Previously: When Castiel walks out of rehabilitation after his failed rebellion, Zachariah gives him the order to break the remaining seals, to free Lucifer and start the Apocalypse. Castiel sends Rachel, Zedekiel and Htmorda to rehabilitation for questioning his orders to break the seals in secret. Soon, all the seals are broken except for the very last one. The truth about the Apocalypse is revealed in a Council meeting because of Ophaniel, so now all division commanders know. Raphael steps in to confirm that these orders come from high above. Castiel gets Dean to pledge his loyalty to Heaven and the Angels.
This chapter takes place in season 4 episodes 21 and 22.
oOo
The end is nigh
"So? How is he?"
Bobby Singer flops down onto his seat with a weary sigh as he adjusts his cap. Sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, Dean earnestly peers up at him.
"No change," says Bobby in a gruff tone. "He's sleepin' like a baby, and you should too."
From the shadowy corner where I stand unseen, I watch Dean run a hand over his face, slowly shaking his head. Next to him, there is a pillow propped up on the edge of the couch and a blanket bundled up.
"I've tried but I can't get any sleep. It's even worse when we can't hear him. At least when he was yelling, I knew he was still alive."
"Want me to sing you a lullaby?" Bobby grumbles as he uncaps a bottle of alcohol. "I'm tellin' you he's sleepin', I guess we made it through the hardest part of his demon blood detox."
He tips his head back and takes a few gulps - a couple of droplets spill from his lips and disappear into his beard while his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. In the dead of night, the moon is full and bright enough to cast neat squares of pale light through the windows. The desk gets splashed with artificial light when Bobby switches on a lamp.
Dean's eyes seem to glisten in the night shadows.
"We know jack squat about demon blood, Bobby! Maybe we're just killing him here. It's Sammy, damn it! My baby brother... and he's all alone down there, strapped up and hurting. You know what, I think I'd rather just hand him some demon to chug once in a while than lose him like this."
Bobby rests his elbows on the table and puts the empty bottle down, a shadow on his face that somehow looks older than usual.
"I know, kid, I know... I'm worried too. Listen... Try to get some sleep, and tomorrow at dawn we'll think of somethin', okay?"
Clenching his jaw, Dean looks down at his hands clasped between his knees and silently nods. When he lies down and rests his head on the pillow I touch his short hair, knocking him out to sleep. His entire body slumps down and his breathing grows deep and steady while Bobby raises his eyebrows at seeing him already asleep.
"Kids..." Bobby grumbles, shaking his head.
His smile falters as I place two fingers on his forehead to induce sleep in him too. He yawns loudly and mumbles something inarticulate before he drops his head on his crossed forearms on the desk.
Silence falls in the living room and I turn to Dean, materializing myself into physical reality. My shadow appears on the ground and I stretch my wings, walking up to the righteous man.
His face is bathed in moonlight, eyelashes twitching and nostrils flaring when he inhales. The blanket is rolled up at his feet, hanging out on the floor. With a faint wrist motion, I draw it back over his body.
These are the last moments of peace before Hell on Earth. I don't want it to be over so soon.
Dean's breathing is deep and quiet. When his face is not tense with emotions or locked with anger, it's easier to observe the lines that have formed on his skin over the years. There, among the freckles, angry furrows at the corner of his lips, anxious creases between his eyebrows... and also wrinkles of joy and affection at the corner of his shut eyes. A whole map that bares his soul and shows all the life experiences that define him.
He looks so peaceful. I could watch him sleep for eternity.
Behind me, Bobby grunts in sleep, snapping me out of my contemplation - I don't know how long I've been standing there.
I am stalling on this one task and postponing the inevitable moment. Zachariah gave me a mission, I need to get it done.
Let's get this over with.
The last seal has to be broken, and Sam is the key. As an Agent of Fate, I have to make sure it happens.
With a wingbeat, I move down to the basement. It smells like dust and pain here, and all it only takes for me is a glance to see through the wall, which is made of salt and steel. Sam lies unconscious and strapped to a table, white as a sheet. His hair is slicked with sweat on his forehead, and his clenched fingertips are shaking.
My aura expands and frees him from the straps, waking his mind. The heavy door that held him prisoner creaks open. Hidden in the shadows, I watch him stumble out of his cage all disheveled, looking more dead than alive.
