Fic: The Shattered One (32/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
Once, Castiel thought he knew peace. Surrounded on all sides by the grace of his brothers and sisters, absolute in his faith in God, blissfully without doubt, a mote in a sea of the divine. That used to be the measure of serenity for Castiel.
Now, he knew that for all that it had filled him, it had left him hollow, too. Something was missing, and he hadn’t even known it.
He had a new measure of peace now. One he could see and touch. Perhaps he’d been among humans too long, because those qualities were immensely comforting.
It was night, though Castiel did not sleep. He didn’t need to sleep, but he was still in the bed. As night fell, Castiel had tried to give his place in the bed to Sam, but neither Winchester would hear of it. They insisted he needed to ‘take it easy’, and Castiel had learned that sometimes it was just easier not to fight the humans. They tried, and their hearts were in the right place.
And, ultimately, the bed was not so bad a place to be.
Castiel lay on his right side on one side of the mattress. On the other, lying on his left facing the angel, was Dean. On the bed between them was Daniel. Sam was sleeping in the car just outside the house, having declared the backseat preferable to sleeping on the floor. Castiel cast his senses the short distance to the car now and then to check on the younger brother, making sure he was still safe and sound, but he did not physically leave the bed.
Despite his lack of need for sleep, Castiel found he did not want to get up.
Dean was fast asleep, left hand shoved up under his pillow and his right resting atop Daniel. It was the position he’d been in when he drifted off hours ago, fading out right in the middle of a conversation with Castiel.
Those moments before Dean fell to sleep had been nice. Dean had climbed on the bed, they lay facing each other, and Dean told Castiel everything. The Masters house, the gathered hunters, the Croatoan-infected, the short time when Daniel was lost, Lucifer’s proposition. They talked like they always did, but they did it with their heads on pillows, the bed not allowing for much space between them… not that they stood far apart when they were on their feet, either. But the relaxed, vulnerable, trusting pose was more pleasant than Castiel would have thought. He lay there, gladly, and listened to Dean as his voice dropped lower, grew softer, formed words slower. Watching sleep steal up on the hunter gently, by degrees, was both fascinating and soothing.
Dean told Castiel about how he’d killed Lucifer.
Castiel didn’t remember it clearly. Mostly he remembered what he felt. Rage. Blinding, mindless fury. Fear. Love. It was more than any angel was built to feel, but it had allowed Castiel to take on Lucifer… and win.
He found himself staring down at Daniel. The frantic clinginess toward the child that he’d felt upon waking had ebbed, but the bond that spurred it remained. How amazing that such a tiny thing could evoke the enormity of feelings that Castiel experienced when he looked at the boy. At Daniel. His son.
Daniel stirred in his sleep without waking, turned his head toward Dean, then settled. Castiel’s mouth twitched at the corners. It was peculiar that Daniel slept at all, given that he was so much angel. Castiel wondered if it was his sliver of human free will… that he chose to sleep.
Castiel’s eyes tracked back up to Dean’s face. He ended up staring, looking everywhere, taking his time. Dean liked to tease him about watching the human sleep, but when Dean was sleeping he was easier to study. Castiel could count the eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the light freckles sprinkled over his nose, the faint lines around his eyes (and not enough around his mouth). Castiel told Dean once that humanity was a work of art. Castiel was finding that he was an avid art-enthusiast. All humans had beauty, a grace of their own in a way, but not all humans were created equal. No one would ever convince Castiel that Dean Winchester was not a masterpiece.
A flicker of emotion danced across Dean’s features, the hint of a smile, and Castiel wondered what he was dreaming.
It was natural as breathing (more natural than, in truth) for Castiel to peer past the physical plane and peek into the human’s subconscious.
In his dream, Dean was running. Laughing and running his heart out.
Only a few strides behind him, roughly eleven years old, ran Daniel. The boy was all skinny limbs and tousled black hair ruffling in the wind. His freckles, a few in the exact same places as Dean’s, were cinnamon-brown from a summer in the sun. Blue eyes shone as he chased after his father. Tucked against his shoulders were his speckled brown wings. He let out a laugh just like Dean’s, a laugh promising that one day he’d have a rich voice like Dean Winchester’s. Rich, but maybe just a little rougher than Dean’s.
Dean was starting to pull away from Daniel. He threw a look over his shoulder at his son. “Better find another gear, Danny! The werewolf’s right behind you!” There was no werewolf. Castiel could not distinguish how this training was different from play.
