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Chapter 6

Castiel was dumbfounded at how quickly Sam resigned his search for his brother. Perhaps he was feeling discouraged. But Castiel refused to give up. He blamed himself for Dean's situation. He would get him out. He scoured the Earth, questioning every demon, vampire, shape-shifter, werewolf, or skinwalker he could find for a way in to Purgatory so he could retrieve the human. Many of them, even the more powerful ones, feared him after hearing of what he had done, but none of them had the information he needed. He wanted to smite them in anger, but he knew it was not their fault. He was re-exercising his merciful capabilities, something he never thought he would lose.

Weeks passed him by, and became months. Still he had nothing except rumors, all of which were dead-ends. He found one Leviathan, scared and separated from its pack, who snapped and snarled at him but finally started talking once he injected some cleaning chemicals in to its form. It claimed that the only way for a non-native to get in to Purgatory was to have their soul pulled in by something, and the only way out was by a goddamned miracle. He did not exercise mercy with this monster.

He sat in the former house of Bobby Singer, tipping a rather large bottle of alcohol back and forth. Sam was off having a life with some human female. He supposed it was for the best, but he still could not believe how quickly and surely he had given up the search. He knew that part of Sam Winchester had always longed for a normal life, a life away from hunting, but he never imagined he would take the death and damnation of his brother as a chance to escape. That wasn't the Sam he knew. Frustrated, he grabbed the bottle and chucked it across the room.

Lucifer materialized in the room and had to duck instantly. "Whoa!" Narrowly avoiding the projectile, he watched it the glass shatter and liquid disperse before turning to Castiel. "Bit rude, don't you think, chucking a bottle at my head?" He teased.

"It was not meant for you," Castiel clarified.

"So we're throwing things because we're angry," Lucifer deduced. "I'm assuming that means the rescue mission isn't going too well."

Castiel sighed a deep sigh, tired and melancholy. "I have discovered nothing."

"You checked upstairs yet?" Lucifer asked.

Castiel's eyes narrowed in confusion. "How can I possibly go back?"

"Desperate times," the Devil shrugged, and crossed the room to lean against the desk that Castiel was sitting at. "Heaven doesn't know who's in control or who has what rights to what information. You'd probably find something."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in the old chair. "I… I couldn't stand to see what I did to Heaven," he admitted.

Lucifer examined his younger brother's face, trying and failing to hide his shame. "I know. That's why I went up there for you."

Castiel's head snapped up and met the Morningstar's eyes. "You did what?"

The Devil smirked and sat sideways on the wooden desk. "I know. They were not happy to see me in the clouds again, to say the least, but I wasn't there to fight or take over. I was just there to find out how to get little Dean out of Purgatory. And I think I may have found something promising."

"What?" Castiel demanded sharply.

"Take a walk with me," Lucifer initiated.

"No," the younger shot down.

"C'mon, Cas, it's just a walk," the Devil chimed.

"Lucifer," the dark haired angel snapped.

"I know, I know," the older reasoned, "it's been seven months and you're worried he might already be dead. Cas, he's in Purgatory, he's already dead. Things don't die in Purgatory. It's where monsters go to prey on each other for all of eternity. Something dies it gets brought back in the opposite corner. Dean's been hunting those sorts of creatures his whole life, he's the reason many of them are there. He's smarter than those half-wits. My money's on him killing his way out of there in a few more months anyway. But if it's a rescue we're going for, one walk won't hurt you." His smile lit up his eyes, the charm of the greatest manipulator God has ever created even more intoxicating when he was making sense. Hesitantly, Castiel stood, prepared to follow.

He blinked – such a human reflex – and they were in a forest somewhere in Maine. Analyzing the trees overhead, he turned to Lucifer impatiently. His brother said nothing, only looked ahead and began walking through the trees. Grinding his teeth, Castiel walked with him.

"Where are we going?" Castiel asked impatiently.

"That way," The Devil pointed a finger ahead of them to irritate his younger brother.

"This is ridiculous," growling, Castiel turned around, ready to leave.

"Whoa, hold up," Lucifer grabbed his shoulder. The younger shook violently out of his grip. "You agreed to go for a walk. We're walking. And when we stop, I'll have something to show you."

Castiel looked the archangel over. Seven months had passed since they had seen each other. He had not even heard the Morningstar's voice in his head since that night in the forest. He hadn't wanted to. Part of him wished to never see his brother again. Falling victim to the temptations of the flesh was one thing but to do so willingly, to elect to have lust overtake him and be dominated in such a way? The thought made him feel filthy. He smote an entire den of demons afterwards to try and scrub himself of the indecency of fornicating with the Devil. Being here now with the Devil, walking through the woods towards an unknown destination, he felt hostile towards the one who had seduced him, but also a perverted fondness. He hated himself for all of it, and just wanted to run away. Hesitantly, he picked up their pace again.

