Chapter Text
Castiel was standing near the edge of the wide green meadow, looking intensely at the two women who were having a quiet conversation near a patch of some beautiful blueish-purple flowers.
The sky was bright blue, the sun was shining happily, a single cloud cruising calmly around the edge of the big box they were all in.
Castiel crossed his arms, not tearing his eyes away from the pair who haven’t noticed him yet. Just another day doing the very same job he was created for.
You see, the women weren’t actually really there. Neither was the sky or the giant flaming orb, or even the delicate little flowers with the colour of an arctic sunset being mirrored on the surface of the cold icy ocean. Nothing here was real apart from one of the women- Jessica, and the lone man in a trenchcoat.
Angel of the Lord, the Reaper of Souls, the Bearer of Eternal Peace. Those were only a few of the names he’d acquired over his long life. Some mortals were scared of him, for he was the messenger of death, helping to guide souls to heavenly rest or unending suffering. There were many stories about the mysterious Being: according to some, he’d come carrying a flaming sword, his bare existence taking the dying away from their body, others told tales of a boy with a harp, engulfed in bright light and putting the old and sick to sleep with his music.
In reality, no one had actually truly ever seen him- or, at the very least, been alive after their encounter with him to tell their story. Castiel had no real form or shape (although he often preferred looking like a middle aged tall man with messy dark hair and blue eyes who enjoyed wearing a suit and tie under a floppy cream coloured trenchcoat); he was neither man, nor woman, not child, but also all of them at the same time. His purpose was to prepare dying souls for their final journey to heaven or hell by allowing them to relive every single time they have fallen in love, romantically and platonically, to also help them go through every moment when someone else realised they have loved them. The revelations and sceneries would change after every encounter and in the end, Castiel would reveal himself in a body- a relative, a dear friend, even a pet- that would put the dying human at ease and guide them onward with a simple touch.
It was one last form of kindness he had been offering to humanity ever since its dawn.
The two women went silent and embraced each other with trembling arms. Castiel took a step forward and the bright scenery faded along with Jessica’s friend, until there was just her, gazing into the emptiness with a soft smile on her face, and a young girl with a beige dress, blue and purple dots splattered across the fabric who was making her way towards Jessica.
“Marlene?”, the grownup asked as if in a daze. The girl pulled her lips into a smile as her piercing blue eyes stared right into the woman’s soul.
“Are you ready?”, she questioned with a voice simultaneously young and ancient, extending her arm.
The older woman nodded with a thankful heart. Bright light engulfed the two figures as their fingertips touched. With a sight, Jessica’s soul disappeared into the darkness. The little girl was nowhere to be seen- as if she never existed.
——-
It had been two days since the battle ended.
The victorious tribe plundered the small town, violently killing and destroying until they left the wooden homes and buildings to the mercy of hungry flames. The majority of the townsfolk managed to escape into the high mountains surrounding their settlement. The wounded, friends and foes, dead and dying, warriors and poor farmers alike, were scattered around on the muddy ground.
Smoke and pained grunts filled the air.
Dean hadn’t seen the sun since he woke up with an annoying stinging feeling near his ribs. He’d been stabbed pretty badly and couldn’t get up or cry out for help- not that anyone would offer him help. He was twenty three years old and had no family, aside from the old poor blacksmith who’d taken him in as an apprentice fifteen years ago.
Before that all Dean knew was the smelly fish market near the docks, the coldness in the merchants’ eyes as they shooed the hungry little boy away from their stands. He was forced to sleep on the cold wet cobblestones near the town’s church every night for years.
The man grunted when the memory flashed in his mind.
“Just like now; some things never change, huh.”
The night the blacksmith, Robert, found him, was a particularly dark and bad night.
The little boy was curling up on the ground in preparation for another dreamless night when a group of drunk men, shouting profanities at anyone and anything, made their way towards him.
“Oi, boy, come clean my boots, wouldn’t ya?”, the rest of the group started laughing and howling at their friend’s remark. Dean only shut his eyes tighter and prayed they’ll simply go down the street. They, of course, stopped their late night stroll right in front of him.