Daniel grinned impishly, gathered himself, and launched himself into the air. At the top arch of his leap, his wings snapped out. They caught the wind and he pushed up, away from the ground like it would not dare to hold him. With only a few beats of his wings, Daniel was whipping past Dean. He reached down and touched Dean on the top of his head. “Werewolf gotcha, Dad!” Daniel crowed as he rolled and climbed skyward.
Dean staggered to a stop and fought to catch his breath… apparently it was hard to breathe and laugh at the same time. Under an oak tree, Sam was laughing so hard he had to hold his sides.
Castiel watched his son climb into the heavens, toward the sun with reckless abandon. He saw the small set of wings join another, larger set already in the air. His wings… belonging to Dean’s dream version of Castiel.
In bed, Castiel withdrew from Dean’s dreamscape. He didn’t want to see Dean’s dream Castiel. He didn’t want to feel inadequate in comparison, somehow expected to live up to this humanized angel that Castiel knew he could never be. He could only be what he was, and he had to hope that would be enough for Dean.
They were resting in bed together with their son between them, so perhaps it was.
Castiel would have been content to lie there quietly all night, just watching Dean and Daniel sleep… but the sound of wings made Castiel look over his shoulder toward the angel he sensed come into the room.
It was not a visitor Castiel would have expected. “Balthazar?” He pitched his voice to speak in a register humans could not hear so as not to wake Dean.
“It’s good to see you, Castiel.” Balthazar matched his voice to Castiel’s, leaving Dean oblivious to the reunion taking place in the room.
Castiel got out of bed and turned to face the other angel. Before the Winchesters and coming to know a human definition of the term, Castiel would have called Balthazar his friend. He considered him one still, though the meaning seemed to need redefining for Castiel to know exactly how Balthazar fell in the spectrum of friendship as he now understood it.
But he was friend enough that Castiel was glad to see him.
“I’ve missed your company, Balthazar,” Castiel began, then he looked down at Balthazar, saw through the vessel to the true Balthazar, and he could not mask his surprise. “You’ve shattered.” Castiel knew all too well the shape of a shattered one lying at an odd angle to the parent grace, already trying to be its own life-form.
Balthazar glanced down at himself with an expansive, bored gesture. “Yeah, quite a few of us have since Lucifer’s demon-bomb party went off with an impressive bang. Lost a lot of angels that need to be replaced. Can’t say I’m thrilled about it, but Zachariah’s already agreed to offer his grace for the separation. Not that I particularly like him much, but it hardly matters, so…” he shrugged, “just biding my time until it’s over and I’ve done my part for God and country, so to speak.”
He sounded so unconcerned about it… it was funny, because the same situation had been so catastrophic for Castiel. Even if it had worked out well in the end.
“Zachariah’s still alive?” Castiel asked curiously.
“Alive and miserable,” Balthazar smirked. “After his time-bending experiment to get Dean Winchester to crack fell flat, Michael put him in a time-out. Said he needed to think about his failures and, I quote, ‘stop inciting further animosity in Dean Winchester toward angelkind’.”
“He must hate that.”
“Immensely… it’s delightful.”
Castiel huffed. Then he looked up at Balthazar. As far as angels went, Balthazar was probably his closest friend in the ranks. Castiel frowned. “I’d hoped you might find me when I fell.” He’d had the Winchesters, of course, but it wasn’t the same as the company of angels. As much as Castiel treasured the Winchesters, the angels were his kind.
Balthazar’s smile disappeared. “I wanted to. I really did. But Michael… he forbad it. He gave those of us with ‘sympathetic tendencies’ toward you strict orders not to contact you. He hoped you’d get past this rebellious phase and come to your senses.” Balthazar grinned. “And instead, you go and topple Lucifer!”
Castiel ducked his head.
“I must say, I’m impressed. A lot of us are. How did you ever manage it?”
“I was properly motivated.”
“Ah, yes,” Balthazar cleared his throat, “the shattered one. We heard about that, too.” The other angel studied Castiel a moment, as if searching his old friend for this unexpectedly remarkable creature he must have had within him all along. “Good Lord, Castiel, Heaven will be talking about you for a long time: rebelling, killing Lucifer, breaking away a shattered one using a human soul. There’s no precedent for the things you’ve done.” Balthazar frowned. “Castiel… I am so sorry I couldn’t help you during the separation. I would have, but Michael…”
Obviously would have allowed Castiel to die before sending him help. And though Castiel wanted to be angry about that, he understood angel thinking too well. Castiel’s defection to the human side had greatly impeded Michael’s attempts to gain Dean’s consent to be a vessel. If the Winchesters had not had the aide of an angel, they might have conceded defeat and played their parts.
