CHAPTER 3 - Born for Adversity

By Darklady

Who reaffirms all previous declarations of faith (in Kripke).

Dean had permission to remain outside the operating theater, waiting for further word as the operation progressed.

Already a nurse had come out, reassuring Dean that his brother would surely live, and beyond that bearing the welcome news that Sam's injuries were far less grim than the first tests had indicated. The doctors, she had assured them, had decided against the amputations. Sam Winchester would keep his leg, and with sufficient therapy might even walk again.

Castiel had thanked the woman for her kindness.

Dean had wept.

This had at first surprised Castiel, as surely she bore good news.

Bobby Singer had patted his hand, and had tried to explain catharsis and relief and the idea of tears of joy. Castiel had listened closely, but suspected that he had missed much of the subtext. It was not that he lacked an understanding of mourning or of loss. Many of his brothers and sisters had fallen in this past war. A tragic few had been slain by his own hand. But when angels died they did cleanly, the grace indwelling or vanished back into the Godhead. Angels did not sit suspended on blades of hope while a beloved sibling fought breath by breath.

The strangeness had chased Castiel from the waiting room, unable to find his usual peace and unwilling to burden Dean with… Castiel did not even know what to call it. He was not fearful, or in pain, or heavy laden. Why then could he not rest?

He had walked beige halls, moving without direction, seeking distraction between the noisy souls that swirled and parted, each with their own frantic need or hopeful demand. In time, and purely by chance, he had ended here, in this small room tucked between the gift shop and the snack counter.

The sign had read CHAPEL.

The room itself is bare. Six rows of wooden benches fill the space, long enough to sit four or perhaps five, each pair separated by a narrow center walk. There is a raised space at the far end, only a few inches above the main floor and barely qualified to be called a dais. A plain podium stands to one side, the pale wood making it look like the lobby receptionist had misplaced some part of her office furniture. It matched the altar, which in square sterility more resembled a too large coffee table, or perhaps a desk without drawers.

Under the utility Castiel can feel the lingering vibration of desperation and of denial, spicing the spirit of the place with a bitter tang.

For all of that, it is a sacred space.

Castiel has known cathedrals which were less so.

The room is empty, but not unwelcoming.

He takes a seat at the back.

He thinks about kneeling. There is space and equipment for that. But that seems somehow too dramatic, a theatre of faith. He sits.

The bench is warm, and unexpectedly comfortable.

In a compromise gesture, he does fold his hands.

Castiel's mind tells him he should give thanks. Clearly, his father has blessed Samuel Winchester.

Well, no. It was Gabriel who healed Sam, to what degree the inexpiable Archangel had. But, Castiel reminds himself firmly; the Father had not forbidden Gabriel to do so. He had not stopped his most unpredictable son from blessing the equally uncatagorisable Winchester brother. All was in Gods hands. Nothing could happen without the Father's awareness or against his will. Thus in so far as Sam had been healed it would be right and proper to praise the Lord.

Except, that would mean the near Apocalypse they had so barely survived was also God's will. It would mean that the treason of Uriel and the deaths of Castiel's brothers and sisters was also God's will. It would mean that Castiel's own confusion and… even his sin… were in some way God's will.

But… that was ridiculous. God could not want his children to rebel against him.

Castiel knew he was Fallen. He was disobedient and unclean and unworthy of his Father's love, and while he could not quite repent his sin he could at least find the moral will to acknowledge it.

Perhaps he should pray to Gabriel? No. That would be Abomination. Wanting worship was one of the crimes of Lucifer, of Lilith, of Belial. Castiel was not so Fallen as to contemplate *that*. Plus, it would be poor repayment to Gabriel, who was likely in enough trouble for helping Castiel and his… humans.

Reluctantly, Castiel put aside the idea of prayer. At least for now.

Perhaps he should meditate?

He can not, of course, commune with the Host. They will no longer share their voices with him. Even if they did? Castiel suspects he would not find peace in hearing what they have to say. His name is now the discord in the harmony of Heaven.

He can, Castiel realizes happily, still contemplate the glory of his Father's creation. True, an empty room surrounded by the illness and death is not perhaps the best example of the Lords magnificent bounty, but there is wonder and perfection everywhere. A single grain of sand glorifies the Creator as much as the most lauded mountains or sunsets.

