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“The angel blade won't work, because I'm not an angel any more. I'm your new god. You will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord, or I shall destroy you.”
For a beat, there is complete silence. Sudden, stark fear churns nausea in Dean’s gut, and it wars with his stubborn nature, which naturally riles against everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks. It was hard enough to accept that Cas had slipped between his fingers and into the untouchable void of Beyond Reaching that only Sam had ever occupied before, back in his blood-junkie-demon-banging days. Even then, Dean had never actually thought that Sam was Beyond Saving- not the way his father would have meant it anyway. He can’t accept that Cas has reached that place yet either; not while there’s still breath in his lungs to protest with. Still, he can’t bring himself to move. Frozen in stasis, petrified with horror at the sudden wave of grief that washes over him; he doesn’t want to mourn Cas, as though he were destroyed by consuming all that power, but looking into Cas’ ice-cold gaze, Dean sees nothing; no spark of warmth, sympathy or familiarity. Cas is just gone, and Dean chokes back a scream, the hairs on the back of his neck raised high, bellowing out a warning that he’d be incredibly foolish to ignore.
Bobby is the first to move, which is hardly surprising, as he isn’t affected by the Winchester lack of self-preservation instinct gene which is so dominant in their family. He kneels, encouraging the brothers to do the same. Then they finally get with the program and begin to move, because Cas just made Raphael go splat, holy shit.
“Stop.” Says Cas, before they can even get down to the floor, “What’s the point if you don’t mean it? You fear me; not love, not respect. Just fear.”
Dean wants to scream well, what did you expect, asshole?
“Cas...” begins Sam, always the bleeding heart, but Cas shuts him down like an ice cold motherfucker;
“Sam, you have nothing to say to me. You stabbed me in the back.” He turns back to where Dean is half-crouched beside Bobby. “Get up.”
They’re all standing again when Dean says, “Cas, come on, this isn’t you.”
Beady blue eyes tell him another story.
“The Castiel you knew is gone.”
“So, what then?” Dean asks, wanting to know just how royally boned they are. “Kill us?” He doesn’t want to believe it. That the Cas who was pleading with him only a few days ago to stand behind him, who agreed that they were family, should have changed so radically in so short a space of time. Cas gives him a deep, soul-searching look, even going as far to tilt his head like that endearingly confused angel he used to be.
“What a brave little ant you are.” Cas says, sounding exactly like every other freak Dean has ganked over the years, “You know you’re powerless, you wouldn’t dare move against me again. That would be pointless. Besides, I intend to remove the key to your success.”
Dean doesn’t get a chance to ask what the fuck he’s talking about, because between one breath and the next, Cas is standing right in front of him. He grabs hold of Dean’s arm, there is a sudden rush of white light and-
He is alone, sat on the floor of a bedroom. There is a familiar remote control racing set on the floor by his feet, and his mother’s voice is calling for him. That fucking liar! Dean’s outraged at himself, for ever believing anything Cas said. Because he’s in Heaven, and therefore very dead.
Well, Dean knows exactly where to go to find out who can help him get back down where he belongs. He spares a moment to hug his Mom, because there will never be a time that he doesn't want to see her, then he scribbles a few sigils on the white-wash in crayon, and shoves open the closet door.
--
Returning to Heaven as an angel is like leaping into an icy stream; it is wonderfully refreshing, and there is a clarity and cleanliness that can be found nowhere on Earth. Heaven is infinite; righteous and absolute. As God, the clarity of that sensation is increased by a billion. Castiel’s experience as an angel would be the equivalent of adding an ice cube to a glass of water, whereas now, it is as though he has injected all the glaciers in the Antarctic directly into his grace.
The purity of purpose is astounding, and for all that the surrounding human souls are bright bulbs of nuclear fission, and the angels are immaculate wavelengths of celestial conception, they are all equally flawed spots of off-white in an otherwise perfect void of pure creation. To scrub out those blemishes would be a trifle to him now. But an existence older than time itself, spent learning to appreciate the wonder in the flaws of his Father’s creations, stays Castiel’s hand. He has no intention of beginning anew. He wants to fix his Father’s broken Universe; not destroy it.
When he reaches out to the host, a thrill of recognition ripples through their bonds. The unfiltered joy is an ecstasy that Castiel has never before felt from his siblings. God has returned to us! They sing, as they flock to the Garden.
When Castiel presents himself to the Host, they are nothing short of astonished. Angels do not exhibit emotion well, but Castiel has no trouble interpreting such a staggeringly universal sentiment.
I am the new God now. And I shall be a better Father to you. He says.
Most of the angels are blinded by their awe, either too entranced or petrified to speak out. Naomi, a sister that Castiel has never spoken to before, is the quickest to snap out of her trance. Blasphemy! She shrieks, charging forwards with a look of mortified disgust on each of her three faces. Castiel does not bother to contradict her; he simply plunges one of his many hands into her chest, tearing out her grace with merciless brutality. Without hesitating, Castiel devours it, and it is effortlessly absorbed into his power as she writhes and burns, leaving nothing but the charred imprint of wings in her wake.
