(The voices were too much.
There had been so many of them: angry voices, demanding him to let them go; scared voices, screaming and pegging and crying for mercy; voices that called their loved ones and made threats for him or both. And then were those other ones; oily, sneaky voices, that spoke about power and glory, if only he listened them and did as they wanted…
It was too much, he couldn't take it anymore…!
It had all just seemed so simply…)
At first, it was been simply; defeat Rafael, defeat her army, pull our forces back together and heal Heaven, bring it back to its ancient glory.
But first, the retribution was needed; it came in the form of punishment.
Giving death sentence to Rafael wasn't really surprise to anyone. With her army, too, it may have seen coming.
(But all those others…?)
"We cannot afford any mutiny!"
Was it really his voice which said that?
The brothers who had stood his side but lost their fate before the end…
Those who hadn't choose sides at all…
(All dead? At his hand?)
"If you're not at my side, you're against me."
He was God; he would make the world better.
(Even if there's no-one left to see it?)
The church had been just start.
The priest who talk lies in his name – hypocrite, who criticized other while he, himself, was far from being pure…
He deserved what came to him.
Other followed him; over 200 leaders, all over the world, leading their flocks astray from Gods truth.
They needed to be punished; people needed to see that they were wrong.
Then there were Klu Klux Klan and all their kinds, and all those New Age -people…
His mission was clear.
"I am God."
(Am I?)
It wasn't like he was only punishing people; he had also done much to help them. What about all those leper colonies that got shut down after he'd healed all patients?
Those who were crippled were now walking, those who were blind were seeing, those who were deaf were hearing.
(Is that only to soothe your conscience?)
(They want out.)
(Mistake… I've made a mistake.)
"I'm God; I make no mistakes!"
Crowley acts like he always does, looking him straight at the eyes, bantering and making innuendos that Castiel cannot wholly understand. But his voice is cold, as are his eyes, and jibs strike harder than they used to.
"What did you gave to them?"
The demon smiles; it's like edge of a knife. "What they asked for; a weapon."
Crowley knows that he can smite him with no effort.
He doesn't.
(I can't.)
"I need to threat to hold against my enemies."
"So you've said", Crowley says.
They rise against him.
After all he'd done for them, after all they've been through… They still dare to go against him.
They even called the Death.
He's… an insolent creature. He thinks that Castiel has "swallowed more than he can take". That he's only been settling up his own vendettas.
(I have. I did.)
"I'm cleaning up the messes that He left behind! One after another, selflessly."
"You, sir, are not God."
He sets the Death free, and leaves.
(I fled.)
They're insisting, the voices; they won't allow him even a moment's silence.
Now, there's blood everywhere.
It-it wasn't I, I didn't, I –
(I did.)
He hears Sam praying.
At first, he has no meaning to answer; how could he, after what he has done?
But he needs their help.
Death has told them how to open the door to Purgatory; the souls must be returned.
The coldness in Dean's voice hurts him more than he believed that was even possible. He knows that it's deserved; it just doesn't make it any easier to bear.
Yet when he stumbles, it's Dean's hands that hold him up. He inhales, taking in the scent; if he doesn't survive, this, at least, he can take with him: the memory of Dean's touch and scent.
He loses his consciousness, just for a moment; when he opens his eyes, they're here, looking at him with worried expressions. The relief while they help him on his feet is real, and the guilt makes him feel uneasy; he doesn't deserve that, not for them, from Dean… not after what he has done.
"I'll find a way to redeem myself to you", he says, to all of them, but he has eyes only Dean, who mutters something about taking one thing at a time as they start to half drag and half carry him outside.
And then he feels Leviathans.
He can't control his body; all he can do is just watch as they use his arms to throw his friends to other side of the room. The horror on Dean's face as the Leviathans say that he has died makes he claw the surface of his mind in wanting to scream out, "That's not true, I'm still here!"
… But nothing comes out.
They take him to the water; for what reason, he cannot comprehend. He hears footsteps behind them (Dean!) and practically begs his captors to turn around, to let him see Dean just one more time.
Of course they won't; his struggles do nothing more but humor them.
They walk him as deep as they can, and then deeper, till his head no longer stays on the surface. He thinks of Dean, his face, his voice, his scent, his touch… How it felt to hold his soul against his own, when he carried it out of Hell…
How have I been this blind?
He feels pain, like nothing he has felt before; like something inside of him was bursting out right through his flesh.
Dean, I love you, he thinks, desperately hoping that he had had time to say it to him before –
And then he's torn apart.
Notes:
The 1st chapter of my other story, The Unholy Family, actually happens during this chapter...
