Previously: Castiel was executed by Raphael after he set Dean free to stop Sam from killing Lilith who is the final seal. Castiel is resurrected two days later and realizes that Dean has failed, as the Cage is open and Lucifer is free. Castiel rushes to the Winchester brothers to carve a seal on their ribs to hide them from the Angels' radar. To stop the Apocalypse, he plans to organize a celestial revolution to overthrow the Council and the Archangels. Balthazar tells him it's a waste of time and will end in a bloodbath, and suggests instead that he finds God with the help of Dean's necklace, whose amulet lights up in God's presence…
This chapter takes place in season 5 episode 2.
oOo
The amulet
How much progress Humans have made in the last few decades hits me full force when the building's glass doors open automatically as I walk up to them. I've been so busy with Heaven's matters since Anna rebelled and I had to take over as commander of the Garrison that I haven't had time to see how quickly things have changed on Earth.
The artificial light makes my vessel's pupils shrink and music invades my hearing. I stop to stare at the astonishing vision before my eyes while the doors close behind me with a soft thud.
Hundreds of neon lights hang from the ceiling, showering the wide space with light. There are endless rows of shelves loaded with colorful items, and they somewhat remind me of Heaven's Administration open space offices.
To the right, there are countless stalls of fresh fruit and vegetables. Last time I set foot on Earth and spent time observing what Humans eat, shortly after Jesus Christ's death, I never saw such a large amount of food gathered, not even for the most extravagant feasts of ancient kings.
"Welcome to Walmart! Today we have a special promotion on the new Green-Light eco-friendly laundry detergent!"
The cheerful voice draws me out of my thoughts. It came from a twenty-year-old woman who's smiling at me brightly. While I've been watching the human evolution since the very beginning, I think I have a pretty good insight into their social codes, but I've never really understood this habit of baring their teeth to convey joy or any other positive feeling, unlike the majority of other mammals, where it is commonly seen as a sign of hostility. I remember having a conversation about this with Hester during our year together resurrecting Humans.
"Buy two, get the third one free!" she sing-songs, handing me a colored piece of paper. "Don't miss out!"
Printed on the paper are a crossed-out price and a highly realistic representation of a laundry detergent bottle in a sunny, flowery field. This woman seems to be working here, she should be able to help me.
"Phone."
She blinks in confusion, though she keeps smiling.
"I beg your pardon?"
I step closer so she can hear me, and articulate loudly to cover the sound of the music.
"I want to buy a phone. To make a phone call. I have money to buy it. I have dollars."
I'm fairly confident it's the currency name in this particular area of the world. I think I did something wrong though, since the woman's smile stiffens and she takes a step back like a hunted prey. Is she afraid of me? But why?
"Oh, huh… Phones and pre-paid cards are at the back of the store, right after the batteries and light bulbs."
She points out the direction with her finger, and I turn on my heels to head over there. Focused on my mission, I stride among the shelves filled with colorfully wrapped items, my trench coat flapping behind me. My information was correct. In the United States, everything can be bought in one of these large buildings scattered all over the country. Here I should be able to get a phone to call the Winchesters and ask where they are.
With the tips of my wings, I shove aside the customers in my path and ignore their bewildered gasps behind me. I have no time to lose. Balthazar is right. Starting a civil war in Heaven and overthrowing the Council is pointless without a strong ally to hold the Archangels back and make them stop the Apocalypse. No one but God could achieve such a miracle.
He brought me back to life. He will help me. I need Him to.
I finally reach the shelf I was looking for, and get stuck there. These are indeed phones I see encased in translucent or opaque boxes, all hanging from hooks with obscure references. Tracfone? AT&T? LG550 Verizon? What is that supposed to mean? And for some reason, most of the prices have a 99 or 95 decimal. The range goes from $4.95 to $249.95, even though they all look pretty much the same to me.