Michael did not know the stubbornness of the Winchester boys as Castiel did.
“I understand. You had orders.”
“That sounds like a cowardly excuse,” Balthazar grumbled.
Castiel almost smiled. “Careful, Balthazar… you’re starting to sound rebellious.”
“Might have been better if I had… at least you wouldn’t have been alone.”
“I wasn’t. Perhaps I was not among angels, but I was never alone.” Castiel glanced back toward the bed, where Dean and Daniel were sleeping. He felt great contentment when he looked upon them. More, he knew, than an angel should. And yet, he didn’t care that he was not allowed.
Balthazar came up next to Castiel and looked down at the mostly-angel baby. “So, this is the shattered one, huh?” He studied the infant from a distance a moment, then he shook his head. “He’s so odd. He’s clearly one of us, but he’s also so…”
“Human,” Castiel agreed. He meant it in a complimentary way. Balthazar didn’t. Castiel refused to let it bother him. He’d been like Balthazar once. He knew the prejudices that kept angels from seeing grace in the ‘mud monkeys’. Maybe they were afraid to see how near humans could be to angels, and how close to humans angel could be.
Balthazar stepped back and regarded Castiel curiously. “So, Castiel… now that it’s over, will you come back home? Bring that new little brother with you and return to Heaven and the Host?”
“My son will have a richer life for being with his human family.”
“Your…” Balthazar’s mouth gaped open a moment. His eyes moved from Castiel to Daniel then back to Castiel, then he pursed his lips. “Well, yes, he is part human… I can see that it might be best. But you could still come back.”
“I was cast out of Heaven,” Castiel reminded Balthazar.
Balthazar blinked. “Wait… have you not spoken to Michael?”
Castiel stiffened. “No.”
“Well, that won’t do.” Balthazar lifted his head to address the ceiling. “Michael -”
“Balthazar, don’t -”
“Would you please come talk to Castiel?”
The words were barely spoken before Michael was there.
Balthazar ducked aside, bowing to the more powerful angel with a submissiveness Castiel never saw from his friend unless an archangel was present. Castiel had been that way once, so programmed and prone to lower himself before the caste of archangels that it was practically a reflex.
But now… now his protective instincts flared. He didn’t know if Michael was a threat to Daniel or not. He wasn’t going to take any chances. Not when it came to Daniel’s safety.
So soon after killing Lucifer, he didn’t know if he had the strength to take on another archangel… but by God, he’d try. The instant Michael was in the room, Castiel moved. He put himself squarely between Michael and Daniel, rallying himself to protect his son.
“I mean Daniel no harm,” Michael assured him.
Castiel relaxed a little… but only a little.
Michael didn’t speak for a moment, taking in the scene with that crippling intense calm about him. Other angels blustered and went into theatrics (like Zachariah) or threw around their might like a toy (like Gabriel), but Michael was different. He was steady and always had been, the solid, dutiful older brother. It was easy to look up to him, easy to follow him. He would never say so (for obvious reasons), but Castiel saw a lot of Michael in Dean. Maybe it was what convinced Castiel to fall for the human, to follow him to the ends of the earth and into the end of the world, if need be. An earthly grace, akin to that of the greatest archangel, masquerading as a damaged soul.
Finally, Michael turned to look toward Balthazar. “Leave.”
And Balthazar did without question. Then it was just Castiel and Michael facing one another. Castiel waited anxiously for the archangel to speak, the whole time acutely aware of his family at his back.
When Michael spoke to Castiel, it was not with his ‘might and wrath of Heaven’ voice. He sounded more like a true brother… or as near to one as angels ever got. “You look better.” At Castiel’s questioning head-tilt, Michael clarified, “I was there right after you killed Lucifer. You were barely tethered to your grace.”
“It was no small thing, smiting Lucifer.”
Michael almost smiled. “No… and for you, Castiel, it should have been impossible.” Michael looked hard at Castiel, searching him for something. He looked consternated, fascinated, appalled, and impressed all at once - it made for a confusing, jumbled expression. “I have to say that Heaven doesn’t really know what to do with you. I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Why does anything have to be ‘done with me’ at all?” Castiel asked, a tad peevish. He’d definitely been among humans too long to get snarky with an archangel as powerful as Michael.