Or? Here reality brings him down with a thud. He could consider what he has done, and what he will need to do. Castiel thinks what he did was right. He thought so at the time. He still does, really. But now with the frantic needs of the battle past his mind continuously turns back on itself to condemn him with all the ways that this right thing he did is also so very *very* wrong.

Unbidden, his hands open.

He buries his head in them, wondering if he should try to weep. David's tears had moved the Lord, so perhaps…?

A shadow lands on his shoulder.

"Um." A middle-aged man in a black shirt was looking down. By his expression he is not quite certain what Castiel was doing here, or what he should do with Castiel. "I'm the chaplain here and…"

"I am sorry. I will leave." Castiel does not completely understand the rules humans applied to such matters as chairs, although time with the Winchester brothers has at least made him aware of the general outlines. Driver picked the music, shotgun holds on to the map, and riders in the back seat could borrow Sam's iPod. In bars, keep one space between yourself and a stranger, unless the stranger was an unaccompanied female in which case Dean sat by the girl and Sam sat by the pool table. The best booth in any diner was the one overlooking both the door and the counter. The counter itself was never to be used as no Hunter sat with his back to the door. None of those rules seem to apply here.

Castiel stands. "I did not know this was your place."

"No." The man held up a hand, as if to stop Castiel. That was ridiculous. Even if Castiel had been fully human he would still have been a hunter and a warrior, while this man did not look as if he could take on so much as a poltergeist. "I mean yes. I mean… this is my place. In the sense that, like I said, I'm one of the hospital chaplains. But also no, you don't need to leave. Please."

Castiel settles back. He did not want to leave, not particularly, so if remaining will please this human? The man reads as kind, if slightly scattered in his thoughts. Although perhaps it is Castiel's own exhaustion that makes the man hard to read. Certainly the man intends no harm, which after the last days is enough to raise him in Castiel's opinion.

"I'm sorry if I startled you." The man sits down on the same bench. He leaves what Castiel has learned is a minimal polite distance between them. "I'm Mike. Michael Stranton. From Saint Paul's."

He says it with that tone that indicates Castiel might recognize him. In this, he is mistaken.

When Castiel says nothing, the man adds. "Saint Paul's up on Norris Street?" The man - Castiel can not make himself name stranger Michael - points over his shoulder. Then at his collar. "Ummm. Episcopalian. If that matters to you."

It does not, although Castiel does know enough of human history to identify the concept. That, however, does not seem a polite thing to say, and for all his clumsy speech the man is trying to show… is this empathy? For lack of a better response, Castiel goes with "you are a minister from Saint Paul's Church."

The man seems to take this as an answer, for all it is only an affirmation. He leans closer. "You looked worried. Can I help you?"

Castiel considers this question. Dean Winchester has found some members of the clergy helpful, and of course they are the source of hunter necessities like holy water and blessed oil. The man is likely a trained exorcist, if not an experienced one. If demons were to attack he might prove useful. But of course demons will not attack. Most have been destroyed or returned to the pit, and any who escaped the harrowing will be hiding.

Castiel does not think that the man is offering medical assistance. That is the purpose of the building, but such care is the realm of doctors and nurses, and in any case would be provided out on the clinic wing. Plus Castiel retains the power to heal himself, if no longer others.

Food has been provided by the cafeteria, and coffee by the vending machine. The Red Cross worker found toothbrushes and a fresh shirt for Dean. Plus, of course, Gabriel had come to his aid.

Castiel nods at the memory of that. "I am being helped."

"Oh." The man jerks as if struck. "Good. That's good. But…" He blinks, like Sam's computer resetting. "If… if you yourself want to talk… or anything…"

Castiel did, strangely, want to talk. Not that he anticipated that this human could understand him, but… an eternity of speaking to a silent heaven had left a deep need for - just once - for *someone* to hear and to answer. It didn't, Castiel realized suddenly, matter what the answer was. He just wanted someone somehow to *hear*.

"My brother Ga...." No, that was a direction not to go in. "Gabe." Castiel used Dean's name for the archangel. "My brother Gabe. He helped me. Well, he helped Samuel, but he did it for me."

