((Supernatural Wincestiel Big Bang)) Something Worth Protecting (Part XII)

[winnywriter]

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Castiel.

Castiel named this feeling terror.

It was cold, and it was relentless, a crushing sort of helplessness that he never expected to experience as an angel. It surprised him that angels were even capable of such things. But none the less, it was there, creeping and calculated as it filled him up to the brim, and he stared, wide-eyed as Sam collapsed against his brother.

“Archangel Grace...” Asaph growled, his fingers still digging into Castiel's flesh and making him grimace in pain. His wings flapped weakly, the once strong, imposing appendages now stripped of their ability to do anything but flutter and quiver in Asaph's grasp. So pathetic.

Asaph cast a glance over at Gabriel's singed body. “He just doesn't know when to quit, even when his wings have been burned away.” He turned back to Castiel, a horrid glint in his eye. Castiel sent out desperate tendrils of Grace toward Dean and Sam, reaching out, searching for them, but their souls were too far out of reach. Dean's mind was still so far gone and Sam...Sam was fading too quickly. It set a deep ache in Castiel's chest that had nothing to do with Asaph's grip on him.

He named it sorrow.

“Why don't you just kill me?” Castiel rasped. “Kill me...let Sam go. Let Dean and Sam go.”

“I'll kill you,” Asaph replied. “I wish you could just listen, Castiel. I wish you would let go of this idea that they're worth your life. They're not, Castiel. They never were.” He sighed, suddenly looking forlorn and tired...so tired. “But you won't see that.” He pressed Castiel against the wall harder, making Castiel cringe and grasp at Asaph's arm with renewed desperation. “You won't see it, and you won't listen, so I have to kill you.”

“Let them...go...” Castiel said again, his voice barely a murmur through the haze of pain and pressure.

“No.” Asaph glanced over at Dean and Sam now. Sam was so still, his body barely quivering. His presence was slipping from Castiel's mind so quickly, too quickly. “He's not your charge anymore, Castiel. He's bound to me now, and the younger one...He's too far gone already. Gabriel's Grace might have done a bit to help him, but not enough. He's dying...Just a little more slowly than I thought at first.”

Asaph was right, Castiel realized as ice pooled in his stomach at the thought.

The only thing that escaped from between his lips then was aimed not at Asaph, but at Dean, and at Sam: “Please...” Please don't die, please find your way back, please be strong enough to fight through this, please don't let the journey to Hell and back be in vain, please don't make me go through the agony of losing your soul again.

Please.

It came like a lightning bolt, striking Castiel so suddenly that he jerked in Asaph's grasp: the feeling of a charge being connected to a guardian, bound soul-to-Grace. Even as Sam's life drained far too quickly for Castiel to rejoice, his presence rose up within him, bleeding into his wings and giving him new found strength. He could feel the demon blood burning away within Sam, feel it washed from his soul by Gabriel's lingering power.

It was not much, but it was something. It was hope in a hopeless wasteland, and with his newly rejuvenated power, he cried out with everything he had, cried out with his Grace for Dean. He reached for him as he had in Hell, fumbling blindly for something, anything, and praying as hard as he could that Dean was fighting too because if he was, if he was reaching into the dark, and if they were very, very lucky, then maybe by God's good fortune, Castiel could-

It was all a rush, and the feeling that overtook him when Dean opened his eyes had no name to him, so he called it jubilation.

It lasted only half a second before the flood of power overtook him. The souls of hundreds of stolen lives rushed into him, and like the first breath a drowning man draws in after breaking the surface of the unforgiving ocean, it filled him with joy down to his very bones.

The look of horror on Asaph's face should have been ludicrously satisfying, he supposed, but now was not the time to revel in that.

He looked so small, now. His wings drooped as he let go of Castiel, and Castiel stood tall, towering over Asaph's slender form.

“You can't-” Asaph protested meekly, and Castiel supposed he was preparing some sort of argument that what had just happened - what was still happening, as Asaph's power continued to bleed into Castiel instead - was impossible. Perhaps it was. But Castiel had seen his share of miracles, and though he'd come close to ceasing to believe that they still existed, perhaps there was room in this universe yet for a few more.

Each soul greeted Castiel as a friend as their presence filled him, and softly, tenderly, he asked them if they would lend him their aid. Their response was instant, and overwhelming yes.

“Asaph,” Castiel said, his own voice sounding intimidating and obscenely powerful even to his own ears. “What you've done is unforgivable.”

Asaph could not speak. He crumpled to the floor, feathers dropping from his wings as he stared up at Castiel, pale and weak. Pathetic.

“Our Father is the only one who can truly judge,” he continued, and as he spoke, the stone walls of the church began to disintegrate around them, crumbling into nothing more than dust at the mere sound of his voice and the touch of his Grace. “And I'm sorry, but your crimes are too great for me to forgive, myself.”

“I...” Asaph breathed, trembling. “I just...wanted...”

“You were consumed by your greed and let it blind you to your duties as a Guardian. That is what we are, Asaph. Guardians to the human race.”

