Resurrection

As we rise up into the world of the living, I leave a blast wave of energy in our wake. At the same time, a voice rings in my head, loud and clear,

"Dean Winchester has been saved."

Immediately after, I am given my instructions. There is no mention of the rest of the garrison, and I don't bring up the topic. It was as if they had already been forgotten. Before I return his soul to his body, I was to erase Dean's memories, beginning at the point where he first arrived in Perdition. It wasn't a perfect wipe, either, as there were some holes here and there, but it was enough so that there would be no permanent damage to his mind.

As I watch Dean awake and begin to claw his way to the surface, I try to allow myself some sense of accomplishment; but all I can see, replaying over and over again in my mind's eye, are the dead faces of my brothers and sisters and Sabrael's sad, defeated smile. I wasn't supposed to dwell on such thoughts; they had given their lives promoting Heaven's cause. That was our purpose. That was how we all were supposed to be programmed to think.

Though…before, I never had any notion to suspect that there might have been a reason that the Archangels chose these particular angels to raise Dean. It was only through a terrible accident that only I had managed to survive at all. But there was always something softly whispering to me in the edges of my mind, dripping doubt into my system as it went: What if the Archangels had picked us out on purpose? What if they wanted to get rid of us in one sweep, like tossing us away into the waste?

I had always cast the idea back into the darkness where it had slithered from…but it made sense. I, along with a few others in the group, had trouble obeying orders. Sabrael was too charismatic. Deborah was too merciful. Miniel was too attached to his vessel. This list went on, and if you looked at all of us, put together…

We were too human.

I watched as one hand, then two pushed through the loose soil. All I could hear was Dean gasping as he struggled in his silent battle against the tomb that threatened to suck him back in.

Dean is now nearly fully out, collapsing with exhaustion as he looks past me, seeing the glaring light of day for the first time in years.

Dean is now upright, confusion evident on his features as he looks around himself, noticing the ring of felled trees.

Dean is now making his way down an old, dusty road. All this was done at an agonizingly slow pace. I would have liked to sweep down there and sent him away to wherever he was going, but I was not allowed to make contact to him. Not yet.

Finally, he arrived at an abandoned gas station and, much to my disapproval, broke through the door and began to ransack the place. As he washed the dirt from his face in the worn-out restroom, Dean appears to have some recollection of his death. He blinks, as if remembering something, then lifts his shirt to reveal his unscathed chest, healed of the wounds the Hellhound had inflicted on him. Next, Dean notices the large imprint on his arm; and from what I saw on his expression, he did not have any memory of how it had gotten there either.

After he takes the necessities from the store, Dean finds and begins to flip through the pages from a rather vulgar magazine, taking his time. My unease and impatience grows as he then starts taking all the money from the cashier register and shoving them into his bag as well.

"You should not be wasting your time here, Dean Winchester," I say, deciding to neglect my orders to keep silent. The moment that I speak, the rusted television behind me flickers on and begins to drone with white noise. Dean stops, then walks through me and turns it off. I continue,

"Listen to me, Dean. I know you can hear me," He freezes, something akin to terror crossing his eyes as the radio beside him flicks on and begins to hum as well. I almost thought he heard me, before suddenly he lunges at a shelf, grabbing a sack of salt and starting to pour it down along the sides of the building. I pause, puzzled at what he was doing. For a second I thought maybe I did go too far with his mind wipe and damaged something in his head. Then, I recalled that malignant spirits and demons couldn't tolerate salt. I could have laughed then, if the memories of Perdition were not so fresh in my mind.

"I am an angel! Salt doesn't work on us, you-" He does not appear to hear me, now bent over on the ground with his hands over his ears. Perhaps he wasn't chosen after all. But why would God order us to sacrifice our lives to raise this human, if he couldn't even understand us? I feel a sudden wash of rage come over me, accumulated from the weeks I had spent nearly dying down in the pit. And all for this one little human.

"I didn't raise you from Perdition so you can raid a gas station! Get up, Winchester, or I will-" Glass around us shatters as I speak, showering shards over the pitifully terrified human on the floor. I would have continued, but I am suddenly cut off when I feel a powerful gust of wind envelope me, and then I find myself standing in a room…in Heaven.

"What do you think you're doing, Castiel?"

I turn to the familiar voice and see Uriel standing behind me. He had a vessel now as well, but I didn't know whether to feel relieved to see someone from my own Garrison again, or feel angered at his interruption.

"I was speaking to him, Uriel."

"Yes, I got that much. And against your orders, too. Do you wish to kill the man you only just saved from Hell?"

"I merely wished to redirect his path. There is not enough time for him to be idling around."

"That is reasonable enough. Well, except, there is the slight fact that he didn't understand you!" Uriel's voice rose slightly, then he caught himself and lowered his tone,

"After our superiors saw your little outburst down there, they thought it best to assign me to… provide you council in order to minimalize potential errors in conduct."

"They sent you to watch over me?" Uriel was bad enough already, if the centuries of constant scrutiny had anything to say about it; and now he was being authorized to do it.

"If you would like to put it that way. I am still your subordinate, of course; but I am to accompany you in your interactions with the Winchesters."

"…Very well, then."

Sorry for such a belated update, guys! Please review~