Previously: After Castiel refused to resort to threats on Dean, he was downgraded temporarily and is on probation. Meanwhile, Uriel is in command and brought Castiel to Anna to have her executed, but she managed to escape after getting her Grace back. Castiel captured Alastair. But Alastair won't talk even under torture, and the Council gives orders to use Dean to torture the demon. Levanael's death drives Castiel to desperation, and he agrees to have Dean endure this. After all, he has no other choice, right?

This chapter takes place in season 4 episode 16.

Broken faith

The translucent plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling sway and swish in the air blown by our wings. My brother's aura recedes and lets Dean fall to his knees on the dusty floor, exhaling a choked breath. He bends over, gagging and retching. I share a look with Uriel, who merely raises his eyebrows dismissively.

This is the first time we've transported the righteous man while he's conscious - and on second thought, this is also the first time I've ever seen a Human carried by an Angel like this - and he seems to have endured the journey quite badly.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean winces, clutching his stomach. "What the hell did you do to me? I think I'm gonna puke..."

"Your hairless monkey has quite a mouth on him..." Uriel tuts.

"You're not lacking in vulgarity yourself. Out of all Garrison soldiers, you're..."

"I'll let you handle that," he cuts me mid-sentence, turning his back on me. "I don't want him barfing on me. I've had my share of filthy organic fluids from these piles of rotting flesh we're forced to wear."

He steps a few meters away, leaving me alone in front of Dean, who is down at my feet, breathing hard and looking pale.

Should I offer my hand to help him up? It seems to me, through my observations of Humanity, that this would be the right thing to do in this kind of situation. But he stands up on his own before I can take a decision. With his hand still pressed against his stomach, he throws a sharp look around before looking at me. I lift my chin to hold his gaze as indifferently as I can.

I'm still adjusting to being human sized and actually needing to look up to meet Sam and Dean's eyes.

"Cas, where the hell are we? Where is Sam?"

"We are in the periphery of Wellington. Sam is still in Cheyenne, we had no need for him."

"Wellington? Colorado?"

As I nod in affirmation, oddly enough, he stares at me in shock and disbelief.

"Which means we're at least a thirty minute drive from Cheyenne! How did you...?"

"We came flying."

I thought this was obvious, but the information seems to cause Dean some distress, making him grow even paler.

"In less than one second?"

"It wouldn't take us any longer to fly to Australia or even to the moon." I barely hold back a rush of pride. "Crossing the Wyoming-Colorado border is nothing for Angels of the Lord."

"You mean I was on Angel Airlines?" He slaps his hand over his mouth, growing impossibly paler. "Oh shit, I got angelic travel sickness..."

Dean grips the table and leans in, gasping for breath, like he's fighting back a wave of nausea.

"You'll get used to it, Dean."

The righteous man chuckles bitterly and shakes his head.

"No, No, I don't think I will."

Should I treat Dean's discomfort to bring him some relief? I reconsider when I spot, out of the corner of my eye, Uriel staring at me impatiently from the back of the room.

"Dean."

The righteous man looks up and his eyes harden as I gaze at him unblinkingly.

"We need your help. Heaven needs you."

I take his silence as a promising sign and place my hand on his shoulder - the one bearing the mark of my Grace - just long enough to lead him to the door behind which Alastair is waiting. If Dean manages to pry the information we need from the demon, we will owe the salvation of the Garrison's soldiers to him, and perhaps even the victory against the demons.

This is required and unavoidable. Those are the orders.

Dean comes to a halt in front of the door and stares at Alastair's shackled frame through the door's small, dirty glass window. I study him, trying to read his state of mind although I can't see into his eyes: the back of his neck, however, is tense, exuding a dark aura of dread, and I can hear his heart racing. The righteous man is understandably uneasy - I'm far from being pleased with the situation I have to put him in, either.

Coming face to face with the one who tortured him for over thirty years before coercing him to do the same cannot be a very enjoyable experience.

"This devil's trap is old Enochian," I say to ease his mind. "He's bound completely."

Dean stands still for a few long seconds, staring at Alastair.

"Fascinating," he finally says hoarsely. He turns around and walks away, not even sparing me a glance. "Where's the door?"

"Where are you going?"

I knew things would not be so easy. Dean Winchester, being himself, is unable to take an order without arguing, resisting, and finally being forced to obey once threatened. This just makes things more difficult. I am now forced to force him to follow an order I myself questioned. The irony of the situation is not lost on me.

I don't like tormenting the righteous man and trashing the illusion of free will, but I know I need more than ever to prove my unwavering commitment to my duty in order to clear the rehabilitation threat hanging over my head and reclaim command in this war. I only wish Dean would understand this and stop fighting what's inevitable - it will only bring him more pain.

I turn around to watch him stomp away.

"Hitch back to Cheyenne, thank you very much!"

Uriel raises a smug eyebrow at me before flying right in front of Dean with a flap of his wings, cutting off his retreat.

"Angels are dying, boy," he says with seeming composure as he folds his wings.

"Everybody's dying these days," Dean snaps back.

It is strange to watch such a tiny mortal unabashedly defy my brother, who is one of the mightiest Angels in Heaven and who has rained fire and blood on so many cities over thousands of years. Once again, I can't tell if Dean is being reckless out of ignorance, or out of admirable, rare bravery. Perhaps a bit of both.

Anger rises in the righteous man's voice, and even from where I stand, I can see the tension in his shoulders.

"And hey, I get it!" he exclaims to my brother's stony face. "You're all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want, but you can't make me do this!"

The edge of outraged panic in his voice awakens the compassion I had buried under my sense of duty.