I can feel frustration bubbling up in my Grace as I stare at the twenty or so phones on display, failing to grasp the logic of it all. I'm wasting precious time that should be spent searching for my Father and saving Humanity, but I won't risk picking an inappropriate phone and failing to contact Sam and Dean.
Some movement at the edge of my vision draws my attention. There is a Human standing a couple of feet away from me, pulling items out of a cardboard box and arranging them on the hooks. He has dark skin, and judging by the receding hairline on his skull and the glasses perched on the tip of his nose, I'd estimate that he's about five decades old. Just like the employee at the entrance who guided me, he is wearing a blue sleeveless vest. Written in white letters on his back is the inscription « How may I help you? » Clearly, he also works for this store.
"Which one?"
At my question, the Human turns his head to me and raises his eyebrows, deepening the lines on his forehead.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Seems like all employees here have a hearing defect. No doubt due to the music constantly playing all over the store.
So I move forward to face him closely, even if he takes a step back.
"The phones," I hiss through my teeth. "I need one. Which one do I take?"
The man throws a blank look at the phones.
"Depends on what you want to do with it."
"A phone call. I need a phone to make a phone call."
The lines on his forehead increase, and there is suddenly something in his eyes that reminds me of Uriel.
"Really? Not to make pancakes?"
"No. To make a phone call."
"Usually they all do that, that's kinda why we call them phones." Finally, the man walks around me to point at several boxes containing the communication items. "If you only need to call within the States, these will do fine. The packages to call from or to foreign countries are more expensive. Besides, you can always get a new card if your needs change. Here, with the Samsung AT&T you get the phone and the prepaid card with 200 minutes for only twenty dollars. We sell lots of these. The price is fair and you can easily recharge once the minutes are gone."
I look down at the box he placed in my hands. It shows a male Human wearing a suit and tie like me, the flip phone pressed against his ear. There is a bright smile on his face. He looks very happy to be making a phone call.
"So with this…" I squint and look up to the salesman who is peering at me over his glasses perched on his nose. "… I can call whoever I want, even if I don't know where they are physically located?"
"Assuming they're in the United States and you know their phone number, yeah."
My wings clench behind my back. I had not thought ahead, there is a flaw in my plan.
"I don't know their phone number."
When I laid my hand on Dean's soul in Hell, I absorbed his life's memories as a vibrant rush of emotions, colors and sensations. But I never retrieved information as specific as series of numbers. I had no idea it would be so important.
"Well, can't help you with that, sir."
The salesman walks back to the cardboard box he was unloading when I interrupted him. I follow him closely, the phone box in my hands.
"But it's very important. I need to contact Sam and Dean at all costs. Humanity's fate depends on it."
He whistles somewhat sarcastically as he hangs packaged batteries on metal hooks marked with their prices.
"Humanity's fate, heh, no less? Why don't you ask a mutual friend to give you their number if it is so important?"
I look back down at the picture of the smiling phone man on the box in my hands.
"A mutual friend…"
I know exactly who could help me. It's risky, but I have no choice.
I spread my wings and fly away instantly, never mind that the salesman and a few other customers can see me. The Apocalypse is close, it doesn't matter if some Humans saw me vanish into thin air.
oOo
I land exactly where Raphael executed me about two weeks ago. Chuck Shurley's house is bathed in dusty shadows. The curtains are drawn, only allowing a few trickles of daylight to filter through.
Odors overwhelm my olfactory senses - some kind of chemical barely masks the sour stench of dried sweat and body oil, stale alcohol and blood. I can smell Jimmy Novak's blood all over the floor, walls and ceiling. Resorbing my aura as much as I can, I warily look around me. On the coffee table, partly eaten food is rotting, a flurry of flies swarming all over. One single lamp dimly glows, unsteadily sitting on a stack of typed pages.
A snore signals me that the Prophet of the Lord is sound asleep on the couch. I fold my wings behind my back with a silky ruffle of feathers and walk up to him with my phone box tucked under my arm.
"Chuck."
