. He knew he should not have walked out. They were trying to help him and his reaction could only worry them, but he felt overwhelmed again and he needed to keep some control of his emotions.
Love was still confusing to him, all kinds of love, from Sam's brotherly concern to Sarah's maternal, nurturing care, Jack's fierce, filial devotion and the deep, tender connection he had with Jules.
He had never been intended to experience any of those things. He was given the capacity for love so that he could love God and love humanity and love his brothers and sisters, but he had never been meant to look into the eyes of an individual human and feel such an intense devotion to them that he wanted to protect them and promise things to them and open his heart and mind to them.
If he had stuck to the initial plan for his kind, he would not be feeling this pain. He would know peace. The loss of one human would not have felt like the end of everything.
He watched the bees approaching and then gently veering away, attracted by him for a moment, but then sensing his turmoil and finding it repellent. He let his apology flush through his aura.
Had he stayed as a basic, uncomplicated angel, he would not be hurting the people he loved with this darkness and despair. There would be no specific group of people he loved, just unfocused, general compassion for the race of man.
He remembered how Jules had stroked his hair and how different that had felt to all their amorous embraces. It had been far less intense than the hand on his thigh, but the feelings it had awoken in him had gone far deeper. In the midst of his pain, Jules had shown him love and understanding. She had held his hand, too.
She had prayed.
Once with words and once without, she had reached out to him in prayer, despite her hatred of prayer, her dread of it, despite PTSD and years of keeping angels out of her head. He had known when she stopped stroking his head that the prayer had cost her more than she would say. He should talk to her about it, but he was struggling already. Now was not the time, but he knew he must acknowledge to her that he understood the magnitude of her sacrifice for him.
Sarah had wrapped the blanket around him. She had done that before, when he had come to her, babbling about how the Winchesters hated him and he had broken Heaven and now nothing would ever be right again. A blanket for an angel of the Lord! The idea was preposterous. Just for a moment, each time, he knew how it felt to have a mother, to matter to a kind heart.
Jack had touched his arm. Considering they were often touted as the ultimate abomination, nephilim were capable of great love.
If he had stayed cool and aloof and uncaring, he could never have felt the love of his family. True, he would not be now trying to handle his grief and their smothering affection, because he would be cold inside, seeing love as a philosophy, an abstract and not as this thing of blood and dirt and tears in a world where it was possible to make someone the centre of your universe and then have them and it torn away from you in a way from which you could never recover.
If he had never felt love, Dean's death would have been nothing but an annoyance. Then again, his life would have been of no consequence to Cas either, a mere tool to be used, a means to an end.
He would never have seen all those dull, uninspired and uninspiring movies and seen Dean's horror at his lack of appreciation or heard the word, "Dumbass!" as a declaration of approbation and encouragement. He would never have thought of fellow angels as Junkless or Chuckles. The loss of God would have ended him, because what was an angel of the Lord when the Lord in question didn't care about anything? Dean Winchester had not fallen to his knees and said, "God is not with us! What can we do?" Dean had called God a deadbeat dad and he had moved on with human plans in a human fight.
Castiel, least of the angels in his own estimation, had known Dean Winchester. Maybe it was over now. Did that mean it hadn't been worth it? Losing Dean hurt in ways he didn't think an angel could be hurt. Losing him to Michael, to an archangel who thought he was second only to God, but who was, in truth, unfit to park Dean's car, was devastating, but he had known him, fought alongside him, even died for him. If this were the end, it had still been worth everything. If all that was left to him now was pain and loss and watching each of the others submit to despair in turn, still he would not wish to go back and undo it all.
"Dean Winchester is dead!" The words still hurt. The thought was still a jagged edge, dripping venom. He hated the thought of life without Dean, but even that thought held within it the fact that Dean Winchester had existed and Castiel had been his friend.
It didn't ease the pain one little bit. He knew it would hurt forever. Maybe, had he understood love and friendship better, he could have held back a little on that friendship, loved a little less, whispered to himself, "Everything dies." But he had discovered human friendship by finding one and his hungry heart had run after it, feeling as if it would die if it didn't.
Cas had never seen himself as wise.
Heaven had always asked a lot of Dean and Sam and so, he had tried not to ask too much ... anything, really. Even when they had effectively declared war on Heaven and he had chosen their side, giving up all he had for them, he had asked for almost nothing in return. Same with Sarah. He had known she loved his visits and needed his company and the intellectual stimulation of their wide-ranging discussions of philosophy, theology, ethics and art. Still, it had felt like an imposition even to approach the farm. Something in his head would not ever let him see himself as deserving of love.
So he did this, every time, walked away and hid from them, trying not to be a burden, angry that he was different, that he could not relate to humans as they related to each other and heartbroken that their love was so rich a gift that he could never be worthy. All he had to do was let them love him, accept their support, but he still felt he had to do everything alone. The words, "I'm an angel ... " sprang too easily to his lips, shutting down the human contact he needed and felt he should not need.
Of course, at the same time, he knew that was stupid. These people, the Winchesters, Jules, Sarah and Jack, were the wisest people he knew and they had chosen, eyes open, well aware of everything he was and everything the other angels were, to offer him their unconditional love.
He looked into the steel-grey sky and wondered whether he would have been happier had the Winchesters dismissed him as worthless and gone their way without drawing him into their family. So much would have been different. No fall. No pain. No Jack. Dean was dead and it hurt like Hell, but even in that terrible pain, there was the memory of a profound, fraternal love and if he must live with the grief forever, at least it did not dwell alone within him.