"This is too much to ask, I know," I say as I walk to him. "But we have to ask it."

I look into his eyes, praying that he won't make things worse by fighting the order. That he won't make it more difficult. That he won't make me watch Uriel hurt him or threaten Sam's life again.

A hard task is ahead of him, but it can't be avoided, and the sooner he accepts this, the sooner it will be over. Besides, the fate of the Garrison Angels is at stake. I owe it to my dead soldiers and I can't shy away from my moral responsibility - not even for Dean. I don't ever want to look at burned wing marks on the ground again, alone with my questions. I already lost Ephra, Miz, Pmox and Levanael. I will not lose the rest of my dearest family members.

Dean breaks the eye contact, looking down with an expression I can't describe.

"I want to talk to Cas alone," he says to Uriel.

I turn to my brother who is calmly staring at Dean. I'm under his supervision - it's his responsibility to make decisions in an unexpected situation, but he seems hesitant.

I will complete the mission, Uriel. I know Dean. Let me persuade him.

Alright, he decides. I'm counting on you not to screw up this time.

"I think I'll go seek Revelation," he says, slowly spreading his wings. "We might have some further orders."

I clench my fists as I feel bitterness running through me. I should be the one taking orders and responsibilities. Uriel is not fit for this - even less than I ever was. And it's because of me that he has to assume this role, just like I had to accept the General's duties because of Anna's betrayal.

"Well, get some donuts while you're out," Dean snarls.

I blink in astonishment when my brother bursts out laughing - I never thought I'd see the day when Uriel would laugh at a Human's joke instead of at their expense. I myself have never been able to make Uriel laugh this way, and it's not for lack of trying, although I've given up at least five thousand years ago. Obviously, my jokes are not as good as Dean's.

"This one just won't quit, will he?" Uriel looks at the righteous man, eyes sparkling. "I think I'm starting to like you, boy."

With a flap of his wings he flies away, leaving me alone with Dean Winchester who turns to face me.

"You guys don't walk enough. You're gonna get flabby."

Is this another joke? I didn't get what Uriel found funny about the pastry thing, and now I have no idea if Dean is trying to insult us or not.

Anyway, in my entire life I have rarely laughed at any other joke than the goat one.

"You know, I'm starting to think junkless has a better sense of humor than you do."

Junkless? I guess he's talking about Uriel, but what is junk referring to?

"Uriel's the funniest Angel in the Garrison. Ask anyone."

I would go so far as to say that he, as the original goat joke maker, is the funniest man in all Heaven, but that would be a bold assumption to make. I don't know intimately my hundreds of thousands of siblings, and there are entire regiments I've only bumped into when God ordered us to bow down to Adam and Eve and when Heaven was created.

Dean seems to ponder over this for a second, then grows serious again as he walks towards me.

"What's going on, Cas?" I look down, scrambling for the right answer, and he stops right in front of me. I can feel his gaze boring into my forehead. "Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?"

This is so humiliating. I stifle my reservations and look up into his eyes.

"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies."

Dean raises his eyebrows high.

"Your sympathies?"

This is all because of my superiors and the Council who mistake my compassion for the Winchester brothers and specifically Dean for something much bigger and condemning.

I am not a failure.

"I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You." Looking stunned, Dean looks down silently. "They feel I've begun to express emotions," I say, sounding as neutral as I can. "The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment."

I turn away and tighten my wings behind my back as I focus on the plastic sheets hanging across the room to clear my mind and feel nothing, like the weapon I'm meant to be.

I was created to obey. Not to feel.

I tense when Dean walks in front of me, breaking all semblance of control over myself instantly.

"Well, tell Uriel, or whoever..."

I can't stop the turmoil inside my Grace. I just can't.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him moving to the door between us and Alastair.

"… you do not want me doing this, trust me," he says in a broken whisper.

The long clear plastic sheets suddenly look a bit blurry. The entire place is.

"Want it? No. But I have been told we need it."

"You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out."

I saw Dean's soul consumed by evil, debased to the last stage before his permanent degeneration into a demon. I know all too well what unspeakable acts he committed in Hell and what sick pleasure he found in them. I know this because I held his soul in my hand, purified it and put it back into his body I rebuilt myself from his bones covered with rotting flesh.

It is not him I will like less once he completes this appalling task. It's the hierarchy, for approving this decision and giving me this order. Myself, for failing to protect him as his Guardian. And God, for inflicting so much misery on a good man who already sacrificed more than enough to the cause.

"For what it's worth," I say quietly, "I would give anything not to have you do this"

Silence is merely troubled by the rustling of the plastic sheets grazed by the breeze. Dean is facing the door, head down and fists clenched. He tilts his head towards me, face veiled by his own shadow.

"I'm going to need some... equipment."

I can't think of anything to say - the words are stuck in my throat. I want to tell him I'm sorry, but Anna's words are still echoing through my head. Sorry. Am I really, or is it just misguided compassion for a mission's casualties? The extinction of the entire human species during the Apocalypse and the Flood was far less distressing to me than the prospect of throwing Dean back into the torture habits he had in Hell.

With a wave of my hand, I draw a cloth-covered cart from the shadows. One wheel is squeaking grimly as it rolls toward the righteous man, who wordlessly extends his hand to catch it.

There is a void growing inside of me as I watch him open the door and push the cart into the darkness. Instantly, remorse fills me, and it takes all my willpower to stand still. He disappears into the darkness that swallows him whole.

The door slamming echoes loudly in the lonely warehouse, making me look down at the floor. It's done now.

It's still quiet - I can hear Dean and Alastair talking indistinctly. I could use my powers to enhance my hearing and listen to their conversation, but I can't bring myself to do it. I pinch my lips together and avert my eyes, leaning back against the table, the edge pressing against my back.