My voice doesn't seem to wake him up. He barely frowns, his cheek squeezed against a cushion and his mouth wide open, leaking a pool of saliva. Curled up in a ball and hugging an empty liquor bottle to his chest, he's mumbling something. Judging by his eyes moving behind his twitching eyelids, he is dreaming.
"CHUCK!"
This time, the Prophet jolts awake in a mess of limbs, entangled in his bathrobe fabric. He battles with it until he manages to sit upright. The bottle drops out of his hands and rolls on the ground, bumping against the tip of my shoes.
"Wh-What the-?!"
Chuck looks up at me with wide, frightened eyes, and his face drops when he recognizes me. His hair is greasy, his cheeks are sunken and he gives off a sickly sweet, organic stench. The stench of bacteria festering in the damp parts of his skin.
"Ah. It's just you. Right, Sam did call me yesterday to inform me that you somehow undied. You know what? I won't even try to understand. At this point, I don't give a rat's ass." With a deep sigh, he rubs his eyes with one hand and fumbles around on the couch with the other until his fingers find a can of beer. "Great. Really great. I figured I'd have some peace until the world ends now that Lucifer is free, but no! Instead I have my publisher nagging me to send him the next Supernatural book by the end of the month, and now you're popping into my living room when it literally took me hours to scrub your blood and organs off my floor and walls... What do you want from me now?"
"I need your help to stop the Apocalypse."
The Prophet gives me a disbelieving look. He cracks his can open, still staring at me, and doesn't seem to notice the foam streaming down his fingers.
"Stop the Apocalypse? Are you being serious?"
"I always am."
"It's way too early for this shit…" he mumbles, then throws his head back to take a big gulp. "Look, I'm really happy that you're not dead anymore, but you need to leave me alone now, okay? P-please?"
His effort to sound commanding falters into a scared mouse squeak. His hands are shaking around the can and he averts his eyes, breathing somewhat raggedly.
He flinches when I take a step forward and sit next to him on the couch, resting the phone case on my lap. I can feel his gaze on me and his stiffened body's warmth at my side.
"I need you to teach me how to use this," I say, pointing at the box, "and to give me Sam and Dean's phone number."
When I turn my head to meet his eyes, the Prophet of the Lord is gawking at me, and hastily takes another gulp. He swallows hard and wipes the corner of his mouth.
"That's it? And then you'll just leave me alone?"
"Yes. All I need is to contact the Winchesters to find out where they are. I carved a seal on their ribs that conceals their location on Earth."
Chuck seems to relax a bit, puts his can on the couch armrest and then takes the box I'm handing him. He opens it and pulls out the phone, some paper files, cables, a plastic card and various other things I don't understand.
"Hum. Okay. So this is a phone with a prepaid card. Here's the hands-free kit, but it's not very important. That's the instruction manual, you can read it to learn how it all works. Here is the cable, you'll need to plug it in like this to recharge the battery when it gets low. Now to make the phone work, you just have to insert the card like this..."
I squint and watch very carefully as he slides the device open and inserts a piece of the card inside. He pushes a button on the phone and opens the flip. The screen lights up, displaying today's date and time: May 27, 2009, 03:42 PM.
"There you go, and now it's easy, just type in the numbers you want to call, and then press the green button to initiate the call. When you're done talking, you press the red button to end the call. Hold on just a minute, I'll enter Sam and Dean's numbers into your contacts."
He fumbles in his robe pocket, then in the other one, and pulls out his own phone, scanning the screen through a list of numbers. I guess his memory is limited as a mortal and therefore he can't remember much, even as a Prophet.
"Not to be nosy, but," Chuck inquires timidly as he taps on NEW CONTACT, "How exactly do you plan to stop the Apocalypse? Cause in the visions I had, it's pretty much already baked. I saw Michael and Lucifer fighting, the planet on fire, the whole shebang."
"I'm going to look for God. And God will stop them."
Chuck blinks at me, then types Sam's name into the contacts.
