The Angel
Title: The Angel
Rating: G
Genre: AU, Schmoop
Characters and/or pairing : could be read as Dean/cas, idek. God.
Spoilers: none.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns Castiel and Dean, Hans Christian Andersen owns the original story.
Warnings: May cause toothaches.
Word Count: 1024
Summary: Whenever a child dies, an angel is sent to carry him to Heaven.
A/N : Kinda works likea spinoff of the Bedtime Stories verse, where it's a bedtime story but not of the crossover or crack genre.
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Castiel swayed in the currents of the warm tide of air that combed and flowed off his mighty, white wings like a dubious imitation of sulphurous waters. It teased and called to him, and he obligingly leant into its beguiling warmth; into the chasm of the dreary soot he descended.
Below, he found a bright soul coiled around its human remains. The angel harvested the brilliant thing into his arms and flew away from the blistering carnage. The soul slowly uncurled and took the form of a simple child; the angel spoke to the child gently cradled in his arms, and he listened languidly, as if emerging from a pleasant dream.
"Whenever a child dies," he said softly, "an angel of God is sent by his side and flies with him over all the places the child had loved during his life. Then he gathers a large handful of flowers, which he carries up to the Almighty, that they may bloom more brightly in Heaven than they do on Earth. And the Almighty presses the flowers to His heart, but He kisses the flower that pleases Him best, and it receives a voice, and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss." He said this as they flew over the radiant gardens the child had seen in his life-time. "Tell me… what is your name?"
And the child said in a slumberous voice, "Dean."
"Dean, which one of these flowers shall we take with us to the gardens of Heaven?"
Nearby grew a sad rose-bush. It had been resplendent at one time, beautiful and slender, though a wicked hand had snapped its graceful stems, and half-opened rosebuds hung faded and withered on the trailing branches.
"Poor rose-bush!" cried the child, "Let's take that one so it will grow much better in Heaven's gardens."
Castiel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child, and the little one half opened his eyes. The angel gathered also some beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups and heart's-ease.
"Now we have enough flowers," said Dean; but the angel only nodded, he did not fly upward to heaven.
The sun had set and the sky was relinquishing its autumnal colours to the maturing velvet blue. They came across a miserable building that was decaying at its roots; its windows were no more than jutting shards, and its walls were cracked from the ceiling to the foundations. Even the floors had caved in, and the construction's skeleton protruded obscenely in a morbid display of foul ruin. They ventured in one of the rooms. It was just like the rest: girders crisscrossed the punctured floors, wires adorned the dilapidated walls in metallic zeal as stray pieces of broken wood joined the dusty sweepings in carpeting the bare floorboards. Amidst the filth and decay, the angel pointed to the pieces of a broken flower-pot, and to a lump of earth which had fallen out of it. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of a withered lily, which had fallen amongst the debris.
"We will take this with us," said Castiel, "I will tell you why as we fly along."
And as they flew, the angel related the history.
"In this town lived a little boy who grew with his parents. One day, his father left, and the boy never saw him again. His mother loved him dearly, however, and she took great care of him even though she struggled to manage on her own. But the mother grew very ill, and she tried her best to not trouble her son. One spring day, she brought him to a field where they enjoyed the shade of the trees and the delightful flowers that dotted the wild grass. The boy spotted a beautiful, slender red lily that shone a crimson glow in the brilliant sunlight. Together they uprooted it and put it in a small pot at home where the boy nurtured it adoringly. Yet his mother's condition grew alarmingly worse until one day she passed away. The boy was put in an orphanage; he'd taken his plant with him and stationed it at the window above his ragged bed, making sure it received every sunbeam that filtered through the dingy dormitory - for the flower was the only thing that remained of his mother. Alas, the boy died of pneumonia within the first few months in the orphanage. The flower, left to itself, withered and faded - its once flamboyant colour now drained to a pale brownish pink. He has been one year with God. During that time the flower has stood in the window, wilted and forgotten till it was cast out among the debris of ultimate decay. And we shall add this flower to our posy for it has given more real comfort than any of the most beautiful flowers in a queen's garden."
"But how do you know all this?" asked the child whom the angel was carrying to Heaven.
"I know it," said Castiel, "because I myself was the poor boy who lost his mother, and I know my own flower well."
Dean then fully opened his eyes and looked into the glorious face of the angel.
"Has my family lost me?"
The angel smiled and pressed a warm finger to his lips, "Dean," his voice filled him with tenderness and sincerity, "you have been found."
They arrived in that heavenly home where all is bliss. And God pressed the dead child to His heart, and wings were given him so that he could fly with the angel, hand in hand. The Lord then planted all the flowers from the posy; but kissed only the shrivelled lily and it received a voice. Then it joined the song of the angels - the poor field-flower that once lay torn and shrunken in a rotting orphanage shone anew in its crimson aura, radiating maternal comfort once more.
Dean smiled at the angel as he felt himself completely slip away from that one boy who was screeching in confused agony as flames and soot dragged him to a smouldering grave.
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A/N bis : I re-wrote Castiel's past life; his story in here is all from me ^^