Chapter 13: On the Head of a Pin

The devil's trap broke, and an angel and a demon battled over the broken body of one Dean Winchester.

Alastair won.

Castiel could feel his spirit slipping out of his vessel as the demon gripped his throat and muttered a vile, satanic exorcism. He opened his mouth, blue light dripping out, feeling himself be ripped away. The pain was immense.

Then it was over, and a familiar soothing presence was bending over him, gentle hands combing through his hair.

"Cas? Cas, can you hear me?"

In the background, Alastair screamed. Sam had the demon pinned to the wall and was reaching inside of him telekinetically, twisting his insides, choking him, pressing invisible spikes into his eyes and throat. Dean was on the floor, coughing up blood and holding onto consciousness by a thread. Uriel was tellingly missing.

Castiel wasn't aware of any of this. In his dazed state his entire vast perception narrowed down to her soft scent, of oranges and shampoo and the living, warm smell of her skin. He wanted to breathe her in, to wrap himself up in her and never let go.

"Cas! Are you still in there?" the voice said, a little sharper, and he jerked out of his reverie. Eli was staring at him in worry, her face finally relaxing at the sight of his eyes. "Oh, thank God," she murmured. "I thought we had lost you."

He marveled at the relief in her voice. "I am fine," he said in a sore and very low voice, allowing her to help him up.

"It's not us!" Alastair was howling, thrashing weakly against unseen bonds. "We're not doing it!"

"I don't believe you," Sam hissed, twisting his hand in midair. Alastair screamed.

"Lilith is not behind this," he gasped out, and began to chuckle insanely, his eyes rolling back in his head. "She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a thousand!"

Sam stopped and stared at the demon, contemplating his truthfulness. Alastair smirked even as foam bubbled along the edges of his mouth. "Go ahead. Send me back, if you can."

Sam's eyes hardened. "I'm stronger than that now. Now I can kill."

He flared his fingers and Alastair screamed one last time, an eerie red light flickering behind his skull and shining through his ribs like crimson fire. Then he collapsed, dead.

Silence fell over the warehouse, a silence so final and deep it was like they could hear the snow fall gently on the metal roof. Finally Eli stepped forward, clapping her hands together.

"Right," she said. "We have to get Dean to the hospital. You guys want to help me with that or are you going to sit around gaping all day?"

After seeing Dean to the hospital, and speaking with Uriel about the situation, Castiel found himself pacing the dark streets alone, his head filled with conflicting thoughts. He was scared—no, terrified—at what was going on, all of it: the angels dying, the lack of orders from his superiors, the disobedience growing like a hungry animal inside of him… the impure thoughts that had been plaguing him ever since he took this human body. He couldn't stop noticing things, the feel of cold, the light of the sun, the smell of food. How did humans live like this, all of the time? The nonstop stimulation was driving him crazy.

Finally he stopped and lifted his head to the sky. The snow fell on his face, and even that sensation, the feathery iced softness, scared him in its intensity.

"Anna," he whispered hoarsely, almost begging. "Anna, please."

The streetlight flickered. He looked up at it, noting despite himself how the particles of snow streamed through the yellow glow like they were dancing, then turned around.

"Decided to kill me after all?" she asked, arms crossed. He blinked, snow clumping in his lashes.

"I'm alone," he rasped.

Anna took a step closer. "What do you want from me, Castiel?" Her voice was suddenly gentle. Castiel looked at his feet, embarrassed.

"I…I'm considering disobedience."

Anna nodded, pleased. "Good."

"No, it isn't!" he insisted, a bit petulantly. "For the first time, I feel..." He trailed off, trying to force his mind away from the scent of oranges and lotion and warm skin.

"It gets worse," Anna said, taking a few steps closer to him, her feet leaving no tracks in the freshly fallen snow. The wind picked up, tossing her red hair and dusting her cheekbones with snowflakes. "Choosing your own course of action is confusing, terrifying."

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he just looked at it like he had never seen one before. Her face turned cold and she snatched it away. "That's right. You're too good for my help. I'm just trash. A walking blasphemy."

"No!" Before Castiel could stop himself he caught her hand. "No one should ever call you that. No one has the right to…" He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of who he was talking to.

Anna studied him, something akin to wonder in her eyes. "I can't believe it," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "I just can't believe it." She let out a short laugh. "Guess she wasn't as misguided as I thought."

"What are you talking about?" Castiel asked, confused. Anna merely shook her head and gently pried her hand from his.

"You'll figure it out soon enough," she said, walking away.

"Anna," he called one last time, and she stopped in her tracks. "I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do."