"Oh. I wasn't expecting that. Sam and Dean are planning to kill Lucifer themselves, I thought you would be on the same page."
I freeze, but not because of what the Prophet just said. Something shifted. Something inside me, deep within my Grace and my holy spirit.
An icy sensation fills me and I open my eyes wide as I realize what's happening.
"I can no longer hear the voices of my brothers and sisters," I say as I get up from the couch. "My bond with Heaven has been severed."
The emptiness I feel is extremely unpleasant - it's like I've lost a piece of myself, of what makes me an Angel of the Lord. The paths to Heaven are now out of my reach. And I can feel that most of the seals and powers I used to master and drew on celestial energy are now useless.
But worst of all, this dreadful silence. Like every time I have been cut off from the Angels' voices, it feels like being chopped off a limb, like being ripped apart.
I knew it would happen sooner or later. I guess this means that the Council is done deliberating and decided on what to do with me.
This isn't good.
"Oh my god…" Chuck mutters, his eyes widening as his fingers grow very still on the buttons. "That's not all. I can feel them coming."
"Keep entering the numbers," I hiss in a commanding tone.
My Grace solidifies in my arm's veins, shaping my blade that pierces through the skin and slides into my hand. Chuck scrambles to his feet with both phones and cowers in the corner of the room to complete the task I assigned him.
The sound of wings flapping, along with two auras I would know anywhere. Facing me just where Raphael had been standing two weeks earlier, Hester and Htmorda are glaring at me and folding back their wings. My two former soldiers are armed and radiate vibrant determination.
Htmorda spins his blade between his fingers, striking a threatening stance that makes his leather jacket creak and the chain around his waist clink. His vessel is large, the face garnished with a full beard and metal rings piercing his lip, nose, eyebrows and ears.
"Surrender, Castiel. You have been banned. You are now the second most wanted Angel after Lucifer."
Hester remains silent but also moves into an offensive stance, glowering at me with tear-filled but furious eyes.
"Hester, Htmorda," I speak slowly to stall for time. "You watched Raphael kill me, and you cannot deny that the miracle of my resurrection can only be credited to our Father."
"Do not blaspheme!" Hester hisses through her teeth.
"Then how would you explain it, Hester?"
Trouble flashes through her vessel's blue eyes, but she shakes her head, swaying her pale blond hair.
"It doesn't matter! The orders are to seize you and deliver you to the Council. And orders are orders."
"No Garrison Angel will fall along with you," Htmorda asserts. "Anna, Uriel and you have sullied our reputation enough as it is. Don't embarrass us further and just surrender."
I take a step in their direction, holding up my hand as a sign of placation, trying to pour into my voice everything that is bubbling up inside of me, everything I wish I could make them understand.
"You know what they will do to me. Brother, sister… you do know. Raphael already executed me once, the Council wouldn't hesitate to do it again, or much worse. And this time, there might not be another miracle to bring me back."
From the corner of my eye, I can see Chuck struggling to enter the numbers into my phone with shaking hands. Hester pinches her lips together and a single tear rolls down her cheek as her face twists into a wrathful scowl.
"I have no idea how you came back, Castiel, but you should have stayed dead. From the moment you touched Dean Winchester's soul in Hell, you were lost! Your misguided sympathy for Humanity has gone too far, you crossed the line and betrayed your family, murdered two of our own. At least Lucifer and Uriel, for all the harm they caused, they were actually trying to help us, to protect the Angels and to purge the Earth of human vermin so that we could walk freely down there again. You're no longer the Angel I used to know, you've strayed too far and even rehabilitation couldn't bring you back on the right track as I hoped!"
And without warning, Hester lunges at me, slashing through the air with her blade. Had I not backed away using my wings, I would have been sliced open. Never before have I seen so much rage in my sister's eyes, not even during her fiercest fits of anger. Htmorda instantly tries to strike me from behind, but I easily predict his attack, having taught him this offensive strategy myself. Our blades clash, sending sparks flying, and I punch him in the face, propelling him into a cupboard that shatters all over.