Lucifer saw it all in his eyes. The anger, the confusion, the hatred, the self-loathing; Castiel may have fallen, but up until their time in White Russia, he had been pure. Lucifer had robbed him of his purity, and it was as much a prideful and satisfying feeling as it was a little guilt-inducing. He only wished to help him, but he had once again hurt the complicated soldier. Angels were supposed to be simple. Castiel was an enigma.

He glanced at the dark haired one. "Angels don't sleep, but you look like you could use a good long nap," he commented lightly.

"And you look like you could use a skin graft," Castiel retorted idly.

Lucifer couldn't help but smile at the dry humor. "Yes, well, as I've said before, this body still isn't the one built to hold me. But I suppose I'm sentimental."

"Did you attempt to reclaim Sam Winchester?" the younger asked.

"No," Lucifer answered, "because when I got out the first thing I wanted to do was go and see you. Doing so in Sammy's skin would not have been the best way to earn your trust." He grabbed a low-hanging branch and held it up for the both of them to walk over, making sure not to drop it until Castiel was clear.

"Strange," Castiel's eyes were glued to the ground, "I would have suspected your first action to be to pick up where you left off."

"Why?" Lucifer questioned, "Because God wrote fifty thousand years ago that Michael and I were to fight and one of us were to be killed? Because our Father decreed that we are to live a life of violence and unquestioning servitude? No thanks. I played along with his game last time, and guess what? You and those two stubborn little apes derailed that train. Why the hell would I try to put that back on the tracks?" He laughed once. "No thanks. I got freedom. I'm going to do what I want with it."

"And what you want to do is me?"

Lucifer stopped walking to double over in laughter. Confused, Castiel stopped walking too and leaned over to look at him. When the Devil caught his breath, he straightened up and wrapped one arm around his brother to continue walking. "Absolutely."

Tensing, Castiel removed the Devil's arm from around him. "Do not touch me," he said darkly.

Lucifer sighed, trying to control his slow-growing frustration with the dark-winged soldier. "You did not seem to have a problem with it up until now," he commented, keeping his voice level and soft. "I'm very tactile, Castiel. I've been bound to many forms since my expulsion in to Hell."

"I'm asking you to cease," the younger pushed.

"Is this because of that night in the field? Do we need to –"

"What happened on that soil was a sin, and the lowest I've ever sunk!" Castiel was visibly furious now, and taking it out on the archangel. He stopped them in their tracks to yell at the Devil. "If you weren't manipulating me that means I did that lucidly. I have turned my back on Heaven if that is the case in preference of a life of sin and lust, and I cannot handle that. I cannot be that. I am, and always will be, a servant of Heaven and an angel of the Lord. Perhaps you can be okay with being banished from the Host, but I cannot, Lucifer, I cannot." He fought hard against the tears stinging in his ducts. How human he had become, needing to fight so many of his vessel's natural reflexes. Despite his cruel words and blaming, Lucifer was grinning. This confused him. "Why are you smiling?"

"Because you admit it, finally," the Morningstar explained. "When I first came across you in that hospital, you thought you were free of our brothers, and happy with this. But it had broken you in more ways than you could see." He took Castiel's shoulders so he could not avert his gaze, noting how shifty he still was at his touch. "You're an angel, Castiel, you're not meant to survive on your own. You need your brothers. And you need a cause to serve, one that makes you feel righteous. That's why you aided the Winchesters. And now that they've won, that's why your thoughts return to Heaven. You're just seeking out comfort, and that's perfectly natural."

Castiel stared back in to the grey spinning pools of Lucifer's eyes, not trying to shy away from him. He studied the sunken orbs, the Grace behind them shimmering at the mentions of his name and Heaven's. Fascinating was the fallen angel's Grace: pure, powerful energy that somehow burned cold and remained alive despite being severed from the Holy Host. "How did you survive?" He whispered, the sound barely audible. But Lucifer caught it; Lucifer caught everything.

A half-smile tugged at the archangel's lips. "Who says I did?" Releasing his brother's shoulders, he took a few steps forward again, and held out his hand in beckoning when Castiel did not immediately follow. Hesitating, Castiel slowly picked up their pace again, no longer sure his motivation was solely about rescuing Dean.