Lord Almighty... if this prayer reaches You, if You are as I have always believed a kind and compassionate entity... please do not let Dean stain his soul.

He is already destined to become Michael's sword, to slay his own brother or die by his hand.

Spare him at least this.

I beg of You. Prove that my Faith in You is well founded.

Father...

Agonizing screams - Alastair - in the adjacent room tear me from my silent plea, and I turn my head to look at the door, dark rage surging through me.

Too late.

Nothing and no one was sent to save Dean.

God either doesn't hear me, or refuses to answer me. He never has, and never will.

I have always served Him never asking for anything, with blind Faith and devotion. I thought Him to be just, I believed myself too ignorant to understand Him, but perhaps I was wrong.

I know I'm only a weapon to Him - expendable. I know I have no value to Him. I have abandoned all hope of meaning anything to Him long ago.

I know God doesn't love us - I am fully aware. My Family and I are merely tools, and I am fine with that. We were created to serve Him, that is our life purpose. Humanity, though? Humanity is His masterpiece, and Dean is a direct descendant of Adam and Eve, Father's chosen ones, the Humans He loved and showed Himself to! He is indifferent to my siblings' fate, this I understand, but why would He not care for Dean and Sam? For the Creation which is threatened with destruction now?

He instructed us to love Humans more than Him, so why does He inflict such horrors on the Winchesters, besides involving them in the Apocalypse? What cruel, cold, evil God would do that?

I grip the table's edge, gritting my teeth not to hear the demon's screams growing louder and louder. I wrap my wings around me like a cocoon in a desperate effort to seek comfort.

I step away from the table sharply, growing restless, folding and unfolding my wings. It's been no more than ten minutes since Dean walked through that door and started drawing cries from his former torturer, but every second feels like eternity.

I know this is something that has to be done, and I know that my reaction is illogical - an insult to the memory of my brothers and sisters murdered by demons, and highly improper according to the hierarchy - but I can't contain the heat of my indignation and I resent my Father for allowing this injustice to happen.

For a split second, Siosp's voice rises out from the past like a shadow echo that makes my Grace simmer with sheer terror.

If God existed, He would never tolerate this!

God isn't real!

The memory of his agonizing death at Michael's hand strikes me hard.

My Faith is faltering. I am very close to blasphemy, and...

A wrenching scream laced with gurgling sounds shatters my thoughts, and I press my palm to my forehead, eyes tightly shut. I focus to control the rush of emotions overwhelming me.

I'm a good son, a good soldier. I'm not like Siosp and Anna. I... I'm...

I can't even believe it myself anymore.

With a few strides, I walk around the table and slam my hands on the cold surface, ducking my head while the screaming continues. Will this never end? How long will it take Dean to extract the information out of Alastair? Unless he's deliberately dragging out his task because he's enjoying taking revenge on his former tormentor?

A crackling sound overhead catches my attention and snaps me out of my doubts and questions. One of the ceiling lamps is flickering and a celestial aura is filling the warehouse, awfully familiar.

I look down when the light bulb bursts and the thin shards of broken glass rain down on the table. I know exactly, without looking, who has just appeared behind me. I can feel her presence. I would recognize it anywhere.

"Anna."

"Hello, Castiel."

I cast a glance over my shoulder, but promptly avert my eyes in dismay - Anna displays the exact same human appearance she had when she was stripped of her Grace, just like Camael once was. However, her true face of light is floating in front of her flesh one, and there is a majestic pair of translucent wings on her back, with feathers as though chiseled from ice.

I did see with my own eyes her human body being blown apart by the explosive fusion of her Grace with her holy spirit... How is this possible?

"Your human body..."

Alastair's whimpers are still coming from the door, muffling the patter of water drops hitting the floor. There must be a pipe leaking somewhere.

"It was destroyed, I know." My fallen sister's voice is coming closer behind me. "But I guess I'm sentimental. Called in some old favors and..."

Rebuilding a body without a soul as basis for work is impossible, as far as I know. And if what Anna is implying is correct... then an Angel helped her. An Angel helped a rebel. This is an act of treason.

Who could have helped our former General? Was it Balthazar? He is the expert on vessels and human bodies, after all... Or could it have been Baradiel? He proved when he agreed to capture Alastair with me that he doesn't care about rules. Or maybe Zedekiel, who has connections in every division...

No. Pondering over this now won't solve anything.

I myself am at fault for standing in her presence and not give the alarm or attempt to slay her.

"You shouldn't be here. We still have orders to kill you."

"Somehow I don't think you'll try."

My fallen sister's footsteps echo in the silence. The shouting has stopped - Dean is probably trying to discuss with Alastair.

"Where's Uriel?" she asks, walking past me with confidence.

"He went to receive Revelation."

I answered out of habit - trained as I am to obey Anna's orders since the first day of my existence. She turns her back to me and gazes around, her wings folded behind her back. Trusting.

My sister always knew me better than I knew myself. She knows I won't attack her. I can't. Not when it's just the both of us and when there's nothing to command me to show my loyalty and devotion to Heaven. There is some kind of unspoken agreement between us. A wordless understanding. A likeness that simultaneously entices and scares me.

More than anyone, Anna would understand my doubts and knowingly accept them if I were to confide in her. But while I crossed a dangerous line when I voiced them to Dean Winchester - a mortal who will live only a few decades at most and die taking my secret with him - revealing them to Anna would be something else entirely. For as an Angel, as my sister, and as my former General, she understands what having doubts means to me. For all of us soldiers. It's a slippery, deadly slope. If I take that step, there will be no going back.