"No! Please stop destroying my house! My insurance won't cover it!"
Ignoring the Prophet's complaints, I kick Hester in the stomach before grabbing her by the collar and slamming her against the wall, which cracks under the force of the impact. Red blood streams from her mouth as I tuck the tip of my blade against her neck.
"Go ahead and kill me, Castiel!" Hester snarls, glaring daggers at me. "Kill me like you killed Eboza and Mgam! If you don't, I will hunt you down until you're dead!"
I've never seen an Angel's face so distorted by emotion. I can barely recognize my sister.
"I'm done!" Chuck's panicked voice rises. "Now take your phone and please go away and never come back! I can't afford the costs to rebuild my house on a regular basis!"
The Prophet of the Lord flinches when I lay my eyes on him. He hands me the case that he has carefully closed with all its contents inside.
I have what I came for. I have nothing more to do here.
Trapped in my grip, Hester bares her bloodied teeth like a wounded, hunted animal. Maybe I should take her threat seriously and kill her before she can undermine my mission.
But though it was easy for me to kill Mgam and Eboza, with whom I hardly ever spoke more than a dozen words, I find myself unable to do the same to Hester. My sister transferred from another section, who I had so many passionate conversations with and who always backed me up in battle. We have history, and I grew over the centuries to value her fiery temper, her inclination to gossip, and her deep attachment to animals.
I remove my blade from her neck, and, without saying a word, I pull her up and throw her violently against Htmorda, who was struggling to pull himself up from the broken cupboard.
"Goodbye Hester. Goodbye Htmorda. I hope someday you will understand why I am doing this. And on that day, I hope you will join me."
My trench coat flaps as I spin around to snatch the box from Chuck's hands and fly away before my two former soldiers have a chance to chase me down or call for backup.
oOo
According to the instruction manual, the amount of bars on screen shows how strong the "signal" is, which refers to the phone network quality. Here, in the heart of the Oregon woods, I found a quiet spot where there are three bars showing. I hope this will be enough.
Looking up from my phone, I shove the cable into my trench coat pocket and throw everything I no longer need into the trash can: the case, the manual and the hands-free kit.
Here the air is fresh, much less polluted than in the big cities where Humans have increasingly been crowding in for the last two centuries. A gentle wind whispers through the forest.
Standing in the shadow of the gas station, which is also a convenience store, I check the surroundings one last time to make sure Hester and Htmorda have not followed me. I won't risk leading the Garrison straight to Sam and Dean, which is why I randomly switched locations three times to outrun any Angel who would try to track me down.
Everything is quiet. All too quiet, now that I can no longer hear the soothing flow of my brothers' and sisters' voices in my head.
There is a woman listening to the radio inside the building, a man snoring in the back of his parked van, a squirrel clawing at a tree's bark to climb up, and a flock of chickadees chirping in the high leaves.
I think I can safely assume that there is no danger for now. Finally, I can call the Winchesters.
The screen glows when I push the buttons, and after a few failed attempts I manage to access the contact list with the two names registered for me by the Prophet of the Lord. I press the green button and hold the communication device to my ear just like the picture of the smiling Human did on the box.
A strange, long, steady sound echoes in my ear, and I frown as I feel the Earth's channel waves flow through my body. I did everything right, so why am I hearing these beeping noises instead of-
« Hello? »
Sam's voice sounds as clear as if he were talking right into my ear. I never thought human technology to be so advanced that I would be able to communicate as clearly and directly as I have with the Angels since the day of my creation.
"Tell me where you are."
« Castiel? »
I have no time for stupid questions. I've wasted enough of it with this whole phone thing. Now that I've been cast away from Heaven, every second counts.
Dean's amulet is my one and only chance to stop this Apocalypse.
"Sam!" I say louder. "I need to know. What is your current location?"
