Work Text:
Set in S05E03: Free to be You and Me. In which Castiel contemplates what he does and does not believe.
“What do you believe, Cass?”
Dean glanced over to the angel on his shoulder. For the first time in a long time, Dean’s hazel-green eyes weren’t ridden with self doubt, anguish, and exhaustion. In the face of a looming apocalypse, the weight of the world seemed to have lifted from his shoulders.
Castiel sat shotgun, eyes on the road ahead of him, thumbs twiddling in his lap. He wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. The notion that Lucifer may have resurrected him as opposed to his own father, his beloved God, was far too likely. He felt little comfort with the uncertainty of it all, but was sure of one thing. He was no longer a soldier for heaven nor would he aid Lucifer in his battle against Michael. Castiel had gone rogue.
Everyday Dean’s question burdened his thoughts. “What do you believe, Cass?” Everyday the angel was further and further from an answer that made sense. The world he’d grown to know and love over his lifetime was on the brink of destruction and at the center of it all was two brothers. The angels and demons had them believing it was all black and white. Michael versus Lucifer. Angels versus Demons. Light versus Dark. Dean versus Sam. And yet...the longer Castiel was disconnected from Heaven, the further he got from the influences of his siblings, the farther he fell the more he noticed shades of grey and with these shades of grey, colour. The world was filled with colour.
“What do you believe, Cass?” He no longer believed that the path of God was the only correct path. He no longer believed that Michael and Lucifer’s death match was the only way to save humanity. He no longer believed in the words of Heaven nor Hell. Castiel believed in intuition, trust, love. One could compare blind faith to these...emotions, skills, but it wasn’t the same. Blindly following the orders of elder brothers who couldn’t be bothered to look twice in his direction when he was behaving wasn’t love, nor was it trust, neither intuition. It was what he was raised to do without rhyme or reason.
Castiel trusted Dean. He trusted Dean’s intuition and his love for his family, his friends. And so, Castiel found his answer. Weeks had passed by the time he’d finally settled on it, Dean was sitting at the table in a cheap motel room cleaning his gun, Sam was on a food run, and Castiel was quietly sitting in a corner when he finally said,
“I believe in you, Dean,”