"Are we almost there?" the younger asked after a few minutes of walking in silence.

"About," Lucifer nodded.

By all of damnation, Castiel was thinking hard; Lucifer could feel the storm inside the younger's head from his place next to him. He wished to peek in, see what was troubling him – though he could manage a few inferences – but he decided that the soldier's troubles were best left to be confessed, not pried upon. His main goal since his re-release from Hell had been to get Castiel to trust him on his own time. So he would wait. But the amount of emotion within the storm would have overwhelmed even him, with all of his experience in dealing with emotional reactions. Castiel was not only young for an angel, but new to free thought and expression. The fact he had discovered feelings at all was rare in and of itself. Angels were not meant to feel or think, only to serve and obey. And the weight of all the negativity that had found him in his first emotional experiences was crushing him.

Lucifer finally stopped walking. Looking around, Castiel was confused. There did not appear to be anything special or significant about their current location. It wasn't a clearing or peculiar collection of rocks or an abnormal formation, just another patch of forest. He scanned their surroundings for a moment longer before turning to his brother, dumbfounded. "Why have we stopped?"

"Don't you feel it?" Lucifer asked.

"No," Castiel answered.

"Give it a moment," Lucifer instructed, "it's subtle. There's an energy here. An odd one."

"I'm growing impatient," Castiel ground his teeth, "why can you not just speak plainly?"

"Because you're not getting it," Lucifer held his gaze. "This world isn't black and white anymore, Castiel, though for some sick reason God let all of you continue on thinking it was. Everything in existence now is varying shades of grey. The good, the evil, somewhere down the line they bled in to one another. Admittedly, that may have been my fault. I'm trying to help you see this because if you don't get it through your thick skull that the world isn't the one you observed two thousand years ago you'll be a mess forever. Stop asking for the answers from your superiors and make up your own for once."

The younger's eyes narrowed. Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. His temper was one of his flaws, a personality trait so graciously given to him by the Pit. Upon his exile there he had grown rather cross. Taming it for the sake of having Castiel listen to him was proving to be a little difficult. Sighing, he apologized. "That came out harsher than I intended. Just stop for a moment and feel the air. Humor me. If nowhere else you should feel it on the ends of your feathers."

It was no secret that Lucifer enjoyed teaching by means of riddles and philosophies. The music he bestowed upon Heaven, aside from being the most beautiful symphonies the Host had ever known, was always heavy with teachings. The angels looked to him for guidance as well as command, as they did with all of the archangels. Castiel had not heard many of the songs; by the time he was created, Lucifer had begun playing less and less. The creation of human beings wore away his desire to play and create. He imagined making him stop and feel was the archangel's way of returning to some of that. So, in an effort to make peace, he focused on the air.

He felt it after a moment, a disturbance in his feathers, still tucked away on another plane of existence. An odd electric sensation flowed from the tips of his wings to his Light. It was subtle, barely there, but once he noticed it, he couldn't turn his attention from it. It bothered him. "What is it?" he asked.

"It's Purgatory," Lucifer responded, "This is the location of the human portal. It's a one-way connection, there's no worry of a human falling through from Earth into Purgatory, but some of the energy can be felt even when it's dormant. It bothers you, right? It should. Purgatory is a place of eternal nightmares, less pure than Hell. Some of the things in there, angels aren't meant to come in contact with. We have no defenses against them. You felt it, right, when faced with that Leviathan, that constant discomfort? Most angels don't even realize they have a fight-or-flight defense mechanism. That was your Grace telling you that creature is capable of killing you and you have minimal defenses against it."

"This is supposed to make me feel better how?" Castiel asked darkly. The thought of Dean trapped in a realm with faceless monsters not even he could stand his ground against troubled him more than the thought of him being trapped and outnumbered by abominations.

"Because this is where Dean will emerge from Purgatory when he finds the portal," the Morningstar said. "You'll be able to see when he's close from this end. It'll react to his presence on the other side."

Castiel's eyes glistened. "Is there any way to open it from this end?"

Lucifer looked at him in alarm. "Why the Hell would you want to do that?"

"To go and get him myself," Castiel answered with resolve.

"Like Hell I'd let you do that," Lucifer roared, "I barely got you clear of Dick's explosion, I'm not about to just let you flip in to Purgatory on your own terms! The point of Purgatory is to keep things in, and the more powerful they are, the more difficult it's supposed to be for them to get out. You're an angel, Castiel; even in this debilitated state you're more powerful than half the creatures in there. You really think you'd be able to just come back? Dean's got a way out. No human is intended to stay in Purgatory. It'll spit him out one way or another. But you? To that place you're just another inmate."