« Uh, St. Martin's Hospital. »
I remove the phone from my ear and press the red button, spreading my wings. No need to waste my time asking in which State this hospital is located. There are only a couple of hospitals in the United States that go by that exact name, and if I am to believe a mention in a scene in the Winchester Gospel, as a child Dean was hospitalized once in a St Martin's hospital in South Dakota. There is a high probability that it is the same one.
What are they in a hospital for? Could Dean be injured?
Flying from Oregon to South Dakota only takes me a split second, and I land in a rustle of feathers in front of the building. I don't care for its architecture, nor whether I was noticed appearing out of nowhere, and I stride inside. The air trapped in these white walls is heavy with vibrant waves of pain, anguish and frustration. A strong scent of blood and antiseptic invades my lungs as I walk past the reception desk and head straight for the stairs leading to the upper floor where the rooms are located according to a sign on the wall.
I walk through corridors as busy as Heaven's when Reapers all bring back at once the souls harvested during a war or a natural disaster. Carried by thousands of years of practice, I walk around confidently, looking for the Winchesters.
I feel some tension lift from my Grace as I finally spot them around a corner - neither of them looks wounded or sick, and it's a relief to see the amulet still hanging from Dean's neck. I stride to them, checking one last time that no hostile Angel has followed me here.
"Cell phone, Cas? Really? Since when do angels need to reach out and touch someone?"
I turn my head to Dean who looks much too insouciant. Can't he see that he and his brother are in danger, that the seal I placed on them only delays the moment when Angels or demons will get their hands on them?
"You're hidden from Angels now. All Angels. I won't be able to simply—"
"Enough foreplay!" a gruff voice coming from the room we are standing in front of cuts me short.
Now I understand why they are in a hospital. Inside the room, the hunter Bobby Singer is sitting in a wheelchair, dressed in the same pale clothes that all patients I crossed on my path wore. Though he has his back to us, it's easy to guess that he's been seriously injured, or he wouldn't be in a wheelchair.
"Get over here and lay your damn hands on."
Times have changed. In the past, no mortal would have dared to address an Angel of the Lord so disrespectfully. All of the Humans Anna interacted with on her missions on Earth bowed down to her in awe and fear.
But I suppose this is one personality trait that Dean owes to the man who acted as his surrogate father during the long periods when John Winchester was away in his childhood.
"Get healing, now!" barks Bobby, throwing a disgruntled glare over his shoulder at me.
"I can't."
The hunter slowly turns his wheelchair around.
"Say again?"
I can feel Sam and Dean's eyes on the back of my neck as I walk towards Bobby.
"I'm cut off from Heaven and much of Heaven's power. Certain things I can do. Certain things I can't."
And the healing power, like most miracles we've been using to intimidate Humans for thousands of years, draws its energy directly from Heaven through invocations and prayers. This is an intricate hive system connecting Graces to each other and to Heaven's raw creative energy.
"You're telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?!"
Bobby yelled these last words in a vibrant, angry voice.
Like always since I first interacted with the Winchesters, I find myself unable to grant them what they ask of me. This is so frustrating. I would gladly perform miracles and be useful to them, and it would be nice for a change to see gratitude and admiration in their eyes, but there's always something to make that impossible. No wonder Dean has no respect for me when I never get a chance to display how powerful and superior I am.
"I'm sorry."
"Shove it up your ass."
To show just how resentful he is, Bobby rotates his wheelchair to turn his back to me.
Whatever. If I succeed in finding God, and with His help, stop the Apocalypse and defeat the Council's and the Archangels' rule, I will be allowed to return to my duties and be restored to my full capacity. I will heal him at that moment.
I face Dean again and walk up to him. Unlike the Walmart employees, he shows no sign of fear and doesn't back away from me.
"I don't have much time. We need to talk."
Dean holds my gaze unblinkingly, and I can see fragments of his soul in his eyes, so pure and bright.
"Okay."