"And that troubles you?" The minister's voice was flat, with just a tinge of quizzical.

"It was a kindness, but one that will offend our… other brothers."

"Why? If you don't mind my asking." He looked around, as if checking that the empty room was just that. "We can make this confessional, if you want."

Castiel ignored that last. God would hear if he wished to hear, and the rest could do likewise. Nothing he said would make the garrison angrier.

"The brothers do not approve of …Dean." Among the thousand other offenses in thought and deed for which Castiel stood condemned, but Dean was the focus and first cause of all of them.

"Dean?"

"Samuel's brother and my… friend."

"Oh!" The minister's tone made a sudden up-tick, as if Castiel had somehow said more that five words would hold. "That can be a… difficult matter… for a family to accept. But from what you say, your brother Gabe has reached out to you."

"Yes." Castiel agreed. "I think he likes Sam and Dean. Not as I do. They do not always… agree. They have had their fights. But he did come to me here, and when I asked for his help… he did what he could."

"That speaks well for him."

"He is, I think, better than he hold himself to be." Something Castiel would not have been able to grasp before, but he was learning to think in new ways. Perhaps even ways that Gabriel could not. "But now I fear that my other brothers will act against Gabe. They might try to rebuke or even punish him… because of what he has done for Samuel and… just for speaking to me."

The minister shook his head. Under his breath, he muttered, "Angels and ministers of grace defend us."

"Exactly" Castiel smiled. This human was wiser than he had expected.

"Your brother?" The man tilted his head slightly, reminding Castiel strangely of the photo Bobby Singer had shown him of his favorite dog. There was something gentle yet pleased around his eyes. "He knows this? That they might feel this way?"

"Yes." Distance from the Host would not have weakened Gabriel's memory. "It causes him pain, I think, although he denies it." Gabriel would mock the idea that he still wants Heavens approbation, but watching Dean has taught Castiel how often mockery can cover bleeding needs. The similarity between the two souls is in this way painful to consider, and at times Castiel fears that Gabriel in heaven had suffered as deeply as Dean had in hell. "I would intercede for him, beg their mercy, but that would… that would just make things worse." After a second Castiel ads. "For him."

"He knew there would be consequences, but he helped you anyway." The minister sounds strangely upbeat. "Willingly. You didn't force him to help you, right?"

" I begged him but… no." Castiel almost laughs. Not from humor, but just at the ridiculous image of a mere garrison angel forcing an archangel to do anything. "I have no power to compel him. He is much stronger than I ever was."

"Well then." The man nodded, as if some great conclusion had been reached. You have to respect your brother, and allow him to make his own moral choices." He patted Castiel lightly on the shoulder. "Personally, I'm glad that he made it in the direction of charity. Caritas, we are taught is the queen of virtues."

"Really?" Cas jolted back in the seat. "I thought obedience was?"

"If I speak with the voice of angels, but have not charity?" He made the quote into a question. "I'd suspect you know that one."

"Yes." Castiel knew all scriptural verses. In all languages. From all religions. "But I had not considered matters in that light." He wondered if it was uncharitable to imagine Zachariah's face if someone was to call him a 'tinkling cymbal'. Then he wondered if this particular building was lightening proofed.

"Thank you." Castiel found he meant that thanks. Sincerely. He wondered if he could bless the man.

Holding to the back of the pew, the minister pushed himself to his feet. "I'm about to do rounds, so if you have someone you'd like me to look in on? Pray for?"

"Samuel Winchester. He is in surgery now. And also…. his brother Dean." Who would scoff if Castiel told him he was being blessed, but who had taught Castiel that not all secrets had to be shared. Dean had no grounds for complaint when his own lessons were applied back on him. "He was also injured, although less so."

The Reverend Michael Stranton pulled out a small spiral note pad. "Would they be offended if I added them to the mass intentions list? I have an opening this Wednesday night."

Castiel grinned. "Do you think you could make that Thursday? That is our … special day."

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Proverbs 17:17 A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.

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This is not a grand story arc, but a series of moments as Musey dictates them. I wish I could promise some great story, but it's really just about Castiel and his brothers. All his brothers.