It was so easy to pick him up from the ground; he didn't even need to try. The clouds in the sky - visible now as the arching ceiling dissolved away - parted and shrank into nothing more than mist.

“I am a Guardian Angel,” Castiel finally said. “To Dean and Sam Winchester, and to every soul you reaped for your selfish harvest. And for them, Asaph, for the whole of the humanity whom I serve on my Father's behalf, I'm ending this. Now.”

Asaph made no sound, made no final plea, did not shine into oblivion as Gabriel had. He merely went limp in Castiel's grasp, his wings smoldering away until there was nothing left. Castiel let him go, and Asaph's corpse sank to the ground in silence.

Castiel was left standing in an open field. The bodies of all the souls he'd taken on from Asaph were curled around each other on the grass, but their expressions were placid, for now they were under the wing of a true Guardian. His Grace tugged him toward Dean and Sam and he knelt down beside him.

Dean fell silent when he laid eyes on him. “Castiel...” he breathed. But it was not relief that Castiel saw in Dean's gaze; it was desperation and fear and confusion as he hung on to the body of his brother. Castiel frowned. “Castiel, please...Sam...”

Sam was still fading, but he was holding on, if only just. Pride swelled in Castiel's chest for him, and his expression softened as he reached out, cupping Dean's face in one palm, and Sam's in the other.

“Be calm,” he said softly, soothingly, and Dean let out a breath, his frame relaxing. Castiel sent a tendril of energy through his fingertips, into Sam's flesh, and Sam drew in a quick breath as his eyes snapped open, his wounds healed.

Castiel smiled. Even with all of the souls rushing through his Grace, these two stood out, shining to him. His true charges. Both of them, at last, cradled in his Grace, as it was meant to be.

“You're safe,” he assured them, and the knowledge that this was true caused the souls within him to sing in happiness for it.

“Dean?” Sam's voice was small, unsure, like he wasn't quite ready to believe that they had really made it through. But Dean's reaction was immediate. All confusion cast aside, Dean wrapped his arms around his younger brother so tightly he would have put the most desperate of men to shame. Castiel could feel the absolute happiness radiating off of the both of them as they sank into the embrace, each assuring themselves that the other was real and alive.

“Jesus, I thought you were dead...” Dean breathed, and Sam let out a melancholy half-chuckle.

“I get the feeling,” he said, and it sounded like he was speaking while fighting back tears.

Castiel stood, looking back toward Gabriel's body. Perhaps it was wrong of him to desire to draw so much from the power that was stored within him now. It would have been better, he knew, to send the souls back to where they belonged; they had been away from home for long enough. But the sight of his brother dead in the grass was too much for him to bear after feeling the relief and love between Sam and Dean, and he walked over to where Gabriel lay, his wings a burned imprint of their former glory in the grass.

He asked the souls tentatively if it was alright, if he could be selfish, if he could draw from them just a bit more, and again, the answer was a resounding, yes.

He knelt beside Gabriel, placing two fingers against the archangel's forehead, and his eyes snapped open as he drew in a ragged breath.

Gabriel stared up at Castiel in what could only be described a sheer awe, and Castiel thought that this was perhaps the only time he'd seen his older brother completely speechless. Castiel held out a hand, and Gabriel glanced at it for a long moment before taking it and letting Castiel draw him up to his feet.

“What did you do?” Gabriel asked.

The impossible, Castiel wanted to say, but he remained silent instead.

“Castiel-” Gabriel's grip on Castiel's arm was firm, and when Castiel looked up at his brother, he saw absolute seriousness in his amber eyes. “Castiel, you-”

Castiel reached up, placing a gentle arm on Gabriel's shoulder, letting the resurrected archangel feel the serenity of the souls under his wing. Gabriel let out a single breath and let his arms drop.

“Asaph is dead,” Castiel said plainly, and Gabriel glanced over at Asaph's body and nodded solemnly.

“I can see that.” When Gabriel looked back at him, there was something in his eyes that Castiel thought for a moment was akin to fear, but fear was not the right term. No, it was more like a deep-seated worry that he tried his best to hold back from showing in his gaze. “But you're getting into some heavy stuff here, bro...Are you...”

“I'm alright,” Castiel said, and the souls nestled against his Grace confirmed that it was true. “I'll return them, Gabriel.” He stared down at his hands; they were so plain, but so fascinating, radiating power from the spirits within him. He clenched his fists. “I'll return them to where they belong. They've been imprisoned for long enough.”

“Castiel?” It was Dean's voice that caught his attention, and he turned. He blinked at the Winchesters, still so unaccustomed to feeling their combined presence so powerfully in his Grace, but it was a good feeling: warm and comforting. He still couldn't name it, but he would occupy himself with that later.

“It's good to see you, Dean,” Castiel said, smiling tiredly. “It's very good to see you.” He nodded at Sam. “Both of you.” By Sam's returned smile, Castiel presumed that the younger Winchester knew what he meant when he spoke. It was so good to see them both alive, together, nestled in his Grace as they should be.