Once his footsteps on the stairs have faded away, I step into the light, spreading my wings. With a flick of my fingers, I close the door and lock it.
Mission completed.
oOo
The lights splash onto the river's dark waters, casting trails of colors rippling its surface. Deep in the night, the city glows with laughter, music and carefree spirit. From here, I can barely hear the nightlife hum over the sound of my breathing.
I no longer feel any excitement in watching the wonders of Creation. This liquid picture mixing city colors with night's darkness won't make me forget that the Apocalypse is coming and that nothing matters anymore. Soon, everything will be consumed in fire.
The wind blows my trench coat open and makes my tie flutter. The cold is just a minor piece of information on my skin - a useless one.
I worked harder on this mission than I have in a million years. I feel no satisfaction though, just a cold void growing inside of me since I dropped my mission report on Zachariah's desk. Or perhaps since the moment I set Sam free knowing exactly what would happen if I did so.
I guess that's what changed in me. I used to obey with little to no hesitation when I was young, because I never understood the big picture. I could always assume that there was some kind of righteous reason behind everything I did.
Ignorance was my shield. It was easy to have Faith and certainty when I knew nothing. It's so much harder now.
The streetlight behind me casts my shadow on the river's flowing surface - I can see fleeting movements of fish swimming against the current. The railing feels rusty and cold under my fingers.
I know Anna is here even before I hear the soft ruffle of her feathers, I felt her aura radiate all around. She's not trying to conceal her presence from me.
I look up from my shadow, and though a wistful pang runs through me, it's stifled by the sense of duty. Anna is an open file on my desk. Anna is my first failure as the General of the Garrison. Anna is a mistake to be fixed.
I pull back from the railing and turn to face her, taking a few steps closer before I stand still. My fallen sister is glowering at me, arms stiff at her sides but wings shaking with anger.
"What did you do?"
The way she hissed those words would have made me flinch once. Only then do I realize that the rehabilitation uprooted the loyalty and admiration I had harbored for her since the day I was created. I no longer see her as a strong and fierce General, or as a loving sister, or as someone wiser than me.
All I see is a broken, lost Angel. The grim shadow of what she once was.
"You shouldn't have come, Anna."
"Why would you let out Sam Winchester?"
I grit my teeth, resentment crawling inside of me like a snake. Anna knows exactly why. The same reason why she did what she did for millions of years before she left the Garrison behind.
"Those were my orders."
"Orders?"
She's looking at me with that same disappointed expression she had when she was trying to coax me into joining her in damnation, while Dean was torturing Alastair and making him scream. Her fiery red hair frames her face, which comes alive with emotion.
I know what she's trying to do. And I don't understand why, after so many millennia watching me obey every single one of those cruel orders I was given, after everything I told her, why does she keep assuming I'm like her?
"Cas, you saw him. He's drinking demon blood. It's so much worse than we thought..."
I look up, unwilling to explain myself. Anna would never understand. The orders do seem cruel, and I've never struggled so hard to do my duty, but this is all part of a greater plan than ourselves.
We have been watching Humanity evolve for so long that we lost sight of the fact that their life is nothing more than a transitory phase. The few years they spend down here are meaningless, filled with yelling, hatred, tears and misery. Their only purpose is to direct them to Heaven or Hell after they die. That's all.
"Dean was trying to stop him!" Anna bursts out.
I shake my head wearily. She simply can't understand that I'm doing the right thing, no matter what it looks like.
Zachariah was right. We need an Apocalypse to truly save the Humans. Once they're all dead, their sorrows will end and their real life will begin in Heaven. Dean and Sam too will find peace and happiness once the time for destruction is over.
I avert my gaze and send a silent call to two Garrison soldiers, Habioro and Eboza, ordering them to do what I should have done a long time ago. I have had many opportunities to catch the rebel but never took them, shackled as I was by my loyalty to Anna.
"You really shouldn't have come," I say in a lower voice.
Anna freezes when my two soldiers appear next to her and immediately grab her arms. The look of betrayal in her eyes stirs a pang of guilt in me, and I do my best to hold her gaze. She struggles to free herself, looking more scared than I have ever seen her. Habioro, in her dark-haired female vessel, merely smirks coldly while Eboza - under the guise of a Human with short hair and high cheekbones - seizes Anna by the throat. Instantly, energy bursts out of his palm in liquid light that illuminates everything around.