“I asked you a question!”, the loud man tried kicking Dean in the stomach, but missed due to the alcohol he’d consumed and instead managed to plant his hit near the boy’s brow. He only gave out a muffled wince- he knew better than to give his pain a voice when he was facing a predator alone. And he was always alone.
The man bent over and took a surprisingly strong hold of Dean’s upper arm, yanking him on his trembling bare feet. His breath stunk of rotten teeth and cheap ale. “Come on, I’ll teach you a lesson for not answering to your elderly when they speak to you.”
Dean was shaking uncontrollably, paralysed with fear. Whatever this man did to him, no one would find out. No one would even care enough to notice that the poor orphan in torn, dirty clothes didn’t show up at the fish market to beg for a piece of hard bread the next morning.
“Don’t you have a wife and children who are waiting for you back home, Alistair?”, an unknown voice came from the dark alley next to Dean. The man who was previously dragging him towards the docks halted his swaying steps but didn’t let go of the boy.
“Who are you?”, he barked, “Why don’t you show yourself and we can talk about your wife and kids, eh?”
His friends laughed again, but didn’t start producing those wild animalistic noises anew- instead, they took a few steps away from the man who was just addressed as Alastair.
Dean’s heart was beating painfully fast as the figure of a bearded man emerged from the shadows near him, holding a hammer. At this sight, the drunkard released his prey and pushed him away. Dean fell on the hard stone and tried to crawl away, but his shaking body collided with the stranger’s leg.
Ready for a scolding or even for a blow from the heavy hammer, Dean curled up in a tight ball again. Instead, the man- his saviour?- gently patted his back and said with a calm voice: “Get up, boy, I'm not gonna hurt ya. What are ya doing out so late?”
As the stranger was helping him get back on his feet, Dean managed to answer with a hollow voice: “I was going to sleep; they don’t let me spend the night anywhere else.”
He looked around and the group who were previously taunting him were nowhere to be seen. The boy could now clearly see his saviour’s face: he had a dark beard, lined with silver strands of hair, deep wrinkles (although he didn’t look very old) and his eyes-
Dean’s own green ones grew bigger. The man’s eyes were the kindest eyes the kid had ever seen. Hell, he didn’t even know someone could look at him with anything other than disgust or annoyance, let alone perceive him as a human being!
“Do you have parents? A name?”
Still in a state of haze, the boy retorted: “No. Dean.”
The older townsman looked at his small, starved figure again, taking in his dirty bare feet, his way too small pants and shirt, the scratches all over his body and, finally, the swelling near his brow- the place where the drunkard’s kick landed moments ago. The man took off the vest he was wearing and put it around Dean’s shoulders.
“Come on, kiddo, let's get you something to eat.”
And he led the orphan to his small, but warm and cozy house.
The next day Dean learned that his name was Robert and that he was a blacksmith. He’d lost his wife and daughter a long time ago to the same disease that had once taken Dean’s parents- or so had a nun said before kicking him out of the churchyard where he’d crashed for the night.
Robert was a nice man. He offered the boy warm food, allowed him to clean himself, gave him new clothes. Dean stayed with him for two nights, which then turned into a week, then a month, and the next thing the green eyed orphan knew was that he’d now become the kind blacksmith’s apprentice and they were living together as father and son.
Dean grunted again and ran his hand along his side. He felt something warm and sticky. In an attempt to control his breathing, the fallen man closed his eyes. He was slipping in and out of consciousness and it was already clear to him that his time would come soon enough. Good. He had protected what was important to him, even managed to take down a couple of the barbarians who attacked his town before dawn. He’d done good.
Suddenly, he couldn’t feel the smoke enter his tired lungs anymore. The slippery cold stones were no longer piercing his back and Dean couldn’t open his eyes. Only the sound of his patchy breathing remained in the darkness.
This, and the man in weird-looking clothes who was standing into the edge of his line of vision.