She turned back to him, her face thoughtful and pitying. "Like the old days? No. I'm sorry. It's time to think for yourself."

She gave him one last smile, then vanished, leaving Castiel alone to contemplate the cold and the snow and the traitorous thoughts in his heart.

Deep in his soul, Castiel knew the truth, he just had to confirm it. He summoned Uriel.

It was easy to sense when he arrived; his aura was muddied, choked by the bitterness and smug satisfaction that seemed to hover around him like a cloud. "You called?" Uriel asked, sounding bored.

Castiel stayed where he was, crouched by the dripping faucet, his fingers tracing the air as if looking for fingerprints.

"Strange," he murmured. "Strange how a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels when we ourselves are supposed to be the agents of fate."

"Alastair was much more powerful than we had imagined," Uriel said, and even in his deep and booming voice it sounded fake, a pat response. Castiel shut off the tap with his mind and stood.

"No," he said in a quietly decisive tone. "No demon can overpower that trap. I made it myself." He turned to the other angel and squinted at him, attempting to read his soul. "We've been friends for a long time, Uriel. Fought by each other's sides, served together away from home, for what seems like forever. We're brothers, Uriel. Pay me that respect. Tell me the truth."

Uriel sighed.

"The truth is," he said, and there was something truly wicked in his tone, something dark and ugly that, for all of his angry ranting, Castiel had never heard before. "The only thing that can kill an angel..."

A sword, gleaming and silver, slid out from his sleeve and into his hand. It looked small in Uriel's giant grasp, like a toy. "...is another angel."

Castiel's suspicions were confirmed, but the knowledge only made him sick. "You," he said dully.

Uriel bared his teeth. "I'm afraid so."

Castiel already knew the answer, but he pushed on. He had to be sure. "And you broke the devil's trap, set Alastair on Dean."

"I did so many things, Castiel," Uriel said smugly. "Over the course of so many months. I disabled the phone connection between the Winchesters and the Abomination to make sure that they wouldn't find the witch in time to stop the raising of Samhain. And yes, I set Alastair free. He should have killed Dean and escaped, and you should have gone on happily scapegoating the demons."

"For the murders of our kin?" Castiel was trying not to let his anger get the better of him, but he could feel his human form betraying his emotions, his eyes narrowing into slits, his hands trembling with the still-unique sensation of adrenaline pumping into his bloodstream.

Uriel shook his head. "Not murders, Castiel. No. My work is conversion. How long have we waited here? How long have we played this game by rules that make no sense?"

"It is our Father's world, Uriel," Castiel said evenly. Uriel laughed without humor.

"Our father? He stopped being that, if he ever was, the moment He created them. Humanity," he snarled with disgust. "His favorites. This whining, puking larva." He took a step toward Castiel. "But you know what really broke me? When, after forcing us to purge our half-brothers and sisters in the bloodiest way possible, and indoctrinating us as to their monstrosity, He decides to save one little girl, at the expense of the world, just because her father is His favorite. Just because he asked nicely."

"What are you saying?" Castiel asked warily.

"Oh, right," Uriel said with a cruel laugh. "That's above your level, isn't it? Didn't you ever question why we went through so much trouble to bind the little freak's powers? Why Azazel tried to put a heaven-forged collar around her neck?" He stared at Castiel with something close to pity. "You poor bastard. You don't know anything, do you?"

"Tell me," Castiel said, stepping forward, his voice like gravel. Uriel spread his hands.

"Join me, and I will."

"Are you trying to convert me?" Castiel asked stonily.

"I want you to join me. And I still do. With you, we can be powerful enough to…" He trailed off.

"To..." Castiel pushed. Uriel looked him flush in the eye.

"To raise our brother."

"Lucifer." Castiel spat the name out like it was ash on his tongue. Uriel walked past Castiel, his eyes bright, almost feverish.

"You do remember him? How strong he was? How beautiful?" he mused with awe. "And he didn't bow to humanity. He was punished for defending us. Now, if you want to believe in something, Cas, believe in him."

Castiel tried one last time to make his brother see reason. "Lucifer is not God."

"God isn't God anymore," Uriel snarled. "He doesn't care what we do. I am proof of that."

"But this?" Castiel exclaimed, finally letting emotion creep into his voice. "What were you going to do, Uriel? Kill the whole garrison?"

Uriel's face was grim. "I only killed the ones who said no." Then, like he was replacing a mask, his face changed again, becoming pleading and hopeful and almost kind. "Others have joined me, Cas. Now, please, brother, don't fight me. Help me. Help me spread the word. Help me bring on the apocalypse. All you have to do is be unafraid."