But if Michael was irritated, he didn’t show it. He just shook his head. “You have challenged many of the things that we’ve always held sacred… things deemed immutable. Ordained. What you’ve done… it has cast doubt on everything. Truthfully, the uncertainty has made a lot of angels uncomfortable.”
“Including you?”
Michael blinked at the point-blank question (the old Castiel would never have thrown such a blunt question in Michael’s face), but he recovered quickly. “Yes… including me. You’ve forced me to think about things I never had to before. Destiny, fate, God’s plan. My faith…” Michael paused, as if unsure if he should continue. His voice was barely audible when he said, “My faith is shaken.”
Castiel sucked in a breath, stunned to hear such a confession from Michael. In some way, it was frightening to know that the mightiest of angels was questioning his faith. It was like seeing the sun give out.
“Since falling,” Castiel began carefully, “I’ve often wondered if perhaps this wasn’t God’s plan all along. Not these exact events, necessarily, but this in a general sense.”
Michael frowned.
“We haven’t been able to find God,” Castiel began to explain. “Throughout the Apocalypse, He’s been conspicuously absent… and I began to think that maybe that was deliberate. What if He wants us to have free will?”
“We don’t have free will.”
“We do. I’m proof of that. Anael and Gabriel and… and Lucifer are proof that angels have the potential for self-determination. It’s there, we just don’t know how to exercise it. Maybe this, everything that’s happened… maybe it was a lesson in teaching us how.”
“But why would God leave us?” Michael asked, a touch forlorn.
“We would never think for ourselves if He didn’t.”
Michael took that in a moment. Then he grimaced. “Whether that’s true or not, clearly we no longer have a choice. Your actions prove that much. We must learn free will.”
“Balthazar made it sound as if you’ve been leading the angels.”
“Reluctantly. They want to be told what to do.”
Castiel remembered that compulsion well. “They’ll get over that.”
That startled a chuckle out of Michael. It was the first time Castiel had ever seen a spark of humor in his older brother. Michael was always so somber and serious, always behaving like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. And in a very real sense, he always had. He’d known since the beginning that one day he’d have to fight his brother and that the fate of the world would hang in the balance. No wonder Michael always had an undercurrent of sadness about him, under the strength and power and glory of God that made his grace shine brighter than all the other angels’.
“For better or worse,” Michael stated, “Heaven will be changing.”
“It will be better.”
“You sound certain of that.”
Castiel nodded. “I have faith.”
It was apparently the right thing to say. Michael seemed bolstered to know that faith still existed in the absence of blind trust in God’s plan. He stood taller, became again the pillar of strength for Heaven and its Host, and whatever vulnerable, genuine moment he’d shared with Castiel was gone in the span of a breath. Castiel wasn’t surprised; he hadn’t expected to kindle some kind of close-knit bond with the archangel… for though they were both angels, they were two entirely different breeds. Castiel would never be equal to Michael.
He was content to be different.
Michael locked a look on Castiel. “Castiel. In recognition of the part you played in the war against Lucifer, however unexpected a part, you should no longer consider yourself an outcast.”
Castiel went still.
“I presume you’ll be returning to Heaven?” It was barely a question, for Michael was unused to ever being questioned.
But Castiel had learned to question. And to want.
“No.”
Michael masked his surprise well… though not his reproach and disapproval as he said evenly, “Your family is in Heaven.”
“I have a family here.”
At that, Michael’s eyes went to Dean and Daniel in the bed. He looked at them a long time, so long that Castiel started to feel twitchy, before Michael finally returned his gaze to Castiel. “I see.” Again, that expression that tried to do too much at once. Castiel could only stand there and wait.
Michael cocked his head in thought. “The span of a human life is not so long a time to be gone.” Michael made peace with that decision with quiet aplomb. “When you’re ready to return, you’re welcome in Heaven.” He spread his wings in preparation to take flight, but he stopped short and added, “As is Daniel.”
Castiel let out a breath of relief he did not know he had been holding. “Thank you, Michael.”
An odd look crossed Michael’s face. “Thank you, Castiel.”
Then he was gone.
Relaxing in earnest, Castiel turned back toward the bed. Dean and Daniel slept on, father and son undisturbed by the parade of angelic visitors.
There was no reason to, but Castiel returned to bed.