Castiel observes the remaining Host with supreme indifference. I AM THE LORD YOUR GOD. He says, AND MY WORD IS LAW.
As one, the angels he once knew as his siblings fall to their knees and lower their heads, curling into the essence of Heaven as they offer their holy supplication. Castiel says nothing more. He flies back down to Earth; he has a certain King to reinstate.
--
It’s a bitch hefting two giant boys into the car, but Bobby manages it with a lifetime’s worth of hunting and stubbornness under his belt. Soon after Cas killed Dean, Sam dropped like a dead weight, cutting open his palm on some of the broken glass littering the floor, lost in his own noggin. Judging by the screams coming outta the boy’s mouth at random intervals, it ain’t nothing but hellfire in there.
They’re forced to take Sam’s car, because the Impala’s still upside down. Bobby spares it a grimace; Dean’s gonna be pissed. Though in all fairness, the boy’s got bigger fish to fry, namely his acute lack of breathing. Cas spared Bobby a few words after Dean just dropped dead.
“Be assured, he shall return. Do not bury his body.” He said, before he fluttered out.
Well, for Bobby, that’s pretty far out of the realm of comforting, but he’ll take what he can get. He has no intention of seeing that boy six feet under. Again.
The drive home is long and lonely, but he makes it without trouble. Somehow he gets the three of them into the panic room. He gives Sam the bed, since he’s still breathing, tying down one of his arms with the restraints, because Sam’s stopped twitching for now, but he still doesn’t want the boy getting into undue mischief on accident. Dean gets the floor and a pillow, ‘cause the damn fool’s dead, and it ain’t gonna make any difference, either way. Then Bobby goes upstairs to try and think of what books could possibly be of any use in this situation.
--
Crowley is satisfyingly consistent. Brash, cavalier, drinking whiskey and dressed completely in black, right down to the slippers. Castiel approves of his counterpart’s uniform stability. Naturally, Crowley expects destruction to be imminent, a sensible reaction to a being of such greater power. But Castiel has plans for Hell, and Crowley is in the best position to implement them. Castiel does not have time to determine a fitting ruler for Perdition out of the millions of depraved entities which reside there.
“I am not going to kill you, Crowley. I have plans for you.”
“What’s it?” Crowley frowns, disbelieving.
“Here’s our new arrangement. I let you live, you return to your post as King of Hell.”
“But?”
Castiel allows himself a wry half-smile; “I choose where each soul goes. I control the flow, and you take whatever I give you. Starting with the Purgatory souls we agreed upon."
True surprise blossoms across Crowley’s stolen face. “Really? But generally speaking, Hell’s being downsized?”
“I would have done away with it completely, but I need a threat to hold over my enemies. And we need to keep Michael and Lucifer’s cage. I feel the Pit is also the most suitable location for the more troublesome creatures of Purgatory.”
“Right.” The demon says, “I gather this is not a negotiation.”
“No.” Castiel is pleased by how quickly the demon has learnt his place. If only it were so simple with angels. Castiel can hear some of them conspiring against him, even after his show of strength.
“Then I graciously accept, Boss.” Crowley tips his glass tumbler at Castiel, who opens up a channel of energy between them, silently passing along the most wicked souls and strongest beasts, the Leviathan, whom Purgatory had been created for in the first place.
Then merely says; “I’ll be in touch,” swiftly returning to Heaven. Clearly, a stronger impression is needed up there.
--
The memory Roadhouse is just the same as before, except that this time, Dean finds both Ash and Ellen at the bar. The mullet-haired genius looks up at him in surprise when Dean busts through what was evidently the kitchen door.
“Dean?” He says, “Since when were you dead? Again.”
Dean blinks, having not anticipated this outcome. “Like, five minutes, if that. I came straight here.”
“Sam not with you?” Ash says, already getting out his laptop, angel wavelengths dancing merrily on the screen.
“He better not be,” Dean growls, and then he’s being accosted by five foot of angry female barkeep, who pulls him into a rough hug. Dean is half-expecting a slap when Ellen steps back, but she just says, “What happened?”
Ash cuts in with; “There’s nothing about dead Winchesters on Angel FM. They’re all gushing about someone called Castiel.”
“Your angel buddy?” Ellen looks to Dean for confirmation.
Dean snorts, putting all his resentment behind it. “He’s gone power-crazy. He ingested about a billion dead-monster-souls, decided he’s the new God.”
“Uh-oh.” Says Ash, who is only half listening to them, fingers tapping insistently on the keyboard of his computer as he scrolls through the angels’ conversations. “Sounds like not everyone’s pleased with the new Sheriff in town. Some of the Hot Wings are talking about going to war against the blasphemer.”
“What does that mean for Heaven?” Ellen asks, straight to the heart of the matter.
Ash turns to look Dean in the eyes. “Means Heaven’s on lock-down. Frozen. No blipping in and out of Heavens.”
Dean has only one thing to say to that.
“Son of a bitch.”
