Fic: Kingdom of Heaven, Part I- Castiel: "Paradiso"
Title: Paradiso
Author: Aerilex
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre/Pairings: Gen, AU from S5 Finale
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~6,680
Disclaimer: Author is making no profit from this fan-made fiction; this is intented for entertainment purposes only.
Warnings: AU, Torture
Summary: Castiel returns to Heaven.
A/N: Again, thank you to ilfirin_estel for being awesome, offering the best feedback, and always being available to fix my woefully bountiful mistakes beta-read. This probably wouldn't go anywhere without you, darling <3!
There are layers of quintessence and states of being that pile atop one another off in the furthest edges of the universe. The energy that fills this space crackles when a divine being is laid to rest in the dust of the stars and distant galaxies.
The ashes of Grace and power and light have settled on the outskirts of a distant bright-colored nebula. Suspended in space, the remnants are at peace and do not vibrate as they did in life. Within the nebula that cradles them, the shards patiently await reformation into the star that they will someday become. It will be a bright glorious golden thing, and humankind will contemplate it in several millennia once it has reached maturity.
And then, something in the void stirs. There is a shift of power and the stars tremble. A meteor shatters as the echoes of a voice that is and yet is not booms over its cold surface.
My son.
The call brings forth a change in the remnants. Uneasily, they stir and shy away from the power behind the non-voice. Incorporeal, the voice gentles and soothes the remnants as if reaching out with touch. Be easy, beloved. Be still.
The remnants quiver then settle. The voice, when it comes next, is pleased. It is too early yet for you to take your place in these heavens, beloved. You have a task you have to see through.
All of Heaven heaves as if gasping, and Creation coats its corners.
~
Castiel is awash in glory the moment he breaks through the barrier into the outermost realm of Heaven; while Heaven’s light lends him strength, he still trembles with exertion. In these parts where the fewest angels tread, there is a vast desert of white-glowing sand, manifest of the in-between where the ethereal stitches together with the corporeal.
Castiel is relieved to see that it appears as though none of his brothers or sisters has flown here since his departure. When he reaches out across the distance to feel along the familiar lines of the sigils erected around Jimmy’s body, he finds them unbroken and his vessel safe. He banks slightly, his still-injured wings greedily absorbing the healing Grace around him even as they carry him back toward his vessel. Once he reaches Jimmy’s body, Castiel will rest and try to recover some of his strength. He can only stay long enough to heal his wings; he will need them at full strength when he returns to his charges.
The angel doesn’t make it to his vessel before another burst of iridescent starlight nearly crashes into him. Castiel rears back, wings snapping painfully wide in surprise even as he recognizes his sister and dear friend, Rachel. Rachel’s wings close around his shoulders and her voice showers over him like rain. Castiel! Where have you been? He flinches at the brush of her feathers against the naked, raw flesh where his have been stripped. Rachel arches her wings away. What happened to you?
Seeking to soothe Rachel’s distress, Castiel brushes his Grace against her pale sky-colored feathers. Do not fret, sister. I will heal, he reassures her.
Rachel clutches at him, growing more alarmed despite his attempts to calm her. Castiel, what have you done to yourself?
Castiel isn’t quite sure what Rachel means. Curious, he responds slowly, Sam Winchester and Adam Milligan...they are saved.
Rachel withdraws from him as immediately as she had appeared, her Grace carefully pulled apart from his. Castiel tries not to flinch in hurt at the sudden loss of his sister’s loving warmth, but it is a near thing. After his first trip to Perdition, his brothers and sisters shied from his scarred wings, but still gathered near to him to share their Grace and offer the comfort of their presence. Rachel’s reaction is...troubling.
You are tainted, Rachel says, and something about her cascading voice has chilled to ice. Castiel wishes that his siblings would stop saying this, wishes that the curse Crowley had seemed to think might dissipate soon would do so. At the back of the angel’s mind, he feels the familiar tingle of doubt. Castiel, much has happened since your Falling.
Castiel studies her intently. It occurs to him that there are many new questions he needs to have answered. He knows that, even with the taint of the curse on his Grace, many of the angels should no longer see him as Fallen, as most of his siblings should have felt his latest resurrection and their Father’s involvement in it. With this in mind, Castiel asks uncertainly, What has happened?
Rachel does not answer his question, and she seems almost dazed as she says thoughtfully, We thought...Father restored you, we all felt His light in you, and we thought―we thought you would return to us the moment Raphael called to you―but you went to Hell, and now you have been tainted for those humans. The cold disdain in his sister’s tone perturbs him.
Rachel, I don’t understand―
Raphael wants to see you, Rachel interrupts him. He has been looking for you. We all have.
Startled by the sudden change of topic, Castiel simply watches his sister silently. Rachel continues to hold herself apart from him, but at the lengthening silence explains, Our brother has taken command of the Host in Michael’s absence. You must speak with him at once.
Castiel has no desire to speak to the archangel. For once, his unwillingness has little to do with fear. Yes, Raphael still embodies the wrath of Heaven and yes, his brother can still obliterate Castiel with a thought―but Castiel does not fear him. It should be strange, but it isn’t so. Castiel simply has no time for Raphael; he has to return to Sam and Adam, and help them find their way to Dean.
But Rachel seems insistent, already growing tense as the light of her Grace brightens with the prospect of divine will. Castiel is startled to see that in his sister. He had never imagined that Rachel would think to force him to obedience.
Then again, Rachel is not the one who defended Castiel when he stood trial in the Archangels’ Hall. And Rachel is certainly not the one who snuck to Castiel’s prison cell and murmured gentle comfort to him while he bled rivulets of silver Grace and screamed at the remains of the torture his brothers inflicted upon him.
Castiel has less desire to fight a beloved sister than he does to avoid a meeting with Raphael, however. Aside from the obvious hurt it will cause him to wage a battle with a friend, Castiel knows that it will only cost him more time and he will likely attract Raphael’s attention anyway. In response to Rachel’s stony silence, Castiel curls his wings just slightly. It is the angelic equivalent of inclining his head obediently. When she sees the gesture, Rachel relaxes.
You will find Raphael in the City, Rachel supplies for him. I will follow as far as the outer wall.
Castiel understands that this means Rachel does not wish to interact with the archangel either, but she will guarantee that he meets Raphael. Rachel flinches away when Castiel murmurs in assent and spreads his wings. He tries not to notice and forces himself to take comfort in his sister’s nearness as he flies toward the Great City.
~
Castiel flies swiftly, not willing to sacrifice any more time in Heaven than he has to. He knows that time passes differently between Heaven and Earth, and hopes that he hasn’t left Sam and Adam for very long without an explanation.
Wistfully, Castiel gazes upon the face of his home as he and Rachel pass through several regions toward the golden city at the heart of Heaven. The whitewashed desert fades into a sudden flourishing oasis of forestry. To Castiel, it appears as the rainforests that had once nestled the area around Eden. Passing the forest and the adjacent region of cascading falls and pools stacked atop one another in staggered fountains, Castiel finally sees the city.
It is a splendorous sight to behold each and every time Castiel sees it. Perhaps his experience this time is laden with the bitter emotions that churn in his Grace, homesickness and isolation brought to closure the moment he sights the gleaming, golden spires and domes. The city is enclosed within vast, towering walls, more for show than for protection. At the center of each cardinal wall, the gleaming stone barrier tapers off into shining wrought gates that stand open between the City and the surrounding regions of Heaven.
Castiel senses Raphael’s staggering presence at the Northern Gate, and directs his flight toward his brother. He realizes at once that Raphael knows he’s nearby; the moment he registers Raphael’s presence his wings are restricted by the archangel’s intent, and Rachel’s light vanishes at his back. “New and improved” though he may be, Castiel is still only a seraph and the will of an archangel remains absolute to any of the lower-ranking angels under that archangel’s command.
Raphael is different from the other archangels. His light burns just as bright, but with a different fire. Not even Michael, who has always been a warrior, is as savage as Raphael, and it shows in the blaze of his Grace. God’s Healer has redesigned himself since the Father took his leave of absence.
Castiel doesn’t join his brother where the force of his light fills the Gateway; instead, he touches down at the base of the incline below the gates and approaches cautiously. Raphael pulses with intent, and Castiel is concerned that he cannot perceive its origin.