My sister casts me one last pleading look, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Eboza has already wrapped her in strong threads of his Grace to bind her and tightly clamp her wings together.
The next second, they fly off with their prisoner.
I turn around and cling to the cold, wet railing. It's starting to rain, droplets crashing on my head one by one.
There was no point telling Habioro and Eboza what to do, they already knew: bring her to Zachariah.
Is she to be thrown into solitary confinement like Camael once was, or is she to be sent back to another rehabilitation? No Angel ever had two. This has never been done before.
The city lights in the distance are blurry. Maybe it's the rain brimming up in my eyes. Tomorrow, all will turn to ashes and destruction.
I never want to feel emotions again. I just want the Apocalypse to be over and for this to become just another bad memory.
oOo
The fire's golden glow shines on Abel's face. His eyelashes flutter on his round cheeks as a smile curls his lips.
The song Eve is singing has been flowing for hundreds of thousands of years. Except for my size, nothing has changed since the last time I walked into this Paradise. Instead of gazing down on Abel's soul sinking into memories of a long-lost happiness, I am now watching it on a human scale.
Slumbering, curled up on his mother's lap, Abel presses his cheek against her chest and lets himself be lulled by her heartbeat. He has not opened his eyes once since he died, but his face radiates contentment, especially when Eve tenderly brushes a lock from his forehead and runs her fingers through her son's messy hair.
This is the kind of peace and happiness that awaits Sam and Dean once they get through the trials that Fate is throwing at them. One day, perhaps hundreds, thousands of years from now, I'll be standing in the Winchester brothers' Paradise watching them the way I'm watching Abel now. And in that moment, I will know that I did the right thing.
Bathed in Adam and Cain's shifting shadows as they stir the fire and chat in low voices, I reach out to Abel's face and graze his cheek with my fingertips.
With this touch, there are sparks crackling between my skin and his. The spot I'm touching glows brightly and sheds the illusion - just enough for his soul's radiance to burst out under my hand. I press my fingers more firmly on his forehead then over his hair, awkwardly trying to mimic Eve's maternal gesture.
My hand goes through Eve's like it's made of smoke – It has no consistency, fading away at my touch as she keeps repeating her mechanical motion with no hand, her forearm gradually vanishing. Under my palm, Abel's soul is glowing, lulled into a sleep that nothing will ever interrupt. Not even his family's arrival. Never will Adam, Eve or Cain ever be able to join him. Abel is forever alone in here and I am the first one to actually touch him since the day he died.
With a shadow in my heart, I withdraw my hand and look down - without my touch to break the illusion, Eve gets solid again and her hand reappears in her son's hair.
"I've been wondering about this for a long time - how did evolution allow mammals to need sleep for their survival?"
I feel my eyes widening as that croaky voice whispers those words right into my ear, hot breath grazing my lobe. I jump to my feet and whirl around to face the intruder whose presence I had not noticed.
"Anpiel," I say, narrowing my eyes.
Perched on the woodpile, the Angel sits cross-legged in spite of her pencil skirt, rubbing her chin as she stares at Abel cuddled in his fake mother's arms. Anpiel's short hair sticks up and her wings are folded behind her back.
How long has she been here?
"I'm not saying it isn't cute," she muses, frowning, "but that evolution should have deleted these beings bound to stay vulnerable to predators every day for long hours. Especially when they're snoring and thus notifying their presence yards around! No, seriously, why are they sleeping so much? What's the point? Don't you think that's stupid?"
I hold her candid gaze and she raises her eyebrows high - she looks like she's waiting for me to answer.
"How are you able to hide your presence and catch me off guard every time?"
Even with her right in front of me, sitting on the wood pile, I still can't feel her presence. There is no energy pulsing in the air, and yet I know how hard it is to hide your aura from another Angel. I could only achieve this with an Angel I am very familiar with so I can align our wavelengths and minimize interferences.
This is only the second time I meet Anpiel – well, not counting my journey into the past – and on each occasion she managed to sneak up on me completely unnoticed.