Next
Once, Castiel thought he knew peace. Surrounded on all sides by the grace of his brothers and sisters, absolute in his faith in God, blissfully without doubt, a mote in a sea of the divine. That used to be the measure of serenity for Castiel.
Now, he knew that for all that it had filled him, it had left him hollow, too. Something was missing, and he hadn’t even known it.
He had a new measure of peace now. One he could see and touch. Perhaps he’d been among humans too long, because those qualities were immensely comforting.
It was night, though Castiel did not sleep. He didn’t need to sleep, but he was still in the bed. As night fell, Castiel had tried to give his place in the bed to Sam, but neither Winchester would hear of it. They insisted he needed to ‘take it easy’, and Castiel had learned that sometimes it was just easier not to fight the humans. They tried, and their hearts were in the right place.
And, ultimately, the bed was not so bad a place to be.
Castiel lay on his right side on one side of the mattress. On the other, lying on his left facing the angel, was Dean. On the bed between them was Daniel. Sam was sleeping in the car just outside the house, having declared the backseat preferable to sleeping on the floor. Castiel cast his senses the short distance to the car now and then to check on the younger brother, making sure he was still safe and sound, but he did not physically leave the bed.
Despite his lack of need for sleep, Castiel found he did not want to get up.
Dean was fast asleep, left hand shoved up under his pillow and his right resting atop Daniel. It was the position he’d been in when he drifted off hours ago, fading out right in the middle of a conversation with Castiel.
Those moments before Dean fell to sleep had been nice. Dean had climbed on the bed, they lay facing each other, and Dean told Castiel everything. The Masters house, the gathered hunters, the Croatoan-infected, the short time when Daniel was lost, Lucifer’s proposition. They talked like they always did, but they did it with their heads on pillows, the bed not allowing for much space between them… not that they stood far apart when they were on their feet, either. But the relaxed, vulnerable, trusting pose was more pleasant than Castiel would have thought. He lay there, gladly, and listened to Dean as his voice dropped lower, grew softer, formed words slower. Watching sleep steal up on the hunter gently, by degrees, was both fascinating and soothing.
Dean told Castiel about how he’d killed Lucifer.
Castiel didn’t remember it clearly. Mostly he remembered what he felt. Rage. Blinding, mindless fury. Fear. Love. It was more than any angel was built to feel, but it had allowed Castiel to take on Lucifer… and win.
He found himself staring down at Daniel. The frantic clinginess toward the child that he’d felt upon waking had ebbed, but the bond that spurred it remained. How amazing that such a tiny thing could evoke the enormity of feelings that Castiel experienced when he looked at the boy. At Daniel. His son.
Daniel stirred in his sleep without waking, turned his head toward Dean, then settled. Castiel’s mouth twitched at the corners. It was peculiar that Daniel slept at all, given that he was so much angel. Castiel wondered if it was his sliver of human free will… that he chose to sleep.
Castiel’s eyes tracked back up to Dean’s face. He ended up staring, looking everywhere, taking his time. Dean liked to tease him about watching the human sleep, but when Dean was sleeping he was easier to study. Castiel could count the eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the light freckles sprinkled over his nose, the faint lines around his eyes (and not enough around his mouth). Castiel told Dean once that humanity was a work of art. Castiel was finding that he was an avid art-enthusiast. All humans had beauty, a grace of their own in a way, but not all humans were created equal. No one would ever convince Castiel that Dean Winchester was not a masterpiece.
A flicker of emotion danced across Dean’s features, the hint of a smile, and Castiel wondered what he was dreaming.
It was natural as breathing (more natural than, in truth) for Castiel to peer past the physical plane and peek into the human’s subconscious.
In his dream, Dean was running. Laughing and running his heart out.
Only a few strides behind him, roughly eleven years old, ran Daniel. The boy was all skinny limbs and tousled black hair ruffling in the wind. His freckles, a few in the exact same places as Dean’s, were cinnamon-brown from a summer in the sun. Blue eyes shone as he chased after his father. Tucked against his shoulders were his speckled brown wings. He let out a laugh just like Dean’s, a laugh promising that one day he’d have a rich voice like Dean Winchester’s. Rich, but maybe just a little rougher than Dean’s.
Dean was starting to pull away from Daniel. He threw a look over his shoulder at his son. “Better find another gear, Danny! The werewolf’s right behind you!” There was no werewolf. Castiel could not distinguish how this training was different from play.