Castiel drew himself up, feeling his strength flow through his vessel's arms and body, the heart pumping too fast to be human, his mind focused and miraculously calm.

"For the first time in a long time," he ground out, looking directly at Uriel, "I am."

Uriel smiled, relief etched on his face.

Castiel punched him through a wall.

Uriel stood, thunderous and covered with dust. He lunged at the smaller angel, tackling him to the ground. Fists cracked against Castiel's nose and cheekbones; something broke, only to be healed again in an instant, leaving only a smear of blood across his face. Castiel heaved Uriel away with all of his power and stood, only to feel the crack of metal against his head. The room started to spin. Still he fought, even as Uriel wrestled him to the floor and began to beat him senseless.

"You can't win, Uriel," Castiel gasped out, trying to find an inner reserve of strength. "I still serve God."

Uriel punched him, hard; Castiel felt an odd, irony taste fill his mouth. "You haven't even met the man." Uriel sounded like a wounded, enraged animal as his fists came down on his brother, the blows too hard and too fast to heal. For the first time Castiel felt real pain as his vessel's teeth shattered and his nose broke, blood sliding down the back of his throat and nearly choking him. "There is no will. No wrath. No God."

He raised his fist one last time and Castiel flinched. Something akin to regret welled up within him, regret that he hadn't truly seen this beautiful human world, or done all of the work that he was meant to do. Regret that he would never find out if her cornsilk hair was as soft as it looked, if her skin tasted the same as it smelled, like warmth and life.

The fist came down. Castiel closed his eyes, preparing for the worst.

There was a choking noise, and Castiel felt the heat of blood not his own spill onto his face. He opened his eyes to see Anna above him, Uriel's own sword buried deep in its owner's throat.

"Maybe," Anna hissed, the ends of her red hair coated in blood. "Or maybe not. But there's still me."

She pulled the sword out and stood as Castiel scrambled out from under him. Uriel began to writhe on the floor, screaming, blinding white light bursting from his eyes and mouth. For a brief moment, the whole building was engulfed in it. Then, like a switch flicking off, it went dead, the only mark of its passing the wings seared into the ground around Uriel's empty vessel.

Eli was standing on a bridge, contemplating the dark and icy water, when he appeared. She didn't even have to turn around; she could sense him as he silently walked up behind her.

"Hello, Eli," he said, putting his hands on the guardrail and peering into the river.

Eli sniffed a little from the cold. "Hey, Cas. Where have you been?"

He was quiet for a moment. "I…went to the hospital to speak with Dean."

"Ah," she said, carefully not looking at him. He was warm, as always; even standing next to her she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, warm enough to melt snow. "How is he?"

"He will be fine…physically," Castiel said in a soft, regretful voice. Eli turned to him, studying his profile in the dim light of the street lamps.

"It's not your fault, Cas," she said quietly, placing a cold hand on top of his warm one. "You had no idea that the devil's trap would break. You couldn't have prevented it."

He stared at the hand on top of his with an unreadable expression. "Couldn't I?" he murmured. Then: "Uriel is dead."

"What?" Eli asked, instinctively pulling her hand away, but he put his other hand on top of hers, effectively trapping it. "What happened?"

"He was a traitor," Castiel rasped. "He was the one who broke the devil's trap. He wanted to free Lucifer."

"Oh, God," she said, stepping closer to his heat, her hand still clasped between his. "Cas, I'm…I'm so sorry. I know that he was your brother."

"Perhaps. Perhaps I only thought he was." He fell silent for a moment, apparently deep in thought. "He almost killed me tonight. And this, all of this, Eli, everything that has happened, it has made me…doubt. My purpose. My orders. I feel very … lost."

"Cas," she murmured. He turned to look at her, his blue eyes dimmed to black in the darkness, his hair tousled and messy.

He took a step closer, pulling her into him, moving his hands from hers and placing them on either side of her face. She held her breath as he traced her skin with his fingers, running his thumb along her mouth as if captivated, as if he had never felt such a thing before.

"Cas," she finally breathed. "What are you doing?"

He tilted his head to hers, his breath hot on her face. "Considering disobedience," he murmured, before gently leaning in and covering her mouth with his.

His lips were soft, and feather light, but after a moment he hesitated, unsure of what to do. Eli responded by grabbing the lapels of his trench coat and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His mouth moved against hers sweetly, his hands still cupping her face, and Eli felt truly and blissfully happy for the first time in a long time.

Around them, it began to snow.