"You mean... like this?"
A wide grin spreads across the Angel's face, revealing a missing tooth. Her aura bursts out all over Abel's Paradise, strong and fierce. Then, the very next second, it's all gone. She drops herself to the ground, giggling.
"Just habit, I guess. I've spent my life hiding, initially because no one liked me, then as part of my Mission. You see, the tricky part is that I need to make sure that the demons are unaware that I am actually doing their job. I am a shadow, I stop or rewind time if required, I carry out the deals made between Humans and demons without anyone noticing - kind of like the Sisters of Fate!"
Sticking the tip of her tongue into the missing tooth hole, she looks up at me. I turn my back to her and slowly walk away until the house's walls dissolve in front of me and I step into a landscape of fields and mountains. Anpiel walked right behind me like my shadow.
"Why are you here, Anpiel?"
I sighed these words flatly, the illusion of a breeze rippling through the fabric of my trench coat.
"Zedekiel told me you've been sent to rehabilitation for rebellion. I heard you tried to do as Camael did?"
I glare at her as she tiptoes around me, a compassionate wince twisting her face.
"That sucks," she states, patting me on the shoulder.
I use my wing to push her hand off.
"Zedekiel is in no position to judge me. He defied my orders so I sent him to rehabilitation."
For a split second, anger flashes through her eyes, before she lowers her head, a few short strands of hair sliding down her forehead to veil her gaze.
"There's only one last seal to break before Lucifer is free, right?" she breathes out in a faltering voice.
I nod.
"The end is nigh."
With a swift move I fail to anticipate, she grabs my right hand between hers.
"But you're going to stop this, right? I mean... it's the Garrison's mission, you have to stop this!"
It feels strange to know more than an older and more experienced Angel than me for once. Anpiel is billions of years old and has lived through several wars and apocalypses before my creation, but she doesn't seem to know that our real mission is no longer to protect Humanity, but to bring the Apocalypse on them.
Anpiel herself unknowingly contributed when she brought Sam Winchester's soul back from Hell.
"Anpiel..."
"If Humanity goes extinct, I will no longer have a Mission, I will go back to being useless and excluded! Don't you understand, Castiel? This job is all I have!"
I press my lips together and try to break free of her grip, in vain.
"You want me to beg?" she hisses through her teeth, her face hardening. "Because I will."
"Please don't. That would make me very uncomfortable." I let my eyes wander over the fake landscape. "I'm working hard to complete my mission. Maybe the only way to save Humanity is through an Apocalypse after all. You saw as I did their wars, their suffering, their tears and hatred... The souls will be in peace in Heaven, like Abel is."
"But..."
"Even if all Humans were to die, the Angels would still be here and we would be assigned new missions. That's how it has always been."
She finally lets go of my hand and I hastily shove it into my pocket, out of reach for her to grab again.
"No, I won't be assigned any other mission. Michael put me in charge of the demons because he wanted to experiment with free will and Humans, and I was qualified for a secret and shady demon-related mission. No one will grant me new duties because no one, not even me, no one knows..." She shakes her head in horror, her hair swishing around her face. "… whether I am an Angel or a monster."
Her wings sagged behind her back in a display of submission.
"What do you mean?"
Anpiel winces and moistens her lips, nervously running a hand through her hair.
"Zedekiel told me you don't know, like many Angels in the Garrison. Zed only found out about it because he has connections with all divisions and he loves gossiping." She sighs. "I told you I've been created during the final moments of the Sixth War. This war started when the Mother of All decided to make her own creatures for the first time, without God's approval. They were vicious and violent creatures, so our Father ordered their destruction - thousands of Angels died in the process. The Mother rebelled against God, and their quarrel lasted for nearly three centuries, during which time there was no creation, because they consistently destroyed whatever the other created. She was using her ability to interfere with the wavelengths and Graces to turn the Angels against each other, and... Do you get my point now? I was created at a time when the Mother and God were not working together. This means that either I've been created by God Himself, or... well, or I'm just a fake Angel created by the Mother and a potential threat to Heaven. Like the Trojan horse, you know? There are those who say that I was the one who brought the free will pandemic to the Angels."
She reaches up and grazes my tie with her fingertips.