Daniel grinned impishly, gathered himself, and launched himself into the air. At the top arch of his leap, his wings snapped out. They caught the wind and he pushed up, away from the ground like it would not dare to hold him. With only a few beats of his wings, Daniel was whipping past Dean. He reached down and touched Dean on the top of his head. “Werewolf gotcha, Dad!” Daniel crowed as he rolled and climbed skyward.
Dean staggered to a stop and fought to catch his breath… apparently it was hard to breathe and laugh at the same time. Under an oak tree, Sam was laughing so hard he had to hold his sides.
Castiel watched his son climb into the heavens, toward the sun with reckless abandon. He saw the small set of wings join another, larger set already in the air. His wings… belonging to Dean’s dream version of Castiel.
In bed, Castiel withdrew from Dean’s dreamscape. He didn’t want to see Dean’s dream Castiel. He didn’t want to feel inadequate in comparison, somehow expected to live up to this humanized angel that Castiel knew he could never be. He could only be what he was, and he had to hope that would be enough for Dean.
They were resting in bed together with their son between them, so perhaps it was.
Castiel would have been content to lie there quietly all night, just watching Dean and Daniel sleep… but the sound of wings made Castiel look over his shoulder toward the angel he sensed come into the room.
It was not a visitor Castiel would have expected. “Balthazar?” He pitched his voice to speak in a register humans could not hear so as not to wake Dean.
“It’s good to see you, Castiel.” Balthazar matched his voice to Castiel’s, leaving Dean oblivious to the reunion taking place in the room.
Castiel got out of bed and turned to face the other angel. Before the Winchesters and coming to know a human definition of the term, Castiel would have called Balthazar his friend. He considered him one still, though the meaning seemed to need redefining for Castiel to know exactly how Balthazar fell in the spectrum of friendship as he now understood it.
But he was friend enough that Castiel was glad to see him.
“I’ve missed your company, Balthazar,” Castiel began, then he looked down at Balthazar, saw through the vessel to the true Balthazar, and he could not mask his surprise. “You’ve shattered.” Castiel knew all too well the shape of a shattered one lying at an odd angle to the parent grace, already trying to be its own life-form.
Balthazar glanced down at himself with an expansive, bored gesture. “Yeah, quite a few of us have since Lucifer’s demon-bomb party went off with an impressive bang. Lost a lot of angels that need to be replaced. Can’t say I’m thrilled about it, but Zachariah’s already agreed to offer his grace for the separation. Not that I particularly like him much, but it hardly matters, so…” he shrugged, “just biding my time until it’s over and I’ve done my part for God and country, so to speak.”
He sounded so unconcerned about it… it was funny, because the same situation had been so catastrophic for Castiel. Even if it had worked out well in the end.
“Zachariah’s still alive?” Castiel asked curiously.
“Alive and miserable,” Balthazar smirked. “After his time-bending experiment to get Dean Winchester to crack fell flat, Michael put him in a time-out. Said he needed to think about his failures and, I quote, ‘stop inciting further animosity in Dean Winchester toward angelkind’.”
“He must hate that.”
“Immensely… it’s delightful.”
Castiel huffed. Then he looked up at Balthazar. As far as angels went, Balthazar was probably his closest friend in the ranks. Castiel frowned. “I’d hoped you might find me when I fell.” He’d had the Winchesters, of course, but it wasn’t the same as the company of angels. As much as Castiel treasured the Winchesters, the angels were his kind.
Balthazar’s smile disappeared. “I wanted to. I really did. But Michael… he forbad it. He gave those of us with ‘sympathetic tendencies’ toward you strict orders not to contact you. He hoped you’d get past this rebellious phase and come to your senses.” Balthazar grinned. “And instead, you go and topple Lucifer!”
Castiel ducked his head.
“I must say, I’m impressed. A lot of us are. How did you ever manage it?”
“I was properly motivated.”
“Ah, yes,” Balthazar cleared his throat, “the shattered one. We heard about that, too.” The other angel studied Castiel a moment, as if searching his old friend for this unexpectedly remarkable creature he must have had within him all along. “Good Lord, Castiel, Heaven will be talking about you for a long time: rebelling, killing Lucifer, breaking away a shattered one using a human soul. There’s no precedent for the things you’ve done.” Balthazar frowned. “Castiel… I am so sorry I couldn’t help you during the separation. I would have, but Michael…”
Obviously would have allowed Castiel to die before sending him help. And though Castiel wanted to be angry about that, he understood angel thinking too well. Castiel’s defection to the human side had greatly impeded Michael’s attempts to gain Dean’s consent to be a vessel. If the Winchesters had not had the aide of an angel, they might have conceded defeat and played their parts.