I'm yearning to say the words, but I hold them back. I'm scared of what I might say, of what she might say back.

I'm terrified of becoming like her.

"Right," my sister's voice rises, pausing at the door.

Only when the demon's whimpers and cries rise again do I realize the mistake I just made, the leverage I just handed to the rebel: by letting her know that Uriel is in charge of taking orders instead of me, I just informed her that I have been downgraded. How uncertain my position is in the hierarchy. She now knows that I have committed a crime serious enough to deserve such a sanction.

Her wings twitch behind her back, and she slowly turns around, locking a fiery gaze on me. I can hear the demon cackle, then a muffled conversation that I completely ignore, my Grace tightening around Jimmy's soul.

"Why are you letting Dean do this?"

The judgment and disappointment in her eyes send me millions of years back in time.

Suddenly, I feel like one of her soldiers again, diligently obeying her, because displeasing my superiors is the same as displeasing God. I cannot meet her gaze and turn my back on her.

"He's doing God's work," I say firmly.

"Torturing?" she snaps back, louder. "That's God's work? Stop him, Cas, please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have!"

"Who are we to question the Will of God?"

As I speak these words, my voice bears the arrogant echo of our superiors. I clench my fists in my coat pockets as I try to shield myself in the decaying scraps of my Faith. Anna is voicing the thoughts I have been trying to repress since the Council approved this decision. Hearing these ideas loud and clear makes my blood run cold. It makes them so much more real. So much more dangerous.

I have always believed the orders to be sacred, the very embodiment of our Father's Will, but ever since I became General, I found out that many decisions are made directly by ordinary Angels, only higher in rank and older than me... what if this is what happened with all of the abusive orders I have ever been given?

"Unless…" says Anna, as though she sensed the slippery slope where my thoughts were heading, "this isn't His Will."

Avoiding her gaze, I stare stubbornly at a rusty scrap metal construction close to the plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling. Does Anna know something? Could she possibly have answers to the questions I've been asking myself for decades - no, thousands of years?

"Then where do the orders come from?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I don't know. One of our superiors, maybe, but not Him."

I close my eyes, my sister's words soothing me with sour comfort. If Anna is right, then Siosp was wrong: my Father does exist and He is not the cruel and terrifying God I thought He was, when I obeyed all those orders. All the innocent Humans I slaughtered with my own hands over the centuries, all the deceitful illusions I built, all the minds I manipulated, all the acts of cruelty I condoned in the name of Fate... none of this would be the Will of my Creator.

If an ordinary Angel is giving the orders, that would answer all my questions. After all, my brothers and sisters are not so infallible as I used to believe in my younger years. Anna, Siosp, Azazel, Lucifer, Alastair and Camael are proof of this.

"Cas... Cas, look at me."

I turn my head first, then my body as I open my eyes to face her. I feel vulnerable and lost. I don't know what to believe. I was never meant to think or to have choices. It's against my nature. How would I know who to trust and what to do? Should I follow the Council Angels who have shown nothing but disdain and mistrust for me? Or my sister, who abandoned me and burdened me with so much more than I can handle?

All judgment has faded from her green eyes, and she unfurls her translucent wing towards me, gently.

"Come here."

Obeying orders comes so naturally that I take one step in her direction, then a second, while staring at the ground. She moves closer too, the tips of her feathers brushing against my arm to encourage me. When we stand close enough for our auras to blend, Anna lifts a hand and brushes her fingertips against my chin, making me look up to meet her eyes. Her true face is glowing in a mist of soft light, its three green orbs staring at me earnestly.

"And now, listen to me." Her voice grows firmer and she lets go of my chin. "The Father you love. You think He wants this? You think He'd ask this of you? You think this is righteous?"

I look away, my wings flinching behind my back. I used to imagine my Father as loving and merciful, but over the past few millennia, my Faith has wavered many times when I obeyed orders. No matter how many times I told myself that the Lord's ways are impenetrable as I have always been taught, the possibility that He is a God of wrath and destruction instead of love and compassion did cross my mind but I never dared to really consider it.

With a rustle of clothes, Anna sits on the edge of the table staring at me so intensely I can almost feel my Grace flaring up in response.

"What you're feeling… it's called doubt."

A throaty cry from Alastair emphasizes this unmentionable word - this disgusting, shameful, degrading word...

Anna thinks this is news to me. But I have known for months that I'm struggling with doubt - for centuries and even millennia, to be perfectly honest. I have buried this secret deep inside me like an open wound in my Faith, but still, the Council saw right through me - and now Anna knows too.

I'm a failure to my own nature. To my very purpose. An Angel of the Lord must never, ever doubt.

Once more, I avert my eyes to look at the door behind which Dean is performing the acts that sullied his soul in Hell.

I am losing my mind. My Grace is whirling and unfurls my wings against my will - I have no choice but to grab onto the table's cold edge to anchor myself to reality. For a fleeting moment, I can feel myself sinking back into the past, struggling against the raging winds of the Flood, eyes riveted to the small boat, innocent lives at my fingertips.

This is the exact same thing happening today.

All it would take is a flap of wings for me to burst at Dean's side and stop him. I could take him out of there. I could save him like I did when I raised him from Hell. Save him from himself, from his own darkness, his own weakness.

It would be so easy.

As a gurgling scream echoes from behind the door, a touch on my hand suddenly jolts me back to reality. Which is my fallen sister staring back at me. I look down to see her hand move to rest on top of my own, coating it with warmth laced with her Grace.

"These orders are wrong and you know it. But you can do the right thing."

The right thing? I don't know what's right or wrong anymore.