"All our brothers and sisters fear, despise or hate me, except for Zedekiel, Balthazar, Michael, Samandriel and you."
She withdraws her hand, staring at me hesitantly.
"I mean... you don't hate me, right?"
"I don't hate you," I say, unfurling my wings, "but I can't help you."
In a single wingbeat, I fly out of Abel's Paradise, leaving Anpiel behind.
oOo
The crash of broken glass rings through the room and drowns out the sound of Dean falling down. Glass shards scatter on the carpet and Sam angrily strides toward Dean who collapsed right there at my feet as I'm seated on the couch.
The younger brother radiates a dark, evil aura that ripples through the air, and I can hardly recognize his face. His hair is gone and there are two spiral horns on his greyish skull, and his sunken eye sockets are glowing red in his gaunt face. His viscous skin is peeling off in thick strips.
Sam kneels down and wraps his hands around Dean's neck, choking him ruthlessly - Dean is suffocating and yet he doesn't even try to resist, as though he has given up already. He merely stares up at his brother with sorrowful eyes that are dimming with every second.
I can't bear to watch this, so I look down at my hands resting on my knees. I have witnessed so many slaughters, tortures, cruelties and tragedies in my life, but never before have I been utterly unable to sit back and do nothing. It's too hard for me to just watch Dean be killed by his beloved brother, even though I know I'll resurrect him right away.
Against all expectation, I hear Dean coughing. He isn't dead. I look up at Sam in disbelief. He is standing there, panting angrily, his hideous appearance shifting back to his real face - it was brief, barely a split second, but it happened.
"You don't know me," he snarls, glowering down at his brother.
Dean's breathing is ragged as he lies on the ground surrounded by the mess of their fight.
"… You never did," Sam adds harshly. "And you never will."
With these words laden with spite, he turns away and heads for the door, glass shards crunching under his feet. Down on the ground, Dean stares at him, struggling to suck in the smallest gulp of air.
"You walk out that door... don't you ever come back!" he manages to utter in what sounds like a plea.
Sam pauses, hand on the handle, but walks out anyway, slamming the door.
As silence settles, I focus all my attention back on the righteous man. I wait to materialize into physical reality as I see his hand and skull dive into my foot – I highly doubt he would enjoy having any part of me merged into his brain. Only when he rolls onto his back again and a tear rolls out from his eyes do I appear, sitting stiffly on the couch.
"Hello, Dean."
With a choked gasp, Dean flinches and turns his head to me. We share a look before he lets his head fall back onto the broken glass with a disgruntled sigh.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asks in a defeated tone.
I remain silent as he angrily wipes with his sleeve the wet trail his tear left on his face. I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue while Dean is fumbling to get up, wincing. He slits his palm open when he leans his hand flat on a sharp fragment of glass. Should I lend him a hand? I have often seen Humans signal their positive intentions by helping others to get back on their feet.
"Are you alright?" I ask, standing up myself.
When I extend my hand to him, he freezes for a second and stares at it, frowning, before ignoring it and pushing himself up against the edge of the couch instead.
"Do I look alright to you?" he growls hoarsely.
Hand still held out, I awkwardly close my fist and withdraw my arm to let it flop back down along my body.
"You don't."
"Then you got your answer, genius."
He heaves himself up and sits on the couch, his face starting to swell up from the beating he took, and the ruptured blood vessels in his temple growing darker by the minute. His neck is bruised from the strangulation, and I can see that the back of his skull is oozing with blood - the skin is most likely slit and chipped with glass under his hair.
"I tried, Cas." With a hiss of pain, Dean plucks out the sharp fragments from his bleeding palm, speaking in a low voice without looking at me. "I really tried to stop him. But Sam is... Shit, I should have listened to you guys... The demon blood he chugged, and that demon bitch... He wouldn't listen, he wants to kill Lilith all by himself now! Shit, he's not my brother anymore! He's a monster!"
"I'm afraid there isn't much humanity left in him, indeed. But he's still your brother, Dean. Whether you like it or not."
A heavy silence follows my statement.
I scan the room, inhaling the faint smell of sulfur. Too subtle for a Human to perceive.
I can feel Dean's eyes on me.
"You still haven't told me, what the hell are you doing here, Cas?"