When he is close enough to reflexively bow under the presence of the archangel, Raphael finally acknowledges him. Castiel.
Raphael, Castiel responds firmly.
I’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d return, Raphael says, his tone much less impressed than his words convey.
Castiel tries to keep the dry tone from his response. Rachel accosted me upon my return. She tells me you have been searching for me.
Yes, Raphael agrees. He does not elaborate on this, but instead gazes heavily upon Castiel and his Grace. You are tainted, brother. Raphael, unlike Rachel, sounds more amused by this than alarmed. Castiel is uncertain what to make of it, and puzzles out Raphael’s odd tone in the back of his mind as his brother addresses him again. Tell me what business you had in Perdition, seraph.
Without pause, Castiel answers, I went for Sam Winchester and Adam Milligan. I pulled them from the Cage to return them to the lives they have earned.
I see. Raphael pauses, and the hesitation is pregnant with some sort of tension that Castiel bristles at. Every instinct in him―built up from nearly a year of running and fighting against the forces of Heaven―screams at him now to flee, to fly from this place and Raphael’s treacherous quiet. Before he can act upon the urge, Raphael says, Explain to me, Castiel, why the demons have been loosed onto the human plane.
What? Castiel had been surprised by the lack of demons in Hell, true. But surprisingly, it had not occurred to him to worry that they had perhaps been set loose. The notion startles him and instantly his mind turns to Dean, to Sam and Adam and Father, all three of the boys are unaware that they are in danger. Castiel’s instincts shift, his focus moving from escape to protectiveness as his wings shift with the itch to take flight and return to his duties as self-appointed guardian to the brothers.
Castiel, Raphael interrupts his thoughts, infusing his voice with the might Heaven has bestowed upon him. Castiel stills automatically, the instinct to obey imprinted by time and persuasion. The younger angel turns his eyes upward to his elder brother, wings folding behind him. The demons are loose and you reek of their filth. What have you done?
Castiel realizes that this is not an interrogation, but an accusation. He shies back, away from the archangel, and his thoughts run rampant. There were few demons when I entered Hell, he says quietly. Urgently, he goes on, Raphael, there was a creature of Purgatory there. It was the same creature that weakened my Grace! The curse throbs against Castiel’s light, an imprint of wickedness like a wisp of smoke staining him.
The taint, yes. Raphael’s acknowledgment is not agreement; it is not understanding. Castiel realizes the danger the moment Raphael’s wings close around him. Your wings are charred, Castiel. Why would I believe anything you have to say?
The full strength of Raphael’s Grace pounds down upon Castiel, leaving him unable to respond. He begins to struggle in earnest, and pain ricochets through him as his brother’s fiery light bursts around his own.
Castiel thinks he hears a familiar sound, a distant trumpet’s call, just as the light fades to darkness.
~
Castiel is betrayed.
For a time, he is unaware. But soon, sensation returns in jagged parts, and Castiel hears the quiet whispers of the most dangerous of his brethren. In all the Heavenly Host, the most fearsome angels are the archangels. But even Michael, mighty with his sword and spear of evil’s bane, fears Heaven’s persuasion. Heaven is the original home of Lucifer, the first evil. It stands to reason that Heaven is the wellspring from which Lucifer’s imaginative tortures manifest.
Castiel is betrayed, and he knows this the moment he hears the angels responsible for re-educating those who go astray. The Flames of Heaven burn bright and white-hot, their Grace magnificent and awe-inspiring.
The seraph is small and dim compared to these angels who guard Heaven’s prison, small and dim and absolutely terrified.
~
It begins now as it had before, with the further dismemberment of his wings. To keep you from fleeing, says a nameless brother as each bone is carefully and strategically broken. They take away Castiel’s voice so he cannot cry out in pain; but this pain is old now, familiar―Hell had already scarred him before his return. Castiel is numbed by his trip through Perdition, and it shows in his lack of response.
The Flames are displeased by this.
Their displeasure engenders a more sensational type of pain; they begin to dissect his Grace with the holy oil that entraps angels on the mortal plane. Here it burns molten hot, running like golden magma over the body of Castiel’s light.
The pain is not something Castiel has any language to describe. If he could, he might compare it to the sensation Dean experienced in Hell when he remained on Alistair’s rack and Alistair saw fit to flay the skin and muscle and sinew from Dean’s bones―because even then, Castiel felt and shared every sensation Dean did. It had then acted as a guiding beacon leading Castiel to his charge, the pain and Dean’s own iridescent soul shining bright through the churning chaos of shadows. Castiel has no such guide now, nothing to focus on but the fraying of his existence as the Flames bathe him in liquid fire.
They do this for so long Castiel’s pain begins to ebb into numbness. Sensory deprivation is not something that angels experience; while it may appear―to humans, at least―that sensation is itself a foreign concept to an angel, the truth of the matter is that those sensations are simply buffered when an angel walks the earth by the vessel it wears. Here and in Hell, where angels’ true forms are as mortal flesh, their experiences are magnified and intense.
So when Castiel feels numbness and cold, his addled mind knows the fervor of terror anew.
The Flames leave him there, floating within the pool of holy oil for days and days until the angel hardly remembers his own name, much less whatever he is meant to feel. This is what they mean to do, he knows―they mean to break him down bit-by-bit until there’s nothing left of Cas and they can rebuild Thursday’s warrior, the second angel governing the fifth day who lives by the might of the name the humans translate to Castiel.
~
While a seraph suffers the penance forced upon him by his elder brothers, the archangel that sentenced him for his alleged treason sets his sights upon the seraph’s charges.
Castiel is unaware of this, is oblivious to anything but the cold and the heat and the sharpstingingache
Castiel. Cas? I kinda doubt you can even hear me, but―if you do get this―do you think you could wing down? It’s been almost a week now since I woke up topside and...I don’t know, man, I thought I heard you? Right after Adam and I came back, or maybe right before, I dunno, but I thought... Look, I’m kind of freaking out here, and I’m getting pretty worried so when you get a chance, at least, y’know...send me a sign or something.
He hears a choked-off sort of laugh. You know what I mean. I, uh. I’m still in Lawrence, just so you know. I guess I’ll see you. Take care, Cas.
There is a brief moment of confusion, wondrous puzzlement―and then realization as the angel realizes that it is Sam that is praying to him. He holds onto the prayer for as long as he can, uses it as a grounding point to draw his wayward thoughts back into himself.
He can do this. He can function through the pain, if he has Sam’s prayers to hold onto. He wishes, in a deep part of his heart, that Dean would pray to him as well―but he knows Dean has little true faith, and he has not heard Dean yet.
Castiel will not let himself be disappointed by that, not while he has another mission. He will listen for Sam again, and he will―eventually-find a way back.
~
Castiel doesn’t hear Sam for many lonely hours of pain and darkness. When next the boy calls out for him, the angel is pinned to a sigil-carved wall, holding him absolutely still so that he cannot fight as the Flames force the blood of the fallen down into his Grace. The names of lost brothers echo throughout his being―Abaddon, Orias Azazel, Quemuel, Samael―in slow, neverending succession and Castiel wonders if that will be him somehow, someday. Then he shakes that thought away; first because if God meant for him to truly fall from grace and not just to humanity, He would have cast Castiel away to the Pit instead of restoring his wings.
And second, because Sam Winchester is suddenly speaking in his mind.
Cas, hey. So I got a message but―this is going to sound stupid―is there a secure way to talk to you? I mean, am I praying to you or am I calling all angels here? I don’t know―I just don’t normally have creepy dream-conversations with you. That’s definitely something you can save for Dean, thanks.
There is a pause, then a soft curse.
Sorry, that sounded mean. I’m a little cranky right now. Adam keeps trying to sneak off on his own because apparently, being ridden hard and put away covered in hellfire and brimstone makes kids think they can take care of themselves.
I’d like to see you in person before I say any more. To be safe. If you have your cell phone still, I left you a―
Castiel is well past alarmed by the time Sam’s voice cuts out, severed abruptly at the root. Were he apart from this sigil that binds him, Castiel would be sorely anxious to check on Sam, to make sure he is all right. He thinks that perhaps the Flames are responsible for parting Castiel from the prayers of his charge, and while he worries he is sure that Sam can look after himself―has seen both Winchesters do so―so he focuses instead on the content of Sam’s message.
