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“Hello, Castiel. Please come in.”
With his head only inches through the frosted glass door Castiel is met with the soft-voiced and round-faced angel beckoning him inside from behind her white desk.
“Take a seat,” the angel says, her smooth voice masking the order as a simple suggestion. She sits as he does, placing her hands with fingers interlocked on the desk in front of her. “My name is Esme. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
Castiel shakes his head, his hands placed in his lap as he perches on the soft white armchair, not allowing himself to sink into it.
“I’m a member of the angelic relations and resources team,” Esme explains, her tone gentle, and smooth, moving through her words like water in a stream. Her lips are slightly upturned always with an unwavering faux kindness. “If there are any concerns or disputes between members of the garrison, I’ll be the one to address them.” She slides a folder from a pile on the corner of her desk into the space directly in front of her. The folder is near-empty, with only a few papers making it a worthwhile container. “Castiel, do you know why I have called you in here?”
Castiel tilts his head and frowns in thought. “No, I do not,” he answers plainly, his eyes searching Esme’s expression for some hint of an agenda.
Esme’s smile broadens and she huffs in a small controlled chuckle. “Well, you needn’t worry, Castiel. This is not a disciplinary meeting,” she reassures before opening the folder to study the document sitting at the top. “Simply put, Castiel, everyone is impressed.”
Castiel’s eyebrows raise in an involuntary motion. His posture is still stilted, though, as he remains cautious; Esme’s tone is near impossible to read.
“You brought Winchester back from hell. There were many who did not expect you to be the one to succeed. We are, of course, more than pleased that you did.” Esme absent-mindedly brushes a hand over the page. Castiel’s eyes dart down as they catch the slight motion, but his concentration quickly returns. “Despite your great feat however, there are some who have raised… concerns. Not everyone is confident that you should be the one to interface with Winchester from this point.” Esme’s eyes narrow a minuscule amount, as if she’s zeroing in on Castiel’s inner psyche from where she sits behind her desk. “What say you, Castiel?”
Castiel holds Esme’s gaze, though he desperately wants to turn his eyes away. He presses his lips together and takes a breath before answering, “I am more than up to the task,” he states assuredly, projecting confidence as best he can. Esme’s smile turns up the tiniest bit on one side, in what Castiel may tentatively describe as a smirk.
“That’s good to hear,” she says, her fingers again brushing over the page before her. “Of course, you’ll have all of heaven behind you should you require anything.”
“I don’t expect this to be a particularly difficult assignment. Humans are… simple.” Castiel says, easing into his seat a little.
Esme again lets out a small breathy chuckle. “That they are,” she agrees. Her smile returns to it’s shallow base soon after as she looks at Castiel with a strange intensity. “You touched Winchester’s soul, held it in your hands, didn’t you, Castiel?”
Castiel’s brows scrunch together for a moment. “Yes, I did. When I pulled his soul from the pit.”
“The human soul,” Esme starts, he head tilting a fraction of a degree. “Is an immensely powerful thing. Not many angels have laid a hand on one. It must have been quite the experience.”
Castiel’s caution returns to him as something unsettling carries itself atop Esme’s light and friendly tone. “Yes,” he answers after a pause. He opens his mouth to continue, but stops, not quite sure what to say, or how anything he might say would be received in this particular situation. He waits, quiet, for Esme to continue speaking, but she simply watches him struggle to fill the silence. “Is there… anything in particular that you wanted to discuss? I’m still not sure I entirely see the necessity of this meeting.”
Esme’s shallow smile drops completely, her face completely neutral now in the absence of any façade. “It was brought to my attention, Castiel,” she says, voice still smooth and airy, but sharper, shorter. “That in your reconstruction of Winchester, you left… a brand.” Castiel catches his breath and shuffles to a straighter position in his seat. “Why did you do that, Castiel?”
“I…” he begins, swallowing hard. Calling it a ