Hello again! This is really getting fun, isn't it? Sorry for the delayed update. I've been super busy lately, so I did the best I could. Please enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
A fallen angel burns cold.
But shouldn't the Morning Star, the brightest of Heaven, burn as hot as all of the flames and stars and explosions in existence combined? Shouldn't a creature once born of light and fire and Grace itself be as fiery and dangerous and scorchingly hot as what it had once been? Apparently not.
And now, neither did Castiel.
When the angel had Fallen, the resulting explosion of light and power had killed Dean Winchester and Robert Singer. That didn't matter; Lucifer and Castiel had no use for the man who'd broken the first of the 66 seals. His work was done; the two humans would go to Heaven now that they'd paid their dues.
Now the seals were quickly falling like dominoes without the Winchesters to stop Alastair, Lilith, and Ruby from their plan. And now Castiel was helping out too. He'd done things in that short time as a Fallen angel that he would never have even considered as a true angel of God.
He'd killed angels. Gabriel, Anna, Balthazar, and Rachel had all fallen prey to his sword. They'd played for the wrong team in this game of war. Gabriel, the great archangel, who'd been in hiding for endless millennia, was gone. Anna, the angel who'd fallen off the map-destroyed. Balthazar, the cocky and arrogant being of light who'd left Castiel's wings to blacken, was obliterated. And Rachel, the lieutenant with undying, unbreakable faith to God and Heaven-
Castiel had killed her too.
He'd killed all of those that had wronged him.
No- he hadn't killed them.
He'd slaughtered them.
It had never occurred to him while he was stabbing the angels into oblivion that these were his brothers and sisters. These were children of God, like him. Like Lucifer.
But he hadn't given a damn about family and had just cut down those angels like they were brittle, fragile trees. And they had fallen to the ground in an explosion of pure Grace. Castiel had sneered at the black wing imprints on the ground; had smirked at the fact that the angels that had once considered themselves to be pure were now the ones with black wings under their unmoving bodies.
It was a violent life, but it was still better than being mocked for his wings. Now he was a hero among demons and the other angels that had slipped away from Heaven and had broken the laws of creation. Castiel was the breaker of the seals, the most loyal servant of Lucifer, his oldest and wisest superior, now his one true God.
The God that he'd believed in was gone; had been gone since a little after Lucifer's Fall. This new God was the Morning Star himself, and Castiel was the angel of Thursday that had gone down the path that he'd forged to meet his new savior. Sure, maybe other societies may refer to Castiel's chosen path as a tragedy, or as a twisting and shattering of fate.
Maybe those spirits of Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer and all those other humans knew the truth now, and hated Castiel for ripping apart the fabric of the time that they'd never gotten the chance to live.
Maybe Castiel should care about the fact that he was now a monster amongst his own kind.
And maybe, just maybe, he should pause for a moment and regret killing them all just because of a few mistakes.
But Castiel was Fallen now. He didn't need to care.
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