Michael did not know the stubbornness of the Winchester boys as Castiel did.
“I understand. You had orders.”
“That sounds like a cowardly excuse,” Balthazar grumbled.
Castiel almost smiled. “Careful, Balthazar… you’re starting to sound rebellious.”
“Might have been better if I had… at least you wouldn’t have been alone.”
“I wasn’t. Perhaps I was not among angels, but I was never alone.” Castiel glanced back toward the bed, where Dean and Daniel were sleeping. He felt great contentment when he looked upon them. More, he knew, than an angel should. And yet, he didn’t care that he was not allowed.
Balthazar came up next to Castiel and looked down at the mostly-angel baby. “So, this is the shattered one, huh?” He studied the infant from a distance a moment, then he shook his head. “He’s so odd. He’s clearly one of us, but he’s also so…”
“Human,” Castiel agreed. He meant it in a complimentary way. Balthazar didn’t. Castiel refused to let it bother him. He’d been like Balthazar once. He knew the prejudices that kept angels from seeing grace in the ‘mud monkeys’. Maybe they were afraid to see how near humans could be to angels, and how close to humans angel could be.
Balthazar stepped back and regarded Castiel curiously. “So, Castiel… now that it’s over, will you come back home? Bring that new little brother with you and return to Heaven and the Host?”
“My son will have a richer life for being with his human family.”
“Your…” Balthazar’s mouth gaped open a moment. His eyes moved from Castiel to Daniel then back to Castiel, then he pursed his lips. “Well, yes, he is part human… I can see that it might be best. But you could still come back.”
“I was cast out of Heaven,” Castiel reminded Balthazar.
Balthazar blinked. “Wait… have you not spoken to Michael?”
Castiel stiffened. “No.”
“Well, that won’t do.” Balthazar lifted his head to address the ceiling. “Michael -”
“Balthazar, don’t -”
“Would you please come talk to Castiel?”
The words were barely spoken before Michael was there.
Balthazar ducked aside, bowing to the more powerful angel with a submissiveness Castiel never saw from his friend unless an archangel was present. Castiel had been that way once, so programmed and prone to lower himself before the caste of archangels that it was practically a reflex.
But now… now his protective instincts flared. He didn’t know if Michael was a threat to Daniel or not. He wasn’t going to take any chances. Not when it came to Daniel’s safety.
So soon after killing Lucifer, he didn’t know if he had the strength to take on another archangel… but by God, he’d try. The instant Michael was in the room, Castiel moved. He put himself squarely between Michael and Daniel, rallying himself to protect his son.
“I mean Daniel no harm,” Michael assured him.
Castiel relaxed a little… but only a little.
Michael didn’t speak for a moment, taking in the scene with that crippling intense calm about him. Other angels blustered and went into theatrics (like Zachariah) or threw around their might like a toy (like Gabriel), but Michael was different. He was steady and always had been, the solid, dutiful older brother. It was easy to look up to him, easy to follow him. He would never say so (for obvious reasons), but Castiel saw a lot of Michael in Dean. Maybe it was what convinced Castiel to fall for the human, to follow him to the ends of the earth and into the end of the world, if need be. An earthly grace, akin to that of the greatest archangel, masquerading as a damaged soul.
Finally, Michael turned to look toward Balthazar. “Leave.”
And Balthazar did without question. Then it was just Castiel and Michael facing one another. Castiel waited anxiously for the archangel to speak, the whole time acutely aware of his family at his back.
When Michael spoke to Castiel, it was not with his ‘might and wrath of Heaven’ voice. He sounded more like a true brother… or as near to one as angels ever got. “You look better.” At Castiel’s questioning head-tilt, Michael clarified, “I was there right after you killed Lucifer. You were barely tethered to your grace.”
“It was no small thing, smiting Lucifer.”
Michael almost smiled. “No… and for you, Castiel, it should have been impossible.” Michael looked hard at Castiel, searching him for something. He looked consternated, fascinated, appalled, and impressed all at once - it made for a confusing, jumbled expression. “I have to say that Heaven doesn’t really know what to do with you. I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Why does anything have to be ‘done with me’ at all?” Castiel asked, a tad peevish. He’d definitely been among humans too long to get snarky with an archangel as powerful as Michael.