Forcing Dean to torture Alastair is wrong, but letting my brothers and sisters be murdered by demons is equally wrong, and so is the fate awaiting Humanity if this Apocalypse occurs.

Sparing Dean this ordeal would be pointless and I would fall if I helped him, I would be hunted down and executed. I have never forgotten that the boat was designed by Heaven to test my loyalty - even if I had disobeyed, this family could not be saved, just as I can't save Dean now.

Is this God testing me again? Could there be a meaning to all this, one that I can't yet perceive?

I look up sharply, as though shaken out of a haze - the rebel's face is beaming with hope, a smile forming on her lips.

"You're afraid, Cas. I was too." She tightens her hold on my hand. "But together, we can still—"

White fury sets my Grace ablaze.

"Together?"

The veil that clouded my judgment has finally come off. Together - Anna is not trying to save Dean or Humanity. What she wants is to drag me down with her. Anna wants to use my affection for Dean to push me into permanent downfall - to make me turn my back on God, on my family and on my nature, to become a disgusting creature, an insult to our Creator and Lord. A walking blasphemy.

Not only did she abandon the Garrison to crawl into the filth of human emotions and fornication, and leave me to handle an upcoming Apocalypse but now my sister would like to cause my downfall? My rank and my life are not the only things at stake, the entire human race is! What selfish and cruel monster would use my compassion for Dean's suffering to strip me of everything I have left? To turn me away from my duty and my family?

She's no better than Alastair and Azazel.

I rip my hand from hers with open revulsion.

"I am nothing like you!"

I fold my wings behind my back and walk around her, glaring down at her who, like Azazel who lured Adam and Eve away from the Garden of Eden and God's eternal love, tried to lead me astray. How did I listen to her words so blindly? I was close to joining her, so close...

Anna is not God. Anna is no longer my General. Anna is not even my sister, she's nothing, nothing but the ominous vision of what I might become if I allow myself to feel.

My Faith shouldn't be so weak that a few words can sway me. Perhaps the Council has a point - my fondness for Dean could hinder the Mission.

"You fell!" I spit at her. "Go."

"Cas..." says Anna behind me, her voice begging.

I turn around to face her coldly.

Only out of the respect I had for her in the past do I not signal her presence to the rest of the Garrison.

"Go!" I order, more harshly.

As the screaming rises again, Anna stares at me with tears in her eyes before she opens her wings with a soft rustle. I look down so I won't have to watch her leave.

I numb my human senses to smother the screams and the smell of blood that filters through the door. I hold on to the last shreds of my broken Faith with desperation.

I can't tell how much time passed before I finally manage to get a grip on myself, but when I look up, everything is silent and something has changed in the air.

A sense of urgency ruffles the feathers at the base of my wings, and in a few long strides I reach the door. I peek through the window to assess the situation and how far Dean is progressing in his questioning. What I see makes my Grace freeze. Instead of Alastair, Dean is the one pinned against the iron trap, with the demon's hand on his throat.

It can't be.

The trap is...

Dean!

With a hasty wave of my hand, I open the door without touching it, as silently as I can to take the enemy by surprise, he's talking to Dean, his back to me. The smell of blood and agony is so heavy it's suffocating.

Uriel! I yell into the celestial communication channels as I grab the demon-killing blade that Dean left on the cart. Alastair broke free, I need backup!

Alone, I stand no chance. I can't exorcise, capture or even kill Alastair, I don't have the power. All I can do is to stall and protect Dean until the Garrison gets here. I'm not strong enough to take him on, the only way to defeat him is by outnumbering him: two hundred of us will definitely win the fight.

Time is running out - Dean is choking and life is already draining out of his eyes. I charge at Alastair, wielding my weapon, but I was in such a rush that the demon spots my presence - he spins around and lets Dean fall to the ground. Still, I struck with precision, and the dagger blade stabbed straight into his chest, right at the heart. Alastair doesn't even bat an eyelid, and instead propels me backwards with dark, sulfuric power. If I hadn't used my wings to halt the blow, I would have been thrown against the wall.

What is Uriel doing? Did he even hear me calling?

I can't afford to panic. I have to stay calm and assess the situation as objectively as I can. If Uriel is still receiving Revelations, he might not be able to hear me.

Alastair looks down at the dagger plunged into his flesh, crackling and flickering.

"Well, almost." He hardly looks bothered, and looks up, sneering. "Looks like God is on my side today!"

I have to hold him back, take his attention away from Dean.

I hold out my arm in one swift movement, focusing my energy on the hilt of the dagger shoved into his chest, and make it rotate in the wound as I reach out to all of the Garrison soldiers this time.

Requesting urgent assistance to neutralize Alastair! The entire Garrison is needed immediately!

The moving blade causes the demon to stop and grunt in pain and anger, but obviously it's not enough. He reaches up and plucks the blade out of his body, glowering at me.

Soldiers, answer me!

No reply. They should all be here by now!

I lower my arm, bracing myself - am I to take down a fallen, decayed Angel all by myself? Alastair has to stay alive, the fate of the Garrison depends on the answers he can provide.

When the demon roars as he lunges at me, I shake off my fears and focus on the fight. My priority is to protect Dean, because that's my duty as Guardian and because he's Michael's sword, the last hope to save Humanity if the Apocalypse does come - which will happen soon, at the rate seals are breaking.

His fist crashes into my face with so much strength neither my aura nor my Grace can stop the blood vessels in my nose from bursting. I strike back instantly, hitting him in the jaw with my fist, making him stagger backwards. I duck to dodge his next blow, and seize the opening to smash his stomach with a wave of condensed energy. I can hear his bowels rupturing, but it doesn't affect him at all. Suddenly, the side of my skull cracks open under the effect of an extremely violent blow. A stream of blood streams down my face, adding to the blood dripping from my nose and filling my mouth with a copper taste. My vision blurs and my movements grow sluggish, my coordination impaired. My Grace is damaged - due to the sheer force of the attack, it has temporarily thickened to absorb the effects.