Someone is posing as Castiel and pretending to speak to Sam.
He knows that it can only be the angels. He just can’t imagine what they intend by disguising themselves. The horrors imposed upon his flesh fall away from the angel’s mind as he turns it instead onto figuring out this puzzle Sam has laid out for him.
Sam is clever, so Castiel trusts that the boy will continue to tread cautiously when it comes to trying to communicate with him. But Castiel knows that he needs to get back to his charges. Even the Winchesters can only fend off angels for so long.
Castiel has to get out of here.
~
It is, of course, easier said than done. As he told Anael when he met her before she attempted to kill John and Mary Winchester in order to wipe out Sam’s existence, escaping from Heaven is impossible. He still doesn’t believe that Anael managed to do it, though she seemed to believe she had. Castiel knows all about the designs of Heaven―it would not be so difficult for his brothers to trick even brilliant Anael by creating a fissure in Heaven’s defenses, something so seemingly innocuous that Anael could slip through it and truly think she’d found it on her own.
Castiel puts his mind to work while it is his to command. In the spaces between his re-education when they’re letting him rest, in the moments before intense blooms of pain steal his breath and choke off whatever plot his mind has formed, in the breathless moments when he is left gasping for air he does not need―he takes them all, steals them and covets them and lets his thoughts go. Castiel is a renowned tactician in Heaven―it is his finest talent, one of the reasons he and not mighty Uriel was chosen as Anael’s second-in-command. He trusts that he will be able to find some way to break free of his brothers’ hold, just long enough to slip into the ether and steal away.
As long as he can make them believe he’s so weak the sigils are only redundant, he might just make this work. The thought settles so firmly that Castiel almost believes it, lets the hope blossom against the call of his better judgment.
Then one day, a brother whose name he has never been allowed to know leans over him, grins in a way that is too warm, too familiar for this situation. I think this might go quicker if we didn’t need to draw out the sigils to bind you, his brother says.
Castiel’s whole Grace quivers.
His brother goes on, Perhaps if we burn the sigils into your Grace. You’ve done something similar with your precious humans, haven’t you, Castiel?
Every good feeling that Castiel has ever possessed dries up and shrivels into a twisted, dying thing.
Hold still now, his brother says. This will only take a moment.
The first touch of singeing Grace, burning brighter than Raphael’s when it tore him to shreds in Chuck Shurley’s kitchen so long ago, begins to carve the crippling sigil into Castiel.
How curious, his brother says. Your Grace is too weak to wipe them away.
Castiel screams at the second touch. Every part of him flares out in a wild explosion of pain, of the evilest sort of love. He doesn’t stop screaming until he’s filled all the heavens with his voice.
He doesn’t stop screaming until long after his brother has grown bored and pushed him away back into the cold quiet of his cell.
~
Castiel loses so much time to the constant thrumming of the sigils blotting out the essence of his Grace. It has numbed out all the other sensations, all the rest of the pain, so the Flames have left him here alone in this cell. He thinks he hears one of them comment, Perhaps we should have tried it sooner. He is ruined as an angel.
If he were able to, Castiel would fling a phrase he learned from Dean back at the remark. He thinks it goes, Fuck off, you dick.
Of course―another, quieter part of Castiel thinks perhaps his brother is right. He thinks he might be writhing, may have been doing so since they brought him here and dumped him, leaving him for what could pass―for an angel―for near-dead. He burns, burns so ugly and quiet, like a doused flame.
He asks for them to kill him. He knows he does it because he repeatedly feels shame steal over him in great, heaving sobs.
The Flames don’t come back, and they never listen to him when he asks for it to end.
~
Castiel cannot see anything but crystal-stained ink dancing like shadows before him. He is pressed to the solid floor of his cell, pressed wholly against it because it is cool and he is burning and the fire never stops, never goes away. He thinks he wanted to escape. He thinks there was a reason for that. He can’t even summon up the strength to remember why.
He bleeds his purpose and conviction out across the floor, lets them spill with each ghost of a word that falls from his lips.
And then, suddenly, the roaring churn of his Grace grows quiet. Castiel startles when he feels something cool brush across him.
He forces himself to move, to gather himself up so he can raise his head. He is shocked to see that he’s all shot-through with a light that is not his own, that is warm and brilliant, stained with an iridescent sheen and brilliant white like pearls and diamonds.
Castiel recognizes it, he realizes suddenly. He recognizes it from Hell.
Its glow is dim now compared to what it was then, as though it is muffled, shushed like it’s sharing a secret with him. Castiel thinks he hears warm laughter, quiet and amused as the white light coils around his Grace, curls inside him.
And then it brightens, more splendid than any of the stars Castiel has flown by, than it was even in Hell. The little seraph is engulfed in the storm of it, swept up and away like leaves on a stiff breeze, caught and bound in it as it flies high, higher than Heaven’s walls and so far beyond. There are angry exclamations, pulses of fury pounding at the air around him, his brothers’ ire in physical form. They cannot puncture the light, and so they cannot reach Castiel.
He is too weak to do anything but stiffen in its pull, uncertain of its intent. He feels something brush over his wings, the sting in them gentled. Rest now, the touch seems to say.
So Castiel does.
~
When again he rouses, Castiel is not in Heaven. He is not on the ethereal plane. He is also not free of restriction, and he scuttles for a moment before it dawns on him that the restraint is not angelic, but made of human flesh.
He’s been restored to his vessel.
The realization stills him long enough to find that he has been healed―for the most part, he amends. His wings still ache and his Grace is still weak from the sigils carved into it, but he is relieved to note that they have been healed along with the worst of his wounds.
And only then does he sense someone standing over him.
Castiel pushes up, lifts his head and is startled by the golden-hazel eyes staring back at him from a familiar face. He kicks his feet until he has purchase enough to shove himself backward across the―ah, the couch he’s resting on.
He stares at Gabriel warily. Gabriel saved him? Gabriel is alive?
Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything. Strangely, his brother is frowning and inscrutable. Castiel has seen him this way before, long ago in Heaven’s corridors, but it is rare enough a countenance for his brother that Castiel grows uncomfortable with it. He studies the winged armchair Gabriel sits in for a moment, just until he can try to make sense of this situation. The armchair is a gaudy shade of red, and Castiel sees little white outlines of the female body in various lewd positions outlined over the fabric. They appear to be in a large loft that he imagines his old friend Balthazar would take a shine too―Dean might describe it as all swank and sex. There is a lot of glass and black marble.
He wrinkles his nose in distaste and gives his brother a chastening look. Gabriel’s unreadable expression blossoms into a bright, amused grin. “Hiya, Castiel!”
“Gabriel,” Castiel returns with a respectful nod. He thinks he should, perhaps, treat the more dangerous of his siblings with a little less respect and a little more caution―but the habit is still ingrained into him.
Gabriel continues to grin at him, slapping his hands against his thighs. “So how ya been, kiddo? Seems like the last time I saw you you were halfway to fallen and mooning after little Deano and the world was coming to an end!” Castiel just stares at him, unamused. Gabriel’s grin gradually becomes more and more forced, then slides off his face altogether. “You know, you’re kind of a buzzkill, Castiel.”
“Apologies,” Castiel deadpans, then rises to his feet. His overcoat, blazer and shoes are missing. He summons them back with a thought, dressing his vessel accordingly. Reaching out, Castiel tests the boundaries of the ether around the loft and is unsurprised to find that he cannot break through it to fly. He sighs, and directs another stern look at his elder brother. “Why can’t I leave this place?”
“Tut tut, Castiel.” Gabriel shakes his head and wags a finger in Castiel’s direction. “You used to be much better at asking relevant questions. Now why don’t you have a seat and enjoy your awesome big brother’s company for a minute?”
Castiel stiffens, his expression darkening further. “I don’t want to sit down.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Geez, you and Sam should patent the pissed-off puppy look. Whatever fluffs your marshmallow, I guess. Oooh.” He cocks his head to one side, tapping his chin with one finger contemplatively. “Marshmallows. S’mores, oh man.” With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel is suddenly holding a gooey, chocolatey thing stuffed between what appears to be a pair of flat cookies. Gabriel catches Castiel eyeing his treat, and asks through a mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow goo, “Y’wanna try one?”