I look down at him, peering into his eyes - the lost child's look on his face is gone, replaced by a hard, inexpressive one.
"I'm watching over you."
He presses his lips together, glaring at me – the tip of his tongue sticks out to lick the blood that keeps dripping from his nose.
"The hell you are!" he barks. "Showing up once the fight is over, that's your thing?"
I frown and reach up to plant two fingers on his forehead, pushing a tiny fraction of my Grace into his body to heal the cuts, bruises and cracked ribs from his fight with Sam. With a start, Dean jumps to his feet, staring at me wide-eyed as he pokes his now uninjured hand.
"Just because you don't see me doesn't mean that I'm not here, Dean."
Dean blinks, still staring at me, and I can see his throat working as he gulps.
"Okay... that's creepy. Hey wait a second, you mean that when Sam was throwing me across the room and strangling me, you were enjoying the show and eating popcorn?!"
"No. I wasn't eating anything."
"Why the hell didn't you help me? I could have died!"
I shove my hands in my pockets and take a few steps away, the look on my protégé's face burning the back of my neck as I stare at the shattered folding screen on the floor.
"I had to respect your and your brother's free will. Free will is God's gift to Humanity. It is both a blessing and a curse."
I pensively shuffle my wings behind my back as I remember how deluded I used to be about free will in my youth before thousands of years of experience disappointed me. It is a beautiful notion that we wield whenever it suits our plans, and twist and bend when it interferes with the higher authorities' decisions.
"But rest assured that had Sam killed you, I would have stepped in," I say, glancing at him over my shoulder. "I would have resurrected you."
Dean has come closer and I turn to face him again, holding his hard stare.
"You would've resurrected me," he parrots, snorting. "Great. Thanks, Cas. So kind of you."
"You're welcome."
The fact that he rolls his eyes makes me wonder - was that sarcasm again?
"And what am I supposed to do now? Sam is so sure he can kill Lilith, but I'm the one supposed to do it, right? She's gonna beat him to a pulp!"
"Now? You wait. You will be needed soon."
Not giving him a chance to ask more questions, I fly off to get my new orders.
oOo
The sound of our footsteps echoes in the bright white hallway. Lavavoth and I can hardly keep up with Zachariah's pace as he strides ahead, swatting away the Angels in his path like flies. Everyone moves aside when they see us coming, our wings open and my trench coat flapping behind me.
"Last century's issue 47-B has been endorsed by the budget administration and all it needs is your signature to apply the guidelines for exemptions on the..."
"Yes, yes, right," Zachariah says dismissively, signing the file Lavavoth is handing him. "Listen, boy, I have no time to hold your hand on this, so do as we agreed and let me know when it's done."
It takes me a second to realize that Zachariah is talking to me, as he speeds up his pace and takes a glance at his watch impatiently. Lavavoth jogs to catch up with us and tilts her head to try to meet Zachariah's gaze - her glasses slide down to the tip of her nose.
"Sorry to interrupt, but I need to know something I've been wondering about... Why are we walking? Where are we heading to? We've been walking through the corridors for the last ten minutes straight..."
Zachariah snorts as he shoves a Reaper out of the way with his aura.
"Oh, shut up, you silly goose," he retorts, straightening his tie. "We're not going anywhere, it's just a way to look important and busy. Why else would we bother walking when we can get anywhere with a flap of wings? We're affirming our rank and position in the hierarchy to everyone who sees us. We have corridors, so we might as well use them. Come on, keep up the pace!"
He walks even faster - we will end up running soon - while Lavavoth bows her head and apologizes. Zachariah snaps his fingers before my nose to get my attention, not even sparing me a glance.
"Castiel, have you seen the room I built on Earth?"
"Yes, I've seen it."
"What did you think?"
"The decoration is quite... decorative."
Although awkward, my praise brings a smug smile to Zachariah's face.
"Thanks, I designed it myself, I selected the furniture, the wall color, the paintings and sculptures. I figured the harp would be a nice artistic touch. Go fetch Dean Winchester and put him in there. The last seal will be broken tomorrow at midnight and I won't take the slightest risk. It would be a shame if we lost our best weapon now, right?"
"That would be very unfortunate indeed."