It doesn't matter, I've been wounded in battle before. An Angel of the Lord never retreats. Gathering all my energy, I throw a series of powerful punches to his face and blows to his abdomen to smash his broken guts into mush.

He staggers back and collapses to the ground, but it was only a ruse. Before I can make a move, he hurls himself at me, grabbing my coat with a roar and hauling me up against the wall where there is a piece of steel jutting out - the sharp edge of it drives into my back, neatly severing my spinal cord. He yanks me down so the piece of steel slashes through my vessel, ripping apart flesh and bone, wrecking the intricate harmony of veins and muscle fibers. An entire lung is shredded, and an aorta is sliced clean through, flooding my body with massive internal bleeding.

Jimmy's soul is hurting, and as I cling to the demon's arms, I once again have to make a choice. Either use my weakened Grace to keep Jimmy Novak from suffering and heal his body, or ignore his pain and save all my energy to fight Alastair and protect Dean Winchester.

The demon's blood-slicked fingers wrap around my neck before I can make a decision, forcing me to look into his eyes. Unspeakable terror fills me, but not for my life. I have never been afraid to die. But the possibility that I might fail the mission stirs a deep, raw kind of panic inside of me.

Dean can not die, not under my protection!

"Well," Alastair drawls, "like roaches, you celestials. Now, I really wish I knew how to kill you. But all I can do is send you back to heaven."

He tightens his hold on my neck, fracturing the cartilage and obstructing the windpipe - I am unable to use my voice to chant some useless exorcism. I try to struggle, but fail to gain control of my broken vessel with my aching Grace. Everything seems to slow down, and I only manage to stir my wings weakly, helpless in the demon's grip.

If he expels me from my vessel and sends me back to Heaven, as the demons did when I was leading the Garrison into Hell to save the righteous man, Dean won't be the only one to die here because of me. Jimmy won't survive this. His body is broken, his heart no longer beating - my presence in him is the only thing keeping him alive. Without me, he will die immediately and never see his daughter and wife again.

"Omni potentis, Dei potestatem invoco, omni potentis Dei potestatem invoco..."

The chanting builds up into a power that envelops my Grace and tears it away from Jimmy's soul. I can feel my entire being receding from the veins, and my immaterial wings unravel and melt back into my Grace. My sight, my hearing, all of my vessel's sensory abilities dissolve, and I'm stripped back to my own perception and sensations, which are significantly less refined than Jimmy's. I am trapped in his windpipe, brain, mouth and eyes.

I can feel myself sliding up his throat, struggling against the force dragging me out of this body.

"Abrogo terra, hoc angelorum in obse quentum, Domine expuere!"

Flowing out of his eyes and mouth, I discern Alastair with a much reduced and inferior range of colors and sounds than through a Human. And in the distance, lifeless on the ground, lies Dean Winchester.

I failed my mission. I failed Dean.

"Domine expuere! Unde abeo Dei per...!"

Alastair is suddenly interrupted and thrown against the wall like a rag doll. I promptly reinvest Jimmy's body as it collapses to the ground before I can connect my Grace to the synapses in his brain again while I flow back into his veins. My spine is ripped open all the way to the back of my neck and two broken vertebrae are hanging, about to drop off.

Is this the Garrison stepping in at last?

Down on the ground and shaking, I feel my wings growing back, and my physical senses returning. My sight is recovering as well as my hearing.

"Stupid pet tricks..." Alastair's sneering voice rises.

"Who's murdering the angels? How are they doing it?"

That voice. This isn't the voice of one of my Garrison brothers.

It's Sam Winchester's.

Bewildered, I look up at Dean's younger brother, who is holding out a hand to Alastair. So he's the one who saved me, who saved Dean, and Jimmy.

His face, though... His face is distorted, the skin gooey, the features repelling... It's a demon's face, the human part of which is covered by the evil aura wrapped around it.

"You think I'm gonna tell you?" Alastair sniggers.

"Yeah, I do."

The demonic charge in the air intensifies. I envelop Jimmy's soul with my Grace to shield him from the pain and so he won't be able to see what's happening. Still staring up at Sam, I see him clench his fingers with a terrifying look on his face.

"How are the demons killing angels?!" he yells.

Alastair actually seems in pain, as though struggling against a higher power than his own. In a couple of seconds and effortlessly, Sam managed to tame the demon whereas I, an Angel of the Lord, failed.

"I... don't... know!" Alastair spits furiously, still helpless and pinned to the wall.

"Right!"

Sam clenches his fist, which wrenches a cry of pain from the restrained demon.

"It's not… us!"

I can't believe my ears. Alastair is talking. He's actually confessing.

Dean's brother didn't bat an eyelid even though he's subduing one of Hell's most powerful demons like it's a bug in his hand. It took me hours of chanting and the combined power of three Angels just to capture him!

"We're not doing it!" Alastair chokes.

This is impossible. Uriel and I tortured him for hours to no avail, Dean also made him scream for about one hour, and Sam is the one to get a confession out of him so quickly?

"I don't believe you," says Sam.

Vicious mirth deepens his demonic features into an evil grin as he squeezes his fist tighter. The demon's choking grunts are growing louder.

"Lilith is not behind this!" he spits.

Sam probably loosened his grip, since the demon regains some of his composure, smirking.

"She wouldn't kill seven angels," he gloats. "She'd kill a hundred, a thousand..."