Dean seemed reluctant to let go of his brother at the moment, and it seemed the feeling was mutual. They were not clutching onto each other, but each had a hand on the other's arm, as if to help each other stand, even though it wasn't necessary. Perhaps they hadn't realized they didn't have need of the support quite yet. Castiel was glad for it.

“According to Sammy I missed out on one hell of a fight,” Dean said. “I'm sorry I slept in.”

“You weren't asleep, Dean,” Castiel replied, brow furrowed. “Your soul was bound by a rogue guardian angel who was trying to use you to surpass-” He stopped when Dean's expression told him it had been a joke. He still wasn't quite used to figuring those out just yet.

“You did pick one heck of a time to get yourself hunter-napped, Dean-o,” Gabriel said, and Dean glared.

“Hey, shut up, okay? I'm still not even sure I believe you're an angel.” So Sam had told him. Castiel wondered how much Sam had managed to explain in the short time Castiel had been out of earshot. He doubted it was all that much; it would take a good long time to recount everything that had happened.

“You better believe it. I saved your brother's life, you know.”

Sam glanced down at his arm. The Grace that had resided there had faded, leaving a faint scar. But Gabriel was right; his power had shielded Sam from certain death, and perhaps even made the difference between their victory and nearly assured defeat.

“It's a pretty impressive gift, don't you think?” Gabriel continued. “I'll expect a thank-you note.”

Castiel turned to Gabriel again. “Thank you,” he said, gratitude swelling in his chest. “I'm glad you chose to come back, brother.”

Gabriel shrugged it off. “Hey, don't thank me yet. Now that all this is over, I'm resuming my vacation somewhere tropical. Being dead is no fun, in case you were wondering. I'd rather avoid it if I can. Assuming you two-” He pointed at the Winchesters. “-can keep from blowing my cover again.”

“So long as you stay out of our damn hair,” Dean grumbled.

“So what's going to happen to Asaph?” Sam asked, glancing over at Asaph's body in the grass. He looked almost forlorn, like he felt sadness for him, even after everything that had happened. It caught Castiel off guard, but he remembered that humans were creatures of empathy that outshone that of angels.

“He's dead,” Castiel said plainly.

“Well yeah, but...I mean what's going to happen to him?”

“Not even I know. Only our Father would.”

A shadow flashed across Gabriel's eyes at the mention of their Father, but Castiel did not address it. There were more pressing matters to attend to now. “For now I should do what's right. Return the souls to where they belong.”

“You mean the souls that Asaph stole?” Dean asked. So Sam had told him some of what had happened.

“Yes. They're still bound to you, Dean. Even if you don't realize it. It was the only way Asaph could keep them in his power, binding them together. When you reached out to me, so did every soul yours touched, and so on.”

“So every soul Asaph was using...” Sam mused, glancing around at the bodies curled in the grass all around them before looking back at Castiel. “They're all...”

“Within my own Grace. Yes.”

Dean looked pensive, his eyebrows knit together, and as Castiel prepared to return the souls, he spoke again: “Hey Cas?” Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. “When I was...when I was...under...unconscious, whatever...There was this...this girl. Faith. Is she...” He trailed off, but Castiel understood what he was asking, and he searched the souls within him for an answer.

“She's here, Dean,” he said. “And she's safe. I'm sending her home.”

“Good,” Dean said, nodding curtly. “That's good.”

Something stirred in Castiel’s chest, and he shifted, trying to identify it. When he realized what had caused the strange feeling, he looked intently at Dean, studying him.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Cas,” said Castiel. “You called me Cas.”

“Sorry...is it a problem? I mean it’s less of a mouthful than Castiel anyway.”

“No,” Castiel assured him, a smile creeping onto his face “I rather like it, to be honest.”

The souls within him vibrated with joy, and Castiel closed his eyes, and let them go.

The sudden weakness caught him off-guard, and he fell to his knees, but two pairs of firm arms grasped him and kept him standing: Sam and Dean, he knew without looking. He was so exhausted, but he was not bothered. He was relieved; the souls were back where they belonged, at peace in their rightful bones.

“Guess that leaves the clean-up to me,” Gabriel sighed, looking around at all of the people who were coming back to themselves, stirring groggily as their minds awoke back in place. “And you guys are probably going to need a ride.”

“Gabriel...” Castiel rasped, trying to get up, but Gabriel stopped him.

“Don't worry, bro. You've done plenty. I'll send all these people home. And you too. You're going to need your rest anyway, if you're going to be watching over these two bozos.”

Dean glared and Sam sighed, but they didn't let go, still kneeling by Castiel in grass.

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the world went blissfully dark.

-

He was warm.

It was odd...as an angel, he had never been aware of temperature before. There hadn't been a need; he was not affected by hot and cold as humans were. But he was notably warm, pleasantly so. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

He stared at the motel ceiling.

He felt tired, but less so than he had before, and when he looked to his side, he found himself smiling. To his right, Sam was pressed against his shoulder; to his left, Dean was curled against his arm. They were asleep, eyes lightly closed, both wrapped tightly in his feathery wings.

Safe. Just as God intended.

He named this feeling love.

End.