A/N: This fic has a lot of my personal headcanons based on a private SPN RP, but the plotbunny latched onto my leg at 3 a.m. and refused to let go. I hope you enjoy! (See end of the work for more notes.)
There's a flap of wings, and Castiel staggers into the fortress he has been in charge of for so long, gesturing for those of his garrison who have survived to enter and rest. He could not ask for more courageous or loyal soldiers, not after what they have achieved. Forty years of harrowing Hell, battling through the Pit against uncountable hordes, to give him the chance to break the shackles of the Righteous Man and raise him from perdition. How many of them have died in that struggle?
Too many. He had heard each song end, each sibling die, but there had been no time to mourn in the midst of battle. When he could, he had snatched up fallen blades, preserving one little fragment of their grace, and he knows others have done the same. Those blades will be laid to rest in Heaven soon enough, a memorial to the valiant soldiers of Heaven whose obedience and loyalty were without question.
As Castiel finally closes the gate behind him, his siblings already dispersing through the fortress to take care of their own tasks, he slumps and lets out what would have been a sigh if he were human. For the first time in a very long time, he can feel a world not filled with foulness, and it is a balm to his grace...
...and an unexpected release for his grief.
A wail of loss escapes before he can choke it back down, but with absolute iron will, he forces himself to stand tall again. He has work to do, still.
But before he can even take a step, Balthazar is there; Balthazar, who was only absent from the harrowing on Castiel's own orders, filled with relief and concern and grief all at once. He catches hold of Castiel - his commander, his sibling, his friend - and guides him into a quiet corner where nobody else will see them.
"You succeeded, then," he says, and it's not a question. He knows that Castiel would not have returned if he had failed. "Have you seen the healers yet?"
"There's no time," Castiel replies heavily, trying to rise, but Balthazar's jaw tightens and he makes his commander sit still.
"You've just battled through a place most angels fear to tread," he says quietly. "You've held your command together through that. And I can see the toll it's taken. Your wings, Castiel..." There's real sadness now; while Castiel's wings lost their pristine whiteness long ago, stained grey by the ashes of the fallen, there are now black burn marks across the twisted and tangled feathers that make Balthazar shudder with the thought of the pain. The only thing that hasn't changed is the silver stripe marking out the lower edge of each primary feather; not even Hell can dull that, it seems, and that is a relief. Some fundamental part of Castiel is unchanged and unchangeable.
"They still function," Castiel insists, straining to keep the implacable façade in place. "I - I need to... receive revelation. Dean Winchester needs guidance, still."
"He can wait," Balthazar snaps. "You need this. Just for a few moments, let yourself rest."
"They're expecting me..." Castiel manages to get out, only to be cut off by a frustrated noise as Balthazar rises.
"Wait here," he said firmly, and is gone.
The hush hits like a blow, and Castiel can feel the grief welling up again despite his best efforts. He can't afford to break down yet, not when he's needed -
Balthazar returns with one of the higher-ranked healers, his agitation clear. "Look. You can see for yourself." He gestures at the trembling commander of the garrison, who looks stunned to see them here. "He knows he has duties to perform, I've had to persuade him to wait even this long, but even Zachariah has to understand that this needs taking care of first."
The healer - Makariel - nods and steps forward to check Castiel over, and he bows his head and lets her in silence, knowing full well that trying to tell a healer to stop when they can see something is wrong is a futile endeavour.
When she's done, she steps back and nods to Balthazar. "I will tell them he will come to seek revelation as soon as he is ready," she says. "You will send him when you know he's recovered."
Balthazar's wings reflect his relief and gratitude as she leaves, and then he sinks to the floor to enfold Castiel in his wings. "Take what time you need, now," he says gently. "I'm here... esiasch."
That word - one he hasn't heard in a very long time - breaks the dam. Clinging to his friend, Castiel breaks down, wailing out his grief at the deaths of so many angels, his agony at the torment of hellfire on his wings, his anguish at the sheer horror that Hell inflicted on him and all his innocent siblings, who had never experienced it before, and will now forever be marked by it. He mourns the loss of things that can never be regained.
Through it all, Balthazar never falters. He simply stays there, holding the brokenhearted commander of his garrison, and lets it happen. He can't understand the horror the same way, but he can at least be the rock for Castiel to cling to while he weeps.
By the time he's exhausted it all, Castiel feels drained, but... somehow the pain is easier to bear. He shifts his wings weakly, almost ready to get back up, but Balthazar's touch is stronger than a summoning. "Your wings," he says, and Castiel lets out a strangled groan. "Shall I do it?"
There's silence, and then Castiel nods, slumping back down to let his friend's deft fingers set to work. He can't bear the effort of doing it himself, but he can trust this angel to look after him. The battered, scarred, blackened wings are slowly, gently smoothed and settled, Balthazar taking extra care to make each individual feather as perfect as possible.
Only when he finally runs out of work to do does the clever angel enfold his friend in his own soft shadowy-brown wings again. "I would have taken all the pain for you, Castiel," he says quietly. "But I never doubted you. I had faith in you. I still do."
Those words are a benediction, and Castiel raises his head, with just the faintest hint of a smile. It's the first time he's smiled since he said farewell to his friend before he left on his mission. "Thank you," he says, gripping Balthazar's arm in gratitude, and the other angel smiles in response.
"You give everything to us all," he murmurs. "I'm just glad I could give you this."
Tired as he is, this brief respite in perfect safety has renewed Castiel, and he stands tall once more, the garrison commander once again. The warmth in the look he gives Balthazar is enough, as silent understanding passes between them. "Am I fit to return to my duties yet?" he asks, a flicker of humour showing through. They both know he's going to leave now regardless, but for just a moment he can tease.
"I wouldn't try to stop you," Balthazar replies, grinning ear to ear; seeing Castiel recovered enough to be playful for a moment is a joy like no other. "But if you need me, I'll come, regardless."
"I know. Be well." And with that, Castiel is gone to seek revelation.
The smile fades. Balthazar is quite sure that things will only get worse from here. That this is not the simple battle many angels believe it will be. But he knows his duty. And if Castiel needs him, regardless of whether he asks - help will be given.
With a soft swish of feathers, the room is empty once more.
A/N: "Esiasch" is Enochian for "brother". In my personal headcanon, only angels who are very close use this term towards each other, and they only tend to use it in emotionally charged moments.