Sam lowers his arm, allowing the demon to breathe.

"Oh, go ahead," Alastair sighs patronizingly. "Send me back, if you can."

"I'm stronger than that now," the demon-blooded boy snaps back. "Now I can kill."

I take my eyes off the demon to stare at Sam in shock. Baradiel told me that killing Alastair would require roughly the power of an Archangel. No human, even one with demon blood, could possibly...

Alastair starts screaming, his body sizzles and flickers, releasing a sulfuric stench that yet exposes a clear, dull energy - the echo of an Angel's Grace. He collapses to the ground, screaming, as his existence is obliterated.

I look away from the lifeless corpse to scrutinize Sam, his aura thick with darkness, his face so distorted I can barely recognize him.

What has Azazel done to this child? Why does he have so much power? If Lucifer's true vessel can deploy such overwhelming power on his own, I can't imagine what Lucifer could achieve with such a weapon in his possession.

Sam takes a long, pleased look at his work and then glances at me before rushing to Dean's inert body on the ground.

"Dean? Dean! Can you hear me?"

Leaning against the pillar still drenched with my blood, I rise to my feet, struggling to fluidize my Grace in my veins. With effort, I manage to heal my damaged organs, broken bones, severed nerves and to close the gaping wound across my back. Once I'm standing, all evidence of my fight with the demon vanished from my vessel, and I carefully fold my wings in my back.

"Cas! Dean isn't breathing!"

Heart pounding in my chest, I walk over to the demon-blooded boy who is kneeling next to his brother, looking up at me pleadingly. I lower my gaze to Dean's body and kneel down to brush against his blood-stained cheek.

I know his soul is still inside him, and I can sense that his body is still functioning, although damaged. It's weak, but there definitely is a heartbeat.

"He's alive," I say in a low voice.

My fingers brush against his hair sticky with blood. Uriel's and the Garrison's failure to reply is unusual. What should I do now? I need instructions, I need to know what's going on... What if all of this was just another diversion, and the Garrison was attacked while I was here? Has the Garrison been wiped out by the weapon while I was fighting Alastair?

"Cas!" Sam exclaims, glowering at me. "Do something! He's dying!"

"He's not dying. He's in a coma."

"Well, heal him!"

My Grace is weakened, my Garrison won't answer, Uriel never came back... I need to preserve all the energy I have left to fight again if required.

"I can't do that. I have to wait for orders from above." I remove my hand from Dean's face, while his brother glares at me. "I… don't know what to do, Sam..."

My prisoner broke free, was killed by Sam who defied us by stepping in, the Garrison failed to answer my call for help, and my investigation is still going nowhere. If Alastair was telling the truth, that would mean that the demons aren't the ones who killed my brothers and sisters... but then who did?

"It's easy," Sam hisses, tearing me from my thoughts, "just help him. It's because of you that he's lying here, so take responsibility!"

I frown and stare at Sam and his distorted, shifting face. He defied us, but did save Dean and Jimmy. I don't know what the chain of command will think of this.

If they order me to kill Sam... I won't be able to. I won't tell them what happened.

They don't need to know.

"I am sorry, Sam."

"What? Cas, what do you mean?"

I reach out and swiftly plant my two fingers on both brothers' foreheads as I spread my wings.

In a blink of an eye, I take them in front of the nearest hospital and instantly fly away as I leave them behind, ignoring Sam's yelling my name.

I need orders. I don't know what to do, and incertitude is the most frightening thing for a celestial soldier.

I burst into Heaven's corridors in a flurry of silky feather ruffles, right in front of my former office, which is temporarily Uriel's. I have to notify my superiors of the situation, right now.

"Uriel!" I shout as I slam the door open.

The office est empty. Still gripping the door handle, I stare at the empty space, a sense of dread growing inside of me.

Uriel! Where are you? I internally call out in the communication channel between us. Alastair's dead! What is the Garrison doing? Are you in trouble?

No reply.

I step out of the office and run down the endless corridor, knocking over Angels, Reapers and Cherubs on the way. I finally reach Zachariah's office and almost rip the door off its hinges as I smash it open.

"AAAAAH!"

That high-pitched scream was Lavavoth, Zachariah's personal secretary, standing right in front of me.

"Castiel!" she squeaks, taking a step back.

With wide eyes and the look of a hunted animal in her eyes, the Angel is squeezing a folder against her chest, her puffed-up feathers doubling the size of her wings.

I let the ripped off door handle drop to the ground.

"Where is Zachariah?"

"In a meeting!" With every step I take in her direction, she retreats as much. "So wait until he comes back, or even better: take your orders from your direct superior like you're supposed to!"

"Uriel won't answer my calls," I say, growing impatient. "I need to talk to Zachariah. Right now."

Lavavoth steps back again, almost stumbling on her high heels, and hits the wall behind her, her face pale with terror. Her file slips from her arms and falls to the ground with a soft thump.

"GO AWAY!" she yells, shielding herself with her forearms like I'm going to hit her.

I'm wasting my time here, she won't be of any help. I have to go out there and find Zachariah myself then. Turning on my heels, I burst out of the office and I run head-on into a Reaper who was passing by with his suitcase full of souls.

Zachariah's broken office door slams shut behind me.

"My souls! My souls are escaping! Help me!"

Ignoring the panicked Reaper who, on all fours, is trying to grab the swarm of glowing souls flowing out of his suitcase, I spread my wings to fly away. I fly through the Heaven's zones that I am allowed to access, barely taking the time to materialize in each place. But Zachariah and Uriel are nowhere to be found, not even in solitary confinement.

They have to be somewhere off-limits to me, or in one of the billions of human Paradises - without any indication, I will never, ever find them.

I might as well get back down to Earth. The sun has moved all the way through the sky. An entire day has gone by since I left the Winchester brothers in front of the hospital.

I barge into the building and instantly spot their presence. Plagued by doubts, I stride through the corridors to get to their room. I've never felt so completely and utterly alone before, not even when I used to spend thousands of years standing still, watching crawling fish on the ground. For in those days, Uriel and Anna would visit me from time to time, and I could feel in myself the bond of obedience and devotion that I shared with my brothers in the Garrison.

Now I have lost all certainty. I fear for my Family after what Alastair revealed. Unless he lied - which would hardly be surprising - the demons did not kill the seven Angels. And the only explanation, the only thing that would explain why God doesn't do anything to stop His children from being slaughtered is that... that He's the one doing it.

I slow down my pace and clench my wings. This blasphemous thought would answer all the questions I have been asking myself ever since Lucifer fell. All those unfair orders, the slaughter of innocents, the deaths of hundreds of thousands of my siblings...

It all makes sense if our Father is not, as I have always believed, a God of love and mercy. Maybe He hates us. Maybe He hates the Garrison for being disobedient. Maybe He hates Humanity for blaspheming and lacking Faith.

Maybe He hates me.

I come to a halt in front of the open door of the room, and stare for a while at Dean's unconscious figure, wired with tubes that keep him alive. Sitting at his bedside, Sam looks up when he sees me, and I motion to him to follow me.

I take a few steps away, my Grace churning in my body. My only hope is that Alastair lied. For if my Creator hates me and wants to destroy all that He created, I have no reason to live, to fight, nothing to believe in. I turn around to face the younger Winchester and look up at him. His demonic features have softened a bit, and I can catch glimpses of his human face - his expression is hard, pale with distress and contained anger.

"Sam..."

"Get in there and heal him! Miracle! Now!"

"I can't!"

Not only can't I use my energy in case the Garrison is in danger and needs my help, but I can't act or take initiative without orders. My situation is bad enough as it is. I'm on probation, demoted, accused of having feelings, and now I've let my prisoner escape and die! It's not just my position that's at stake, the entire Creation is!

"You and Uriel put him in there!"

"No!"

I want to argue, to tell him that we were only obeying the Council's orders, but he won't let me explain, choking with anger as he is.

"Because you can't keep a simple devil's trap together!"

"I don't know what happened. That trap..."

I avert my eyes, trying to hold back my frustration.

I spent hours making that trap. It wasn't just an ordinary trap. It was perfectly designed for Alastair, impossible to break from the inside. I designed it myself using all my knowledge, using the finest and most precise Enochian there is.

"… it shouldn't have broken," I say flatly. "I am sorry."

And I am. No matter what Anna would say, I am sorry. I really am. And I deeply regret the way things turned out. If it weren't for Sam, Alastair would be alive, Dean and Jimmy would be dead, and I probably would have been sent to rehabilitation, reassigned to another unit, or simply executed.

Sam's shifting face is contorted with anger, making his expression more demonic than ever.

"This whole thing," he snarls, "was pointless! You understand that? The demons aren't doing the hits. Something else is killing your soldiers."

Something else...

If Sam is telling the truth, there is only one explanation. Only the one.

Cold distress surges through me and seeps into my Grace. I can't hold his gaze.

"Perhaps Alastair was lying."

"No." There isn't the slightest doubt in his voice. "He wasn't."

He stares at me with a hard look before turning around and heading back to the room, leaving me alone in the hallway.

Something breaks inside me. If demons are not the ones killing my brothers and sisters...

As Baradiel's research confirmed, the only beings powerful enough to kill an Angel are the Leviathans, the Sisters of Fate, Death, God Himself, the Archangels and Angels. As one who was present at the battle we fought against the Leviathans before they were sealed in Purgatory by the four Archangels, I know for a fact that there is no Leviathan left walking the Earth.

The Archangels, Death and Father have no need for a weapon to kill us. That leaves only the Sisters and the Angels... who all work under Heaven's orders.

Footsteps echo down the corridor, and two nurses walk past me as I look down at my arm. My Grace gathers in a vein, solidifying, piercing through the skin to slip out in the shade of a blade and fall straight into my hand. The blade is warm and smooth under my fingers and I bring it up to my eye level, a chilling thrill washing over me.

Our weapons are a perfect match for the deadly wounds I found on Pmox, Miz and Levanael. I never contemplated this possibility because it struck me as farfetched, so absurd...

An Angel who would engage in such unspeakable acts could not live betraying God and his own. He would do it openly like Lucifer, Camael, Azazel, Alastair and all the Angels who have fallen to follow Lucifer. Disobedience is the worst crime of all, and such an abomination is not something that can be done secretly. It explodes in broad daylight and eventually leads the misguided Angel to perdition.

Unless...

Unless the Garrison is being punished for our repeated failures. Unless our Father decided to annihilate the Garrison for our inefficiency, for our lack of discipline, for our high rate of rebellion, for the accusations of feelings against me, for failing to save the righteous man from Hell in time.

We failed our duty, our very reason for existing - we are losing this war.

Did Heaven send a soldier on a mission to slaughter the entire Garrison? Does God intend to eradicate us, along with Humanity?

My hand tightens shakily on my blade as what's left of my broken Faith shatters inside me, and I close my eyes, letting the blade dissolve and sink back into my vessel through the pores of my skin.

I can feel myself falling apart.

If my Creator hates me, I have no reason to live. None at all.

oOo

In the next chapter

"You know, Castiel, I used to think there was something special, beautiful and wild about you, but I guess I was wrong."