But if Michael was irritated, he didn’t show it. He just shook his head. “You have challenged many of the things that we’ve always held sacred… things deemed immutable. Ordained. What you’ve done… it has cast doubt on everything. Truthfully, the uncertainty has made a lot of angels uncomfortable.”
“Including you?”
Michael blinked at the point-blank question (the old Castiel would never have thrown such a blunt question in Michael’s face), but he recovered quickly. “Yes… including me. You’ve forced me to think about things I never had to before. Destiny, fate, God’s plan. My faith…” Michael paused, as if unsure if he should continue. His voice was barely audible when he said, “My faith is shaken.”
Castiel sucked in a breath, stunned to hear such a confession from Michael. In some way, it was frightening to know that the mightiest of angels was questioning his faith. It was like seeing the sun give out.
“Since falling,” Castiel began carefully, “I’ve often wondered if perhaps this wasn’t God’s plan all along. Not these exact events, necessarily, but this in a general sense.”
Michael frowned.
“We haven’t been able to find God,” Castiel began to explain. “Throughout the Apocalypse, He’s been conspicuously absent… and I began to think that maybe that was deliberate. What if He wants us to have free will?”
“We don’t have free will.”
“We do. I’m proof of that. Anael and Gabriel and… and Lucifer are proof that angels have the potential for self-determination. It’s there, we just don’t know how to exercise it. Maybe this, everything that’s happened… maybe it was a lesson in teaching us how.”
“But why would God leave us?” Michael asked, a touch forlorn.
“We would never think for ourselves if He didn’t.”
Michael took that in a moment. Then he grimaced. “Whether that’s true or not, clearly we no longer have a choice. Your actions prove that much. We must learn free will.”
“Balthazar made it sound as if you’ve been leading the angels.”
“Reluctantly. They want to be told what to do.”
Castiel remembered that compulsion well. “They’ll get over that.”
That startled a chuckle out of Michael. It was the first time Castiel had ever seen a spark of humor in his older brother. Michael was always so somber and serious, always behaving like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. And in a very real sense, he always had. He’d known since the beginning that one day he’d have to fight his brother and that the fate of the world would hang in the balance. No wonder Michael always had an undercurrent of sadness about him, under the strength and power and glory of God that made his grace shine brighter than all the other angels’.
“For better or worse,” Michael stated, “Heaven will be changing.”
“It will be better.”
“You sound certain of that.”
Castiel nodded. “I have faith.”
It was apparently the right thing to say. Michael seemed bolstered to know that faith still existed in the absence of blind trust in God’s plan. He stood taller, became again the pillar of strength for Heaven and its Host, and whatever vulnerable, genuine moment he’d shared with Castiel was gone in the span of a breath. Castiel wasn’t surprised; he hadn’t expected to kindle some kind of close-knit bond with the archangel… for though they were both angels, they were two entirely different breeds. Castiel would never be equal to Michael.
He was content to be different.
Michael locked a look on Castiel. “Castiel. In recognition of the part you played in the war against Lucifer, however unexpected a part, you should no longer consider yourself an outcast.”
Castiel went still.
“I presume you’ll be returning to Heaven?” It was barely a question, for Michael was unused to ever being questioned.
But Castiel had learned to question. And to want.
“No.”
Michael masked his surprise well… though not his reproach and disapproval as he said evenly, “Your family is in Heaven.”
“I have a family here.”
At that, Michael’s eyes went to Dean and Daniel in the bed. He looked at them a long time, so long that Castiel started to feel twitchy, before Michael finally returned his gaze to Castiel. “I see.” Again, that expression that tried to do too much at once. Castiel could only stand there and wait.
Michael cocked his head in thought. “The span of a human life is not so long a time to be gone.” Michael made peace with that decision with quiet aplomb. “When you’re ready to return, you’re welcome in Heaven.” He spread his wings in preparation to take flight, but he stopped short and added, “As is Daniel.”
Castiel let out a breath of relief he did not know he had been holding. “Thank you, Michael.”
An odd look crossed Michael’s face. “Thank you, Castiel.”
Then he was gone.
Relaxing in earnest, Castiel turned back toward the bed. Dean and Daniel slept on, father and son undisturbed by the parade of angelic visitors.
There was no reason to, but Castiel returned to bed.
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