"Glad we agree on this! We will keep him warm and cozy for Michael. Make sure he is comfortable and pleased. Give him anything he wants. No limits. The only thing we won't allow is for him to interfere with Sam before he breaks the seal, okay?"
"Yes. Orders are orders."
"Perfect. Now get off my back and go get him. Lavavoth! How much progress has been made on the grades ratification?"
While Lavavoth jogs behind him, burdened with files in her arms, I fly off to my mission.
With a flap of my wings, I leave Heaven and fly straight into Bobby Singer's living room, right behind the righteous man – the air radiates with anger here. I don't bother folding my wings, I have no time to waste.
Startled, Bobby opens his mouth to say something and I wrap my aura around Dean as he spins around. I fly out, taking him with me. In a split second, we appear in the room Zachariah designed. Still and silent, I watch Dean take a few tentative steps, unaware of my presence right behind him. He turns his head to gaze at the white walls adorned with gold and paintings featuring scenes from the Bible or portraying the Archangels.
Zachariah always had a taste for lavish, golden decorations. Unlike many of our brothers and sisters, he is quite fond of the artistic depictions that Humans create about us. He filled the room with them.
As Dean stares in wonder at the paintings and sculptures, I decide to make my presence known.
"Hello, Dean."
He sharply turns to face me, wide-eyed and bewildered.
It pains me to betray the trust I worked so hard to get from him. But things have changed, and I need to prioritize long-term issues rather than my misguided sympathy for him.
All of this is meant to happen. It can't be avoided. One day, in a distant future, I will be visiting Dean in his Paradise. I will find him happy and peaceful, and then I will be assured that I did what was in his best interest. Until that day comes, I need to stay strong and follow every order through.
"It's almost time," I say softly.
For a moment, Dean stares at me from head to toe in shock. And when he wets his lips and opens them to speak, I hastily fly away. I'm not fleeing out of fear that my resolve will falter. Well, not only for that reason. There's nothing more for me to tell him, and my orders are to notify Zachariah as soon as Michael's sword is secured.
I surge up next to Zachariah, who is still walking down the never-ending Heaven corridor, and startled, Lavavoth jumps and drops all of her files. As she ducks down to pick them up, I move closer to my superior.
"Mission completed," I state, staring ahead at the crowd of Angels and Reapers who move aside as we walk through.
Zachariah abruptly comes to a halt and claps his hands together, rubbing them with a pleased look on his face.
"Good!" he exults. "I need to go have a little chat with our champion. Castiel, you're coming with me. You are, after all, my Winchester specialist."
Ignoring the other Angels we're bothering by standing here in the middle of the corridor, he faces me and lays a hand on my shoulder with a patronizing grin - I can't help but tense up at the undesired contact.
"Since you know everything about Dean Winchester, tell me what would make him feel happy and comfortable."
I frown, fighting back a reply that would displease Zachariah. Having his little brother happy and safe is the only thing that would truly make Dean satisfied - and I know this isn't the kind of information Zachariah wants from me.
So I take the time to think, reviewing everything I've read about Dean in the Winchester Gospel, and all memories I've gained from him when I closed my hand on his soul in Hell.
"Dean likes ingesting food, especially burgers, beer and pies."
I press two fingers against my superior's forehead to share a brief summary of the study I just made, illustrated with a few fragments of memories to prove my statements.
"He also enjoys sexual intercourse with women," I say flatly as I withdraw my hand.
Zachariah's smile widens, baring his teeth, and he pats my shoulder one last time contentedly.
"Excellent! Those who indulge in the sins of lust and gluttony are the easiest ones to bribe. Let's go then, we don't want to make our favorite weapon wait, now do we?"
When we both appear in the golden room, I can see that Zachariah wasted no time and already summoned stacks of burgers and dozens of beers dipped in ice to the table. Dean is standing in front of this buffet, eyeing confusedly the beer he's holding in his hand.
I stand back, clasping my hands behind my back.
"Hello, Dean," Zachariah smiles cheerfully. "You're looking fit."
Dean drops the beer back into the ice and turns to gawk at us.
"Well, how 'bout this? The suite life of Zach and Cas!"
Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? A praise? Criticism? Sarcasm? I can never be sure with Dean and his cryptic references.