"I'll go in and lead him to this place, then follow him out through the portal," Castiel pitched.

"And if you can't follow?" Lucifer challenged, "It's a human portal, Castiel."

"Then I'll be where I belong," the younger answered finitely.

That caught Lucifer off guard. He sympathized with Castiel's guilt. He had named himself the Winchesters' guardian. This was obvious. It was understandable, then, why he felt responsible for Dean's current situation. It was understandable, too, why he felt shame towards having let the Leviathan loose. But here he was, confessing just how little he thought of himself and how much he still did not forgive himself. Lucifer found himself at a loss for words for what was likely the first time in his timeless existence.

"Castiel," was all he could manage.

"I need to do penance," came the younger sharply, "when an angel makes as many mistakes as I have, and ones with such weight, they are punished. I cannot simply be forgiven for what I have done, Lucifer. I cannot. And I will not allow it. I slaughtered thousands of humans on Earth. I am meant to be their shepherd, not their executioner. I devastated Heaven in unparalleled ways. Not even you are capable of the destruction I have caused. You said 'no' once and Father condemned you to Hell for all of eternity. Do not tell me I am deserving of anything less than the land of eternal torment." He was fighting tears again.

Lucifer kept calm for the sake of his delicate sanity. Soothingly, he took his brother's shoulders, smoothing out the sleeves on his trench coat. Castiel attempted to jerk away from the contact, but Lucifer gripped his arms and held him in place. "Look at me, brother," he cooed, but when the younger refused to meet his eyes, he resorted to a hypocritical method. "Castiel, look at me," he bellowed in the authoritative voice he had not used when addressing an angel in thousands of years. Castiel's eyes met his instantly then, alert and attentive, the need to listen to his superior still written too deep in his subconscious.

"Now listen to me, Castiel, because I'm putting an end to those thoughts right here," his tone had not changed. "You are not deserving of eternal torment. You made a mistake; this is natural when choosing your own path, which is what you have done. One mistake does not condemn you to a lifetime of suffering, despite what our Father may have taught you. It's not the mistake that matters, but what you do to correct it." He leaned in closer. "So, dear brother, what are you doing?"

"Rescuing Dean," he whispered, the words barely audible.

"Right. Good. But rescue does not require self-sacrifice. Even if access to Purgatory were possible through this portal, you would not be doing that because that is not what he needs. When he gets out of there, and he will get out of there, he'll need you. So no more of that martyr talk, got it?"

He bowed his head. Lucifer could have slapped him. "This isn't an order, Castiel; I'm trying to get you to see this on your own. Do you understand that you can move on from this without punishment?"

Castiel's eyes were wide with intimidation and determination, and a hint of skepticism. Somehow, through all of this, the stubborn little soldier still didn't trust him. Was it the fact that the choices he made with his own freedom were not the best? Very likely. Their Father had used the consequences of his refusal to bow to humanity to train the Host into the utmost loyalty. He wove wondrous tales of the true face of freedom for angels. An angel could not know freedom, he warned, it was not within their abilities to make proper decisions on their own. They are capable of it, indeed, but it would destroy them, turn them in to monsters like it had the beautiful Archangel. Free will, he said, was not designed for angels. They existed to serve, and they were to be content with it.

He repeated his question, a little softer this time. "Do you understand that, Cas?"

"Yes," he finally answered, and Lucifer released his shoulders.

"Good." He quipped, returning to his lighter manner of speaking. He had never been fond of the angels' almost brainwashed way of listening to him and his brothers. The amount of control they had at their disposal over the Seraphs was intended to eradicate disobedience. Even back when he was Heaven's golden child, he found it irritating that they could not disapprove of any of his words. Simple questions and favors may as well have been the Word of God himself whenever the Archangels spoke. Most of the time he paid no mind to it, but every now and again he became conscious of it. Perhaps that minute awareness had sparked his rebellion. He didn't know, but didn't particularly care anymore. What was done was done.

"Would you mind leaving me alone for a while?" Castiel asked respectfully, eyes fixated on where he thought the energy was bleeding from. He could feel his brother's eyes on him, but did not wish to return his gaze.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "So you can try to pry that portal open?"

"So I can think," the dark-haired one corrected. "That's what you want, isn't it? For me to think for myself?" Lucifer nodded. Castiel could feel it hanging in the air. "It's hard to form unbiased opinions when you're here."

Lucifer grinned proudly. "I'll take that as a compliment." And he left the younger alone with his thoughts.

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