--
All around Castiel lay the charred remains of the angels he had hoped could be his soldiers, his fellow creators of a new path for Earth and Heaven both. The other angels have fled; it was mostly Raphael’s followers that tried to stand against him, though some of the neutral angels had been converted to their cause in the short time since Castiel left Heaven. Clearly, if he wishes to keep the angels that remain, he must focus his efforts on this dimension before any other.
He begins to address the Host as he walks through the decimated bodies lying scattered across the Heavenly meadows.
OUR FATHER LEFT A LONG TIME AGO. THAT WAS HARD. I THOUGHT THE ANSWER WAS FREE WILL. BUT I UNDERSTAND NOW. YOU NEED A FIRM HAND. YOU NEED A FATHER.
He pauses to look down at the sightless eyes of one of his countless defeated enemies. I AM YOUR FATHER NOW.
There is a bristle of response from the Host. Huge choirs are singing his praises, and it makes Castiel’s bloated grace shimmer.
BE OBEDIENT CHILDREN. He finishes, already focusing his attention other upcoming tasks, OR THIS WILL BE YOUR FATE.
He feels a lament begin for the lost, resonating carefully as not to cause offence. It is a song of necessary evil and the grief left in its wake.
IT IS A NEW DAY. Castiel decides, ON EARTH AND IN HEAVEN. REJOICE.
--
Time passes differently in Heaven, and nothing which would tell the time on Earth works properly up here. Dean is perched at the bar with Ellen, downing the good, expensive stuff whilst Ash works.
“Well, sounds like your boy went on a smite-fest. The angels are singing about thousands of their kind, roasted, extra-crispy.”
“Jesus,” whispers Ellen, but Dean can’t bring himself to say anything. He wishes he could be surprised, but for all that forgiveness is considered a divine quality, angels don’t understand jack shit about it. He is surprised, however, when there is a familiar flutter behind him, and he turns to find Cas standing beside the pool table.
DEAN, he says, and it’s like nothing Dean has ever heard. More than a sound, it’s like a thought, or a feeling, and it conveys emotions that are not his own. Blazing annoyance and fond exasperation lifted by swell of hope. YOU ARE NOT WHERE I LEFT YOU.
Dean slides off the barstool to stand before him. Cas is partly shrouded in shadow, and its not doing anything for Dean’s nerves.
“Well, it’s Heaven, Cas. I wanted to check on some old friends.” Dean says, which is the truth, but unfortunately it also shifts Cas’ laser focus on the two other souls in the room.
I SEE. He scrutinises them silently for a moment, before agreeing, YES. THEY ARE WORTHY OF YOUR AFFECTION.
“Well, I’m glad you approve,” Dean says before he can stop himself.
In an instant, Cas is right in his space, just like old times, heat and energy radiating off him. It’s like standing too close to a pylon, and Dean has to fight with himself not to take a step back. He’s already dead, damn it, what more could Cas possibly do? Cas is not a fan of torture, though that may have changed, now he’s got all those monster-souls rolling around inside him.
But Cas doesn’t do anything of the sort. He wraps his fingers around Dean’s elbow and says, WE HAVE MUCH WORK TO DO DEAN.
For the second time that day, Dean is zapped somewhere without his permission. It’s starting to become a pattern he is highly uncomfortable with. He looks around at the new location, but he doesn’t recognise the close-to-neon green grass, bright blue skies and vivid flowers. It feels a bit like he’s been transported into a cartoon, though. There’s no way they’re on earth, nothing is supposed to be this colourful or shiny.
WE ARE IN THE HALLOWED MEADOWS. Cas answers the question he didn’t ask, and Dean really, really hopes God can’t read minds. THIS IS AN ANGEL-ONLY REALM OF HEAVEN.
“What are we doing here, Cas?” Dean asks, because he’d appreciate some damn answers out of this clusterfuck of a day.
CAN YOU NOT GUESS? The new God replies, watching Dean with curiosity burning through his gaze.
There’s nothing that Dean hates more than playing twenty questions with a creature. “Are you going to smite me?” That seems the most pertinent question, about a viable option.
NO. Cas says, in that voice which makes Dean shiver, though he tries valiantly to conceal it, I AM GOING TO MAKE NECESSARY CHANGES SO THAT YOU WILL ALWAYS BELONG IN THIS PART OF HEAVEN.
Dean doesn’t get a chance to ask just what the fuck that means, because Cas is crowding into his space, holding Dean’s face in one hand, the other secure on his waist. Then he’s being kissed to within an inch of his life - or he would be, if he actually need to breathe. It’s so unexpected that Dean doesn’t even have chance to prepare himself, let alone react. This is everything he’s wanted for so long, since before they tossed Lucifer back in his cage, before Cas left him as the soonest possibility.
And it hurts, that he should get this now, when he's never wanted it less in his life. It doesn’t stop him from melting into the kiss though, because there are some things Dean Winchester can’t resist, and a deep, desperate kiss is one of them. He shuts out the part of his brain screaming at him to get away from the predator, and focuses on the larger part which recognises Cas as the angel he no longer is, which is doing a little jig and saying yes, finally.