Zachariah's wings clench a bit and I can feel his aura growing confused. Clearly I'm not the only one who fails to grasp what Dean is implying, which is kind of comforting to me. As for the righteous man, he seems somewhat embarrassed by our silence.
"… It's a... never mind. So, what is this? Where the hell am I?"
Zachariah regains his composure and confidently walks up to him.
"Call it a green room. We're closing in on the grand finale, here. We want to keep you safe before showtime."
They are now standing one meter from each other while I stay back. Zachariah grabs a burger and holds it out to him like he is trying to lure a wild animal.
"Try a burger. They're your favorite. From that seaside shack in Delaware. You were 11, I think."
I can't help but feel offended for Dean. The righteous man is not some kind of ape whose trust can be bought with food. He is so much more complex and subtle, as I know from experience. It's been so hard for me to earn even a sliver of his trust - if food could achieve the same result, I would know.
"I'm not hungry," Dean mumbles.
"No?" Zachariah hums innocently. "How about Ginger from season 2 of Gilligan's Island? You do have a thing for her, don't you?"
The righteous man looks hesitant for a moment, his gaze shifting away contemplatively.
"Tempting. Weird."
"We'll throw in Mary Ann for free," Zachariah insists.
"No, no!" Dean lets out a wry laugh. "Let's... bail on the holodeck, okay? I want to know what the game plan is."
Zachariah squares his shoulders and stares down at Dean patronizingly.
"Let us worry about that. We want you... focused, relaxed."
"Well, I'm about to be pissed and leaving, so start talking, Chuckles."
Zachariah's wings stiffen behind his back and I feel all his mirth vanish away. Clicking his tongue, he walks around Dean, causing him to turn around to keep Zachariah in sight.
"All the seals have fallen. Except one."
"That's an impressive score!" The irony in his voice is obvious. "That's... That's right up there with the Washington Generals."
I have no idea what the Washington Generals is, but it's quite obvious this isn't a good thing to be compared to. Which is quite offensive to say the least. We're not inefficient, quite the contrary. The seals broke because the orders were to free Lucifer all along, before I even knew about it.
"You think sarcasm's appropriate, do you?" Zachariah snaps back. "Considering you started all this? But the final seal..." he smiles, patting his shoulder, "it'll be different."
"Why?"
I'm starting to understand why Zachariah insisted that I go with him, when there's clearly no need for me to be here. He wanted me to watch how he's taming Dean, how he lies to him, how he's breaking the fragile trust that I had acquired from him, undoubtedly as a test for my renewed obedience after the rehabilitation. I straighten my back and plaster a neutral expression on my face.
I will successfully pass this trial.
"Lilith has to break it," Zachariah replies delightedly. "She's the only one who can. Tomorrow night, at midnight."
"Where?"
"We're working on it."
"Well, work harder!" Dean snarls.
"We'll do our job. You just make sure you do yours."
"Yeah, and what is that, exactly?" Dean bursts out, his patience running thin. "If I'm supposed to be the one that stops her, how? With the knife?"
Zachariah's patience seems to be running thin too. Like Uriel, my superior is having a hard time dealing with Dean's insolence as well as I do.
"All in good time."
"Isn't now a good time?"
"Have Faith."
Their retorts comes one after another and I watch them alternately.
"What, in you?" Dean scoffs. "Give me one good reason why I should."
Zachariah stiffens and pauses for a moment before he steps closer to him, spreading his wings threateningly.
"Because you swore your obedience," he says coldly. "So obey."
Bemused and bound by the oath he swore to me not long ago, Dean clenches his jaw and glances at me over Zachariah's shoulder. For all my determination and even though I know I'm doing the right thing by following orders, I lower my eyes, unable to hold his gaze. I know now that I've lost Dean's trust completely.
There is no turning back, no regrets to have. The Apocalypse must happen at all costs.
"Now, have a nice stay here!" Zachariah says cheerfully. "Feel free to give us a call if you change your mind about Ginger and Mary Ann."
And with these words, Zachariah spreads his wings and I do the same without daring to look at Dean one last time, eagerly leaving this place.
oOo
In the next chapter
"You made such a fuss about the righteous man being a pain in the ass to deal with and whatnot, but really it was quite easy. You know, you need to learn how to make yourself respected, it's not that hard."