Before I take his necklace, I need to make sure that he and Sam won't do anything reckless like Chuck implied. If they get caught and possessed by the Archangels before I can find God, all will be lost.
"Your plan to kill Lucifer…"
"Yeah. You want to help?"
"No! It's foolish. It can't be done."
Dean cracks a wry smile, a flicker of hostile sarcasm darkening his eyes.
"Oh, thanks for the support!"
Disregarding his blatant lack of faith in me even though I gave my life and betrayed my Family and my deepest convictions to help him, I speak every word firmly to make him listen:
"But I believe I have the solution. There is someone besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer. Strong enough to stop the Apocalypse."
"Who's that?"
Sam asked the question, not Dean. I look up at him, actually taking the time to examine him for the first time since I came back to life. For a brief moment, it strikes me how sharp his facial features are - the flat curve of his nose, the worried creases digging in between his eyebrows, and the texture of his shaven skin across his jawline. I had never seen what Sam actually looks like without the demon blood altering his face and aura. Despite his height and the things he's done in his life, at that moment there is something innocent about him, like a child.
"The one who resurrected me and put you on that airplane. The one who began everything."
Ever since Balthazar talked me into finding our Father, I have been filled with a mixture of terror and wonder, and I say His name with all of the devotion that I had lost since the day my brother Camael died:
"God. I'm going to find God."
The way the Winchester brothers react is not what I expected. Of course, I wasn't waiting for anything like Anpiel's enthusiastic reaction, but I figured they'd at least appreciate the strategic advantage that such a strong ally would bring us. Instead of which, Sam and Dean just stare at me, frowning like I've said something insane. Dean opens his mouth, snaps it shut, then strides to the bedroom door to close it, cutting us off from the corridor sounds and hospital staff voice announcements.
"God?" he blurts out as he faces me disbelievingly.
"Yes."
"God!?"
"Yes! He isn't in Heaven. He has to be somewhere."
The corner of his lips curls up with a hint of a smirk.
"Try New Mexico. I hear he's on a tortilla."
I squint in confusion. Why would my Father, Creator of the Universe and of all life, be on a tortilla?
"No, He's not on any flatbread."
Is this some kind of joke? How dare Dean be joking in an apocalyptic context, when Humanity could be wiped out at any moment because of him and his brother?
"Listen, Chuckles, even if there is a God, he is either dead—and that's the generous theory—"
His patronizing tone is starting to annoy me. My organic vessel's size seems to cause him to forget exactly who he's talking to.
"He is out there, Dean!"
Dean ignores me and keeps talking even more defiantly:
"—or he's up and kicking and doesn't give a rat's ass about any of us!"
Blasphemy.
An instinctive burst of rage hits me, snapping my wings wide open while my Grace boils. I struggle to restrain it from solidifying in my forearm vein to forge my blade.
For all the doubts I have secretly harbored over the past few decades, and despite my two consecutive rebellions, I cannot accept that a mortal, be it Dean Winchester, would so blatantly insult my Father.
For a split second, all I can see standing in front of me is an arrogant and ignorant little monkey, just like Uriel used to call them. How dare he insult the Creator of us all when he's the reason why the Cage is open and why the world is going to face a new Apocalypse, more destructive than ever? Had he stopped Sam like I asked him to, which I gave my life and lost my Family for, the situation would be much different today!
"I mean, look around you, man!" Dean is no longer smiling now and he walks around me, angrily raising his voice. "The world is in the toilet. We are literally at the end of days here, and he's off somewhere drinking booze out of a coconut, alright?"
"Enough!"
I turn on my heels to face him again. Not only is Dean insulting the Lord, insisting that He doesn't intervene when my resurrection is proof that it's not true, but his tendency to walk around and stand behind me every time we're having an important conversation irritates me to no end.
Dean is glowering at me with furrowed eyebrows. Behind him, Sam is looking anxious and Bobby scowls, both silently listening.
"This is not a theological issue," I hiss, clenching my fists. "It's strategic. With God's help, we can win!"
"It's a pipe dream, Cas."
Is that why I turned my back on my Family? To protect Dean and Sam, I braved the highest authorities and shed two of my brothers' blood. I went farther than any other rebel before me. I've done worse than Camael, Anna and Uriel combined. I am hated and hunted by my own kind, and apart from Anpiel and Balthazar, no one will help or support me. Not even Dean, who keeps mocking me after everything I've done for him.
My wrathful aura fills the room. The three Humans lack the ability to see the energy I radiate, but a hint of fear flashes through Dean's eyes as I step up to him until I am close enough to feel his breath on my face and his body heat merging with my own.
"I killed two Angels this week. My brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, for you." He swallows hard but holds my gaze, the expression on his face stiffening. At least he stopped being so disrespectful. "And you failed," I hiss through my teeth. "You and your brother destroyed the world. And I lost everything, for nothing. So keep your opinions to yourself."
I can see in his eyes that my words have finally hit him. He lowers them guiltily, reduced to silence. I can only hope that from now on he will know that I won't tolerate disrespect and that he owes me gratitude and support for all the sacrifices I made for him.
"You didn't drop in just to tear us a new hole," says Bobby's grumpy voice. "What is it you want?"
Now that Dean's eyes are lowered, his green irises look darker, and I can barely perceive the sparkling fragments of his soul. His lips are pressed into a line that deepens the dimples on his cheeks, and his jaw bone clenches. For all my anger, I can't help but marvel at his facial features, which I personally rebuilt after dragging him out of Hell.
"I did come for something," I say, halting my contemplation of the righteous man. "An amulet."
On his wheelchair, the bearded hunter frowns, peering up at me.
"An amulet? What kind?"
"Very rare. Very powerful. It burns hot in God's presence. It'll help me find Him."
"A God EMF?" Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Well, I don't know what you're talking about," Bobby grumbles. "I got nothing like that."
"I know. You don't."
I take my eyes off Bobby and shift them back to Dean. The righteous man has not said a word since I forced respect upon him. He finally seems to realize what I'm getting at when I glance down at the necklace pendant resting on his chest, neon light outlining it.
"What, this?" he says in disbelief when I look up to meet his eyes.
"May I borrow it?"
"No!" Dean barks hoarsely.
Since being polite doesn't work, I switch to a more commanding tone, a tone I would use on low-ranking Cherubs.
"Dean, give it to me!"
Dean stares at me with a combination of defiance and hesitation, his eyes unsteady, and once again I see him give in and for once yield to me instead of stubbornly doing the exact opposite of what I ask of him.
"Alright, I guess," he reluctantly says, taking off his necklace.
Eager to finally be able to seek and find my Father, the Creator of the universe, I reach out, but Dean snatches the pendant back just as I am about to take it.
"Don't lose it!" he says aggressively.
I guess this is Dean's way of reasserting himself to his younger brother after having twice yielded to me, so I won't take it personally. My anger completely fades away when at last the amulet rests in my hand.
Balthazar was right, this is no ordinary pendant. I can feel a faint energy radiating from it. This amulet was undoubtedly forged by an Angel and holds inside a seal unfamiliar to me.
It is bathed in Dean's body heat, infusing warmth into my skin.
"Great," Dean mutters. "Now I feel naked."
I'm no longer listening to him. I have thousands of location ideas on Earth to search with this amulet's help. After forty-two million years of existence, I am finally going to meet the One who created me.
I look up to Dean as I close my fist on the precious amulet.
"I'll be in touch."
Dean nods at me, seemingly displeased by the turn of events. A strong beat of wings carries me to the first destination in my quest.
oOo
In the next chapter
"Wow, Cas. You sure know how to talk to a man. You should try applying for a job at a sex hotline, you'd kill it with that sweet talk of yours."
"A what? This whole phone conversation thing is foreign to me, Dean. I don't know if I'm doing it right."