“No,” Castiel replies shortly.
“Such a buzzkill,” Gabriel sighs remorsefully. He takes his time, ignoring Castiel’s pointed stare, and finishes the “s’more,” then licks his fingers clean of any remaining chocolate and crumbs.
Castiel loses his limited patience around the time Gabriel starts smacking his lips and looking like he might conjure another one. “Gabriel,” he says sharply, waiting until his brother’s eyes meet his to go on, “What do you want with me?”
Gabriel looks put out. “Y’know, I know you weren’t created with that stick up your ass. You used to be fun.”
Something in Castiel turns hard and cold, and he says bitterly, “Perhaps you are remembering the fledgling that trailed after you all through Heaven. I don’t mean to alarm you, but fledglings need to grow up when there is a war to be fought.”
Gabriel frowns at him, and the unhappiness in his expression is the most candid emotion Castiel has witnessed in him since before Gabriel fled Heaven so long ago. “I thought you’d be all right,” Gabriel tells Castiel earnestly. “You have to know that.”
Castiel would really rather not have this particular discussion. Gabriel wouldn’t let him say anything on the matter the last time they met―instead, he locked Castiel in a prison and weakened his Grace so that Castiel was very nearly human. Castiel’s spent so long having decisions taken from him by his brothers. He makes one for himself and changes the subject, not giving Gabriel the opportunity to defend his actions. Castiel really isn’t interested in his brother’s explanations.
Instead, he prompts Gabriel again, “Tell me why I’m here.”
Gabriel’s eyes harden, and the raffish Trickster’s grin he’s stolen to hide behind replaces his earnestness. “I thought you’d want to know that Raphael is planning on tricking one of your little knights-in-shining-flannel into reopening the Cage,” he said with a flourish.
And suddenly Sam’s prayers make much more sense. Castiel doesn’t quite startle, but Gabriel must see him straighten because he laughs. “Yeah, I figured that’d get your attention.”
“How do you know this?” Castiel demands.
Gabriel smirks at him. “That’s for Big Brother to know, and Baby Brother to wonder about in the wee hours of night.”
No matter. Castiel can figure that out later. “So it was Raphael who disguised himself as me and spoke with Sam within his subconscious?” he surmises.
Gabriel shrugs one shoulder, spreading his hands. “Him or one of his lackeys. Poor old Rafe seems a bit put-out that Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass managed to avert the Apocalypse.” Gabriel cocks his head to one side. “I’m actually a little surprised myself, truth be told.
“Anyway,” he says with a flick of his wrist, “soon as I got my wings back, I started asking around, checking in with some old allies. Raphael’s taken command of Heaven, and has been exterminating any who stand in his way.”
Something in Castiel grows cold, and he thinks of Uriel.
“We have to stop him,” Castiel tells Gabriel. “We can’t let him undo what the Winchesters have done to save this world.”
“Creepy hero-worshippy statement aside, I agree with you.” Gabriel then takes a moment to assess Castiel. Castiel’s wings fidget at his back. “So, I’ve been putting it asking because I figured you’d be pissy about it, but uh...what happened to you, Cas?” He gestures at Castiel’s wings. “You look like you got mauled, and you’re definitely losing some shine there. Like, a lot of shine. You almost look like you’ve been through Hell. Again.”
Castiel gives him a strange look. “I did go through Hell again. That’s why I was in Heaven’s prison.”
Gabriel’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “They imprisoned you? They left you with the Flames?”
Castiel blinks at him. “Yes, Raphael sent me to the Flames for Persuasion...except for the sigils―” He gestures toward his vessel’s chest to indicate the Grace hidden away beneath. “―it really wasn’t much different from the first time.” Gabriel mouths, the first time? incredulously as Castiel says, “Weren’t you the one who pulled me out of there?”
Gabriel’s face pinches. “Cas―I had no idea what had happened to you. I just found you free-falling outside of Rome and brought you here to heal what damage I could.” Castiel blinks at him. So... Gabriel hadn’t saved him from the Flames? Then, who...? He puts the thought aside for later, because he thinks Gabriel looks rather distraught and the expression makes him uncomfortable. “Why would Raphael send you to the Flames?”
“He accused me of treason against Heaven,” Castiel informs him.
“Wait, wait, wait―what?” Gabriel makes a sharp gesture when Castiel opens his mouth to speak again. “Y’know what, never mind. Why don’t you just tell me the whole story from the beginning?”
“To which beginning do you refer?” Castiel asks.
Gabriel shakes his head and watches Castiel with regret shimmering behind his eyes. “I don’t even know, Cas. How the ceasefire on the Apocalypse was called maybe?”
Castiel considers it, then nods. “I can do that.” He sits down, and starts to tell Gabriel all that has transpired. Gabriel just listens, for once in his entire existence.
~
By the time Castiel finishes the account of his latest voyage to Hell, Gabriel has conjured them a bottle of whiskey and a pair of tumblers. For the most part, Castiel tries to ignore it―he remembers how unpleasant the aftermath of his last “bender” was, and he is in no hurry to relive it. Gabriel doesn’t seem to mind, just works his way through the 40-oz. bottle and then takes Castiel’s glass from him when the younger angel fails to touch it.
When Castiel finishes, Gabriel sets the glass down decisively and says, “Okay, well obviously you’re not going anywhere near Raphael again.”
Castiel shoots Gabriel a puzzled look. “Why?”
Gabriel scoffs. “Uh, because every time you get close to that dick you end up dead or captured or hurt in some way? I don’t know why I never thought of it before, but Rafe’s always sort of had a thing against you.”
Castiel nods in agreement, though he also is unsure why their brother is so hostile toward him. He honestly cannot remember a time Raphael didn’t dislike him. “Someone has to stop Raphael’s plan though, Gabriel,” he points out.
“Yeah, Cas, I know,” Gabriel sighs. “That’s why you’re going to stay here on Earth and try to find some recruits.”
“Recruits,” Castiel repeats.
“Yeah, bucko, recruits. We’re not the only pair of angels that snuck out Heaven’s back door, remember? There are others who’ve fallen or―y’know, ran away.”
And now Castiel is unsure. “I don’t think any Fallen would want to help us stop the Apocalypse.”
“Oh, c’mon, Cas! Have a little faith!” Gabriel says, shooting him a cross look. “We both helped with the last one didn’t we?”
Castiel huffs impatiently. “You only helped because Dean cursed you a coward.” He pauses at Gabriel’s sudden wounded frown, and allows, “And to keep your brothers from killing each other.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Cas. And why, exactly, did you fall and help the Brothers Winchester?”
Castiel meets Gabriel’s gaze and says, “Because a friend asked me to. Because I believed that he might be right, that the lives here are worth saving.”
“Well, maybe some of the Fallen will catch your fanboy complex for the Righteous Man,” Gabriel suggests. “Either way, you’re going to have to do this because I have to go play Secret Agent Man in Heaven. No, I know you don’t understand that reference,” he says when Castiel starts to interrupt. “Just shut up―you can ask Dean about it later.
“Now,” he says, hopping to his feet to lean over Castiel and press his hands against Castiel’s shoulders. “You stay here. Avoid weird pearly white lights. Do not go diving back into Hell. Find the Winchesters, do what you have to do to keep them away from Raphael’s goons, but do not do anything stupid. Mmkay pumpkin?”
Castiel furrows his brow―pumpkin?―and nods. He is still leery of Gabriel, but he hasn’t seen his brother so full of holy intent in a long time. It is...refreshing. And it instills Castiel with an old hope that perhaps the brother he once idolized will return to to their family someday.
Gabriel pats his cheeks then squishes them, laughing at Castiel’s expression. “Okay. Behave, baby brother. And, uh...” He gestures at Castiel’s wings. “Try not to fly too far. You don’t want to do any more damage than has already been done.”
Castiel only nods again. “Yes, brother.”
Gabriel grins at him, winks and salutes. And then he vanishes.
Castiel shakes his head and follows suit.
Purgatorio (coming soon)
Master List
Author: Aerilex
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre/Pairings: Gen, AU from S5 Finale
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~6,680
Disclaimer: Author is making no profit from this fan-made fiction; this is intented for entertainment purposes only.
Warnings: AU, Torture
Summary: Castiel returns to Heaven.
A/N: Again, thank you to ilfirin_estel for being awesome, offering the best feedback, and always being available to fix my woefully bountiful mistakes beta-read. This probably wouldn't go anywhere without you, darling <3!
There are layers of quintessence and states of being that pile atop one another off in the furthest edges of the universe. The energy that fills this space crackles when a divine being is laid to rest in the dust of the stars and distant galaxies.
The ashes of Grace and power and light have settled on the outskirts of a distant bright-colored nebula. Suspended in space, the remnants are at peace and do not vibrate as they did in life. Within the nebula that cradles them, the shards patiently await reformation into the star that they will someday become. It will be a bright glorious golden thing, and humankind will contemplate it in several millennia once it has reached maturity.
And then, something in the void stirs. There is a shift of power and the stars tremble. A meteor shatters as the echoes of a voice that is and yet is not booms over its cold surface.
My son.
The call brings forth a change in the remnants. Uneasily, they stir and shy away from the power behind the non-voice. Incorporeal, the voice gentles and soothes the remnants as if reaching out with touch. Be easy, beloved. Be still.
The remnants quiver then settle. The voice, when it comes next, is pleased. It is too early yet for you to take your place in these heavens, beloved. You have a task you have to see through.
All of Heaven heaves as if gasping, and Creation coats its corners.
~
Castiel is awash in glory the moment he breaks through the barrier into the outermost realm of Heaven; while Heaven’s light lends him strength, he still trembles with exertion. In these parts where the fewest angels tread, there is a vast desert of white-glowing sand, manifest of the in-between where the ethereal stitches together with the corporeal.
Castiel is relieved to see that it appears as though none of his brothers or sisters has flown here since his departure. When he reaches out across the distance to feel along the familiar lines of the sigils erected around Jimmy’s body, he finds them unbroken and his vessel safe. He banks slightly, his still-injured wings greedily absorbing the healing Grace around him even as they carry him back toward his vessel. Once he reaches Jimmy’s body, Castiel will rest and try to recover some of his strength. He can only stay long enough to heal his wings; he will need them at full strength when he returns to his charges.
The angel doesn’t make it to his vessel before another burst of iridescent starlight nearly crashes into him. Castiel rears back, wings snapping painfully wide in surprise even as he recognizes his sister and dear friend, Rachel. Rachel’s wings close around his shoulders and her voice showers over him like rain. Castiel! Where have you been? He flinches at the brush of her feathers against the naked, raw flesh where his have been stripped. Rachel arches her wings away. What happened to you?
Seeking to soothe Rachel’s distress, Castiel brushes his Grace against her pale sky-colored feathers. Do not fret, sister. I will heal, he reassures her.
Rachel clutches at him, growing more alarmed despite his attempts to calm her. Castiel, what have you done to yourself?
Castiel isn’t quite sure what Rachel means. Curious, he responds slowly, Sam Winchester and Adam Milligan...they are saved.
Rachel withdraws from him as immediately as she had appeared, her Grace carefully pulled apart from his. Castiel tries not to flinch in hurt at the sudden loss of his sister’s loving warmth, but it is a near thing. After his first trip to Perdition, his brothers and sisters shied from his scarred wings, but still gathered near to him to share their Grace and offer the comfort of their presence. Rachel’s reaction is...troubling.
You are tainted, Rachel says, and something about her cascading voice has chilled to ice. Castiel wishes that his siblings would stop saying this, wishes that the curse Crowley had seemed to think might dissipate soon would do so. At the back of the angel’s mind, he feels the familiar tingle of doubt. Castiel, much has happened since your Falling.
Castiel studies her intently. It occurs to him that there are many new questions he needs to have answered. He knows that, even with the taint of the curse on his Grace, many of the angels should no longer see him as Fallen, as most of his siblings should have felt his latest resurrection and their Father’s involvement in it. With this in mind, Castiel asks uncertainly, What has happened?
Rachel does not answer his question, and she seems almost dazed as she says thoughtfully, We thought...Father restored you, we all felt His light in you, and we thought―we thought you would return to us the moment Raphael called to you―but you went to Hell, and now you have been tainted for those humans. The cold disdain in his sister’s tone perturbs him.
Rachel, I don’t understand―
Raphael wants to see you, Rachel interrupts him. He has been looking for you. We all have.
Startled by the sudden change of topic, Castiel simply watches his sister silently. Rachel continues to hold herself apart from him, but at the lengthening silence explains, Our brother has taken command of the Host in Michael’s absence. You must speak with him at once.
Castiel has no desire to speak to the archangel. For once, his unwillingness has little to do with fear. Yes, Raphael still embodies the wrath of Heaven and yes, his brother can still obliterate Castiel with a thought―but Castiel does not fear him. It should be strange, but it isn’t so. Castiel simply has no time for Raphael; he has to return to Sam and Adam, and help them find their way to Dean.
But Rachel seems insistent, already growing tense as the light of her Grace brightens with the prospect of divine will. Castiel is startled to see that in his sister. He had never imagined that Rachel would think to force him to obedience.
Then again, Rachel is not the one who defended Castiel when he stood trial in the Archangels’ Hall. And Rachel is certainly not the one who snuck to Castiel’s prison cell and murmured gentle comfort to him while he bled rivulets of silver Grace and screamed at the remains of the torture his brothers inflicted upon him.
Castiel has less desire to fight a beloved sister than he does to avoid a meeting with Raphael, however. Aside from the obvious hurt it will cause him to wage a battle with a friend, Castiel knows that it will only cost him more time and he will likely attract Raphael’s attention anyway. In response to Rachel’s stony silence, Castiel curls his wings just slightly. It is the angelic equivalent of inclining his head obediently. When she sees the gesture, Rachel relaxes.
You will find Raphael in the City, Rachel supplies for him. I will follow as far as the outer wall.
Castiel understands that this means Rachel does not wish to interact with the archangel either, but she will guarantee that he meets Raphael. Rachel flinches away when Castiel murmurs in assent and spreads his wings. He tries not to notice and forces himself to take comfort in his sister’s nearness as he flies toward the Great City.
~
Castiel flies swiftly, not willing to sacrifice any more time in Heaven than he has to. He knows that time passes differently between Heaven and Earth, and hopes that he hasn’t left Sam and Adam for very long without an explanation.
Wistfully, Castiel gazes upon the face of his home as he and Rachel pass through several regions toward the golden city at the heart of Heaven. The whitewashed desert fades into a sudden flourishing oasis of forestry. To Castiel, it appears as the rainforests that had once nestled the area around Eden. Passing the forest and the adjacent region of cascading falls and pools stacked atop one another in staggered fountains, Castiel finally sees the city.
It is a splendorous sight to behold each and every time Castiel sees it. Perhaps his experience this time is laden with the bitter emotions that churn in his Grace, homesickness and isolation brought to closure the moment he sights the gleaming, golden spires and domes. The city is enclosed within vast, towering walls, more for show than for protection. At the center of each cardinal wall, the gleaming stone barrier tapers off into shining wrought gates that stand open between the City and the surrounding regions of Heaven.
Castiel senses Raphael’s staggering presence at the Northern Gate, and directs his flight toward his brother. He realizes at once that Raphael knows he’s nearby; the moment he registers Raphael’s presence his wings are restricted by the archangel’s intent, and Rachel’s light vanishes at his back. “New and improved” though he may be, Castiel is still only a seraph and the will of an archangel remains absolute to any of the lower-ranking angels under that archangel’s command.
Raphael is different from the other archangels. His light burns just as bright, but with a different fire. Not even Michael, who has always been a warrior, is as savage as Raphael, and it shows in the blaze of his Grace. God’s Healer has redesigned himself since the Father took his leave of absence.
Castiel doesn’t join his brother where the force of his light fills the Gateway; instead, he touches down at the base of the incline below the gates and approaches cautiously. Raphael pulses with intent, and Castiel is concerned that he cannot perceive its origin.
When he is close enough to reflexively bow under the presence of the archangel, Raphael finally acknowledges him. Castiel.
Raphael, Castiel responds firmly.
I’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d return, Raphael says, his tone much less impressed than his words convey.
Castiel tries to keep the dry tone from his response. Rachel accosted me upon my return. She tells me you have been searching for me.
Yes, Raphael agrees. He does not elaborate on this, but instead gazes heavily upon Castiel and his Grace. You are tainted, brother. Raphael, unlike Rachel, sounds more amused by this than alarmed. Castiel is uncertain what to make of it, and puzzles out Raphael’s odd tone in the back of his mind as his brother addresses him again. Tell me what business you had in Perdition, seraph.
Without pause, Castiel answers, I went for Sam Winchester and Adam Milligan. I pulled them from the Cage to return them to the lives they have earned.
I see. Raphael pauses, and the hesitation is pregnant with some sort of tension that Castiel bristles at. Every instinct in him―built up from nearly a year of running and fighting against the forces of Heaven―screams at him now to flee, to fly from this place and Raphael’s treacherous quiet. Before he can act upon the urge, Raphael says, Explain to me, Castiel, why the demons have been loosed onto the human plane.
What? Castiel had been surprised by the lack of demons in Hell, true. But surprisingly, it had not occurred to him to worry that they had perhaps been set loose. The notion startles him and instantly his mind turns to Dean, to Sam and Adam and Father, all three of the boys are unaware that they are in danger. Castiel’s instincts shift, his focus moving from escape to protectiveness as his wings shift with the itch to take flight and return to his duties as self-appointed guardian to the brothers.
Castiel, Raphael interrupts his thoughts, infusing his voice with the might Heaven has bestowed upon him. Castiel stills automatically, the instinct to obey imprinted by time and persuasion. The younger angel turns his eyes upward to his elder brother, wings folding behind him. The demons are loose and you reek of their filth. What have you done?
Castiel realizes that this is not an interrogation, but an accusation. He shies back, away from the archangel, and his thoughts run rampant. There were few demons when I entered Hell, he says quietly. Urgently, he goes on, Raphael, there was a creature of Purgatory there. It was the same creature that weakened my Grace! The curse throbs against Castiel’s light, an imprint of wickedness like a wisp of smoke staining him.
The taint, yes. Raphael’s acknowledgment is not agreement; it is not understanding. Castiel realizes the danger the moment Raphael’s wings close around him. Your wings are charred, Castiel. Why would I believe anything you have to say?
The full strength of Raphael’s Grace pounds down upon Castiel, leaving him unable to respond. He begins to struggle in earnest, and pain ricochets through him as his brother’s fiery light bursts around his own.
Castiel thinks he hears a familiar sound, a distant trumpet’s call, just as the light fades to darkness.
~
Castiel is betrayed.
For a time, he is unaware. But soon, sensation returns in jagged parts, and Castiel hears the quiet whispers of the most dangerous of his brethren. In all the Heavenly Host, the most fearsome angels are the archangels. But even Michael, mighty with his sword and spear of evil’s bane, fears Heaven’s persuasion. Heaven is the original home of Lucifer, the first evil. It stands to reason that Heaven is the wellspring from which Lucifer’s imaginative tortures manifest.
Castiel is betrayed, and he knows this the moment he hears the angels responsible for re-educating those who go astray. The Flames of Heaven burn bright and white-hot, their Grace magnificent and awe-inspiring.
The seraph is small and dim compared to these angels who guard Heaven’s prison, small and dim and absolutely terrified.
~
It begins now as it had before, with the further dismemberment of his wings. To keep you from fleeing, says a nameless brother as each bone is carefully and strategically broken. They take away Castiel’s voice so he cannot cry out in pain; but this pain is old now, familiar―Hell had already scarred him before his return. Castiel is numbed by his trip through Perdition, and it shows in his lack of response.
The Flames are displeased by this.
Their displeasure engenders a more sensational type of pain; they begin to dissect his Grace with the holy oil that entraps angels on the mortal plane. Here it burns molten hot, running like golden magma over the body of Castiel’s light.
The pain is not something Castiel has any language to describe. If he could, he might compare it to the sensation Dean experienced in Hell when he remained on Alistair’s rack and Alistair saw fit to flay the skin and muscle and sinew from Dean’s bones―because even then, Castiel felt and shared every sensation Dean did. It had then acted as a guiding beacon leading Castiel to his charge, the pain and Dean’s own iridescent soul shining bright through the churning chaos of shadows. Castiel has no such guide now, nothing to focus on but the fraying of his existence as the Flames bathe him in liquid fire.
They do this for so long Castiel’s pain begins to ebb into numbness. Sensory deprivation is not something that angels experience; while it may appear―to humans, at least―that sensation is itself a foreign concept to an angel, the truth of the matter is that those sensations are simply buffered when an angel walks the earth by the vessel it wears. Here and in Hell, where angels’ true forms are as mortal flesh, their experiences are magnified and intense.
So when Castiel feels numbness and cold, his addled mind knows the fervor of terror anew.
The Flames leave him there, floating within the pool of holy oil for days and days until the angel hardly remembers his own name, much less whatever he is meant to feel. This is what they mean to do, he knows―they mean to break him down bit-by-bit until there’s nothing left of Cas and they can rebuild Thursday’s warrior, the second angel governing the fifth day who lives by the might of the name the humans translate to Castiel.
~
While a seraph suffers the penance forced upon him by his elder brothers, the archangel that sentenced him for his alleged treason sets his sights upon the seraph’s charges.
Castiel is unaware of this, is oblivious to anything but the cold and the heat and the sharpstingingache
Castiel. Cas? I kinda doubt you can even hear me, but―if you do get this―do you think you could wing down? It’s been almost a week now since I woke up topside and...I don’t know, man, I thought I heard you? Right after Adam and I came back, or maybe right before, I dunno, but I thought... Look, I’m kind of freaking out here, and I’m getting pretty worried so when you get a chance, at least, y’know...send me a sign or something.
He hears a choked-off sort of laugh. You know what I mean. I, uh. I’m still in Lawrence, just so you know. I guess I’ll see you. Take care, Cas.
There is a brief moment of confusion, wondrous puzzlement―and then realization as the angel realizes that it is Sam that is praying to him. He holds onto the prayer for as long as he can, uses it as a grounding point to draw his wayward thoughts back into himself.
He can do this. He can function through the pain, if he has Sam’s prayers to hold onto. He wishes, in a deep part of his heart, that Dean would pray to him as well―but he knows Dean has little true faith, and he has not heard Dean yet.
Castiel will not let himself be disappointed by that, not while he has another mission. He will listen for Sam again, and he will―eventually-find a way back.
~
Castiel doesn’t hear Sam for many lonely hours of pain and darkness. When next the boy calls out for him, the angel is pinned to a sigil-carved wall, holding him absolutely still so that he cannot fight as the Flames force the blood of the fallen down into his Grace. The names of lost brothers echo throughout his being―Abaddon, Orias Azazel, Quemuel, Samael―in slow, neverending succession and Castiel wonders if that will be him somehow, someday. Then he shakes that thought away; first because if God meant for him to truly fall from grace and not just to humanity, He would have cast Castiel away to the Pit instead of restoring his wings.
And second, because Sam Winchester is suddenly speaking in his mind.
Cas, hey. So I got a message but―this is going to sound stupid―is there a secure way to talk to you? I mean, am I praying to you or am I calling all angels here? I don’t know―I just don’t normally have creepy dream-conversations with you. That’s definitely something you can save for Dean, thanks.
There is a pause, then a soft curse.
Sorry, that sounded mean. I’m a little cranky right now. Adam keeps trying to sneak off on his own because apparently, being ridden hard and put away covered in hellfire and brimstone makes kids think they can take care of themselves.
I’d like to see you in person before I say any more. To be safe. If you have your cell phone still, I left you a―
Castiel is well past alarmed by the time Sam’s voice cuts out, severed abruptly at the root. Were he apart from this sigil that binds him, Castiel would be sorely anxious to check on Sam, to make sure he is all right. He thinks that perhaps the Flames are responsible for parting Castiel from the prayers of his charge, and while he worries he is sure that Sam can look after himself―has seen both Winchesters do so―so he focuses instead on the content of Sam’s message.
Someone is posing as Castiel and pretending to speak to Sam.
He knows that it can only be the angels. He just can’t imagine what they intend by disguising themselves. The horrors imposed upon his flesh fall away from the angel’s mind as he turns it instead onto figuring out this puzzle Sam has laid out for him.
Sam is clever, so Castiel trusts that the boy will continue to tread cautiously when it comes to trying to communicate with him. But Castiel knows that he needs to get back to his charges. Even the Winchesters can only fend off angels for so long.
Castiel has to get out of here.
~
It is, of course, easier said than done. As he told Anael when he met her before she attempted to kill John and Mary Winchester in order to wipe out Sam’s existence, escaping from Heaven is impossible. He still doesn’t believe that Anael managed to do it, though she seemed to believe she had. Castiel knows all about the designs of Heaven―it would not be so difficult for his brothers to trick even brilliant Anael by creating a fissure in Heaven’s defenses, something so seemingly innocuous that Anael could slip through it and truly think she’d found it on her own.
Castiel puts his mind to work while it is his to command. In the spaces between his re-education when they’re letting him rest, in the moments before intense blooms of pain steal his breath and choke off whatever plot his mind has formed, in the breathless moments when he is left gasping for air he does not need―he takes them all, steals them and covets them and lets his thoughts go. Castiel is a renowned tactician in Heaven―it is his finest talent, one of the reasons he and not mighty Uriel was chosen as Anael’s second-in-command. He trusts that he will be able to find some way to break free of his brothers’ hold, just long enough to slip into the ether and steal away.
As long as he can make them believe he’s so weak the sigils are only redundant, he might just make this work. The thought settles so firmly that Castiel almost believes it, lets the hope blossom against the call of his better judgment.
Then one day, a brother whose name he has never been allowed to know leans over him, grins in a way that is too warm, too familiar for this situation. I think this might go quicker if we didn’t need to draw out the sigils to bind you, his brother says.
Castiel’s whole Grace quivers.
His brother goes on, Perhaps if we burn the sigils into your Grace. You’ve done something similar with your precious humans, haven’t you, Castiel?
Every good feeling that Castiel has ever possessed dries up and shrivels into a twisted, dying thing.
Hold still now, his brother says. This will only take a moment.
The first touch of singeing Grace, burning brighter than Raphael’s when it tore him to shreds in Chuck Shurley’s kitchen so long ago, begins to carve the crippling sigil into Castiel.
How curious, his brother says. Your Grace is too weak to wipe them away.
Castiel screams at the second touch. Every part of him flares out in a wild explosion of pain, of the evilest sort of love. He doesn’t stop screaming until he’s filled all the heavens with his voice.
He doesn’t stop screaming until long after his brother has grown bored and pushed him away back into the cold quiet of his cell.
~
Castiel loses so much time to the constant thrumming of the sigils blotting out the essence of his Grace. It has numbed out all the other sensations, all the rest of the pain, so the Flames have left him here alone in this cell. He thinks he hears one of them comment, Perhaps we should have tried it sooner. He is ruined as an angel.
If he were able to, Castiel would fling a phrase he learned from Dean back at the remark. He thinks it goes, Fuck off, you dick.
Of course―another, quieter part of Castiel thinks perhaps his brother is right. He thinks he might be writhing, may have been doing so since they brought him here and dumped him, leaving him for what could pass―for an angel―for near-dead. He burns, burns so ugly and quiet, like a doused flame.
He asks for them to kill him. He knows he does it because he repeatedly feels shame steal over him in great, heaving sobs.
The Flames don’t come back, and they never listen to him when he asks for it to end.
~
Castiel cannot see anything but crystal-stained ink dancing like shadows before him. He is pressed to the solid floor of his cell, pressed wholly against it because it is cool and he is burning and the fire never stops, never goes away. He thinks he wanted to escape. He thinks there was a reason for that. He can’t even summon up the strength to remember why.
He bleeds his purpose and conviction out across the floor, lets them spill with each ghost of a word that falls from his lips.
And then, suddenly, the roaring churn of his Grace grows quiet. Castiel startles when he feels something cool brush across him.
He forces himself to move, to gather himself up so he can raise his head. He is shocked to see that he’s all shot-through with a light that is not his own, that is warm and brilliant, stained with an iridescent sheen and brilliant white like pearls and diamonds.
Castiel recognizes it, he realizes suddenly. He recognizes it from Hell.
Its glow is dim now compared to what it was then, as though it is muffled, shushed like it’s sharing a secret with him. Castiel thinks he hears warm laughter, quiet and amused as the white light coils around his Grace, curls inside him.
And then it brightens, more splendid than any of the stars Castiel has flown by, than it was even in Hell. The little seraph is engulfed in the storm of it, swept up and away like leaves on a stiff breeze, caught and bound in it as it flies high, higher than Heaven’s walls and so far beyond. There are angry exclamations, pulses of fury pounding at the air around him, his brothers’ ire in physical form. They cannot puncture the light, and so they cannot reach Castiel.
He is too weak to do anything but stiffen in its pull, uncertain of its intent. He feels something brush over his wings, the sting in them gentled. Rest now, the touch seems to say.
So Castiel does.
~
When again he rouses, Castiel is not in Heaven. He is not on the ethereal plane. He is also not free of restriction, and he scuttles for a moment before it dawns on him that the restraint is not angelic, but made of human flesh.
He’s been restored to his vessel.
The realization stills him long enough to find that he has been healed―for the most part, he amends. His wings still ache and his Grace is still weak from the sigils carved into it, but he is relieved to note that they have been healed along with the worst of his wounds.
And only then does he sense someone standing over him.
Castiel pushes up, lifts his head and is startled by the golden-hazel eyes staring back at him from a familiar face. He kicks his feet until he has purchase enough to shove himself backward across the―ah, the couch he’s resting on.
He stares at Gabriel warily. Gabriel saved him? Gabriel is alive?
Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything. Strangely, his brother is frowning and inscrutable. Castiel has seen him this way before, long ago in Heaven’s corridors, but it is rare enough a countenance for his brother that Castiel grows uncomfortable with it. He studies the winged armchair Gabriel sits in for a moment, just until he can try to make sense of this situation. The armchair is a gaudy shade of red, and Castiel sees little white outlines of the female body in various lewd positions outlined over the fabric. They appear to be in a large loft that he imagines his old friend Balthazar would take a shine too―Dean might describe it as all swank and sex. There is a lot of glass and black marble.
He wrinkles his nose in distaste and gives his brother a chastening look. Gabriel’s unreadable expression blossoms into a bright, amused grin. “Hiya, Castiel!”
“Gabriel,” Castiel returns with a respectful nod. He thinks he should, perhaps, treat the more dangerous of his siblings with a little less respect and a little more caution―but the habit is still ingrained into him.
Gabriel continues to grin at him, slapping his hands against his thighs. “So how ya been, kiddo? Seems like the last time I saw you you were halfway to fallen and mooning after little Deano and the world was coming to an end!” Castiel just stares at him, unamused. Gabriel’s grin gradually becomes more and more forced, then slides off his face altogether. “You know, you’re kind of a buzzkill, Castiel.”
“Apologies,” Castiel deadpans, then rises to his feet. His overcoat, blazer and shoes are missing. He summons them back with a thought, dressing his vessel accordingly. Reaching out, Castiel tests the boundaries of the ether around the loft and is unsurprised to find that he cannot break through it to fly. He sighs, and directs another stern look at his elder brother. “Why can’t I leave this place?”
“Tut tut, Castiel.” Gabriel shakes his head and wags a finger in Castiel’s direction. “You used to be much better at asking relevant questions. Now why don’t you have a seat and enjoy your awesome big brother’s company for a minute?”
Castiel stiffens, his expression darkening further. “I don’t want to sit down.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Geez, you and Sam should patent the pissed-off puppy look. Whatever fluffs your marshmallow, I guess. Oooh.” He cocks his head to one side, tapping his chin with one finger contemplatively. “Marshmallows. S’mores, oh man.” With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel is suddenly holding a gooey, chocolatey thing stuffed between what appears to be a pair of flat cookies. Gabriel catches Castiel eyeing his treat, and asks through a mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow goo, “Y’wanna try one?”
“No,” Castiel replies shortly.
“Such a buzzkill,” Gabriel sighs remorsefully. He takes his time, ignoring Castiel’s pointed stare, and finishes the “s’more,” then licks his fingers clean of any remaining chocolate and crumbs.
Castiel loses his limited patience around the time Gabriel starts smacking his lips and looking like he might conjure another one. “Gabriel,” he says sharply, waiting until his brother’s eyes meet his to go on, “What do you want with me?”
Gabriel looks put out. “Y’know, I know you weren’t created with that stick up your ass. You used to be fun.”
Something in Castiel turns hard and cold, and he says bitterly, “Perhaps you are remembering the fledgling that trailed after you all through Heaven. I don’t mean to alarm you, but fledglings need to grow up when there is a war to be fought.”
Gabriel frowns at him, and the unhappiness in his expression is the most candid emotion Castiel has witnessed in him since before Gabriel fled Heaven so long ago. “I thought you’d be all right,” Gabriel tells Castiel earnestly. “You have to know that.”
Castiel would really rather not have this particular discussion. Gabriel wouldn’t let him say anything on the matter the last time they met―instead, he locked Castiel in a prison and weakened his Grace so that Castiel was very nearly human. Castiel’s spent so long having decisions taken from him by his brothers. He makes one for himself and changes the subject, not giving Gabriel the opportunity to defend his actions. Castiel really isn’t interested in his brother’s explanations.
Instead, he prompts Gabriel again, “Tell me why I’m here.”
Gabriel’s eyes harden, and the raffish Trickster’s grin he’s stolen to hide behind replaces his earnestness. “I thought you’d want to know that Raphael is planning on tricking one of your little knights-in-shining-flannel into reopening the Cage,” he said with a flourish.
And suddenly Sam’s prayers make much more sense. Castiel doesn’t quite startle, but Gabriel must see him straighten because he laughs. “Yeah, I figured that’d get your attention.”
“How do you know this?” Castiel demands.
Gabriel smirks at him. “That’s for Big Brother to know, and Baby Brother to wonder about in the wee hours of night.”
No matter. Castiel can figure that out later. “So it was Raphael who disguised himself as me and spoke with Sam within his subconscious?” he surmises.
Gabriel shrugs one shoulder, spreading his hands. “Him or one of his lackeys. Poor old Rafe seems a bit put-out that Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass managed to avert the Apocalypse.” Gabriel cocks his head to one side. “I’m actually a little surprised myself, truth be told.
“Anyway,” he says with a flick of his wrist, “soon as I got my wings back, I started asking around, checking in with some old allies. Raphael’s taken command of Heaven, and has been exterminating any who stand in his way.”
Something in Castiel grows cold, and he thinks of Uriel.
“We have to stop him,” Castiel tells Gabriel. “We can’t let him undo what the Winchesters have done to save this world.”
“Creepy hero-worshippy statement aside, I agree with you.” Gabriel then takes a moment to assess Castiel. Castiel’s wings fidget at his back. “So, I’ve been putting it asking because I figured you’d be pissy about it, but uh...what happened to you, Cas?” He gestures at Castiel’s wings. “You look like you got mauled, and you’re definitely losing some shine there. Like, a lot of shine. You almost look like you’ve been through Hell. Again.”
Castiel gives him a strange look. “I did go through Hell again. That’s why I was in Heaven’s prison.”
Gabriel’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “They imprisoned you? They left you with the Flames?”
Castiel blinks at him. “Yes, Raphael sent me to the Flames for Persuasion...except for the sigils―” He gestures toward his vessel’s chest to indicate the Grace hidden away beneath. “―it really wasn’t much different from the first time.” Gabriel mouths, the first time? incredulously as Castiel says, “Weren’t you the one who pulled me out of there?”
Gabriel’s face pinches. “Cas―I had no idea what had happened to you. I just found you free-falling outside of Rome and brought you here to heal what damage I could.” Castiel blinks at him. So... Gabriel hadn’t saved him from the Flames? Then, who...? He puts the thought aside for later, because he thinks Gabriel looks rather distraught and the expression makes him uncomfortable. “Why would Raphael send you to the Flames?”
“He accused me of treason against Heaven,” Castiel informs him.
“Wait, wait, wait―what?” Gabriel makes a sharp gesture when Castiel opens his mouth to speak again. “Y’know what, never mind. Why don’t you just tell me the whole story from the beginning?”
“To which beginning do you refer?” Castiel asks.
Gabriel shakes his head and watches Castiel with regret shimmering behind his eyes. “I don’t even know, Cas. How the ceasefire on the Apocalypse was called maybe?”
Castiel considers it, then nods. “I can do that.” He sits down, and starts to tell Gabriel all that has transpired. Gabriel just listens, for once in his entire existence.
~
By the time Castiel finishes the account of his latest voyage to Hell, Gabriel has conjured them a bottle of whiskey and a pair of tumblers. For the most part, Castiel tries to ignore it―he remembers how unpleasant the aftermath of his last “bender” was, and he is in no hurry to relive it. Gabriel doesn’t seem to mind, just works his way through the 40-oz. bottle and then takes Castiel’s glass from him when the younger angel fails to touch it.
When Castiel finishes, Gabriel sets the glass down decisively and says, “Okay, well obviously you’re not going anywhere near Raphael again.”
Castiel shoots Gabriel a puzzled look. “Why?”
Gabriel scoffs. “Uh, because every time you get close to that dick you end up dead or captured or hurt in some way? I don’t know why I never thought of it before, but Rafe’s always sort of had a thing against you.”
Castiel nods in agreement, though he also is unsure why their brother is so hostile toward him. He honestly cannot remember a time Raphael didn’t dislike him. “Someone has to stop Raphael’s plan though, Gabriel,” he points out.
“Yeah, Cas, I know,” Gabriel sighs. “That’s why you’re going to stay here on Earth and try to find some recruits.”
“Recruits,” Castiel repeats.
“Yeah, bucko, recruits. We’re not the only pair of angels that snuck out Heaven’s back door, remember? There are others who’ve fallen or―y’know, ran away.”
And now Castiel is unsure. “I don’t think any Fallen would want to help us stop the Apocalypse.”
“Oh, c’mon, Cas! Have a little faith!” Gabriel says, shooting him a cross look. “We both helped with the last one didn’t we?”
Castiel huffs impatiently. “You only helped because Dean cursed you a coward.” He pauses at Gabriel’s sudden wounded frown, and allows, “And to keep your brothers from killing each other.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Cas. And why, exactly, did you fall and help the Brothers Winchester?”
Castiel meets Gabriel’s gaze and says, “Because a friend asked me to. Because I believed that he might be right, that the lives here are worth saving.”
“Well, maybe some of the Fallen will catch your fanboy complex for the Righteous Man,” Gabriel suggests. “Either way, you’re going to have to do this because I have to go play Secret Agent Man in Heaven. No, I know you don’t understand that reference,” he says when Castiel starts to interrupt. “Just shut up―you can ask Dean about it later.
“Now,” he says, hopping to his feet to lean over Castiel and press his hands against Castiel’s shoulders. “You stay here. Avoid weird pearly white lights. Do not go diving back into Hell. Find the Winchesters, do what you have to do to keep them away from Raphael’s goons, but do not do anything stupid. Mmkay pumpkin?”
Castiel furrows his brow―pumpkin?―and nods. He is still leery of Gabriel, but he hasn’t seen his brother so full of holy intent in a long time. It is...refreshing. And it instills Castiel with an old hope that perhaps the brother he once idolized will return to to their family someday.
Gabriel pats his cheeks then squishes them, laughing at Castiel’s expression. “Okay. Behave, baby brother. And, uh...” He gestures at Castiel’s wings. “Try not to fly too far. You don’t want to do any more damage than has already been done.”
Castiel only nods again. “Yes, brother.”
Gabriel grins at him, winks and salutes. And then he vanishes.
Castiel shakes his head and follows suit.
Purgatorio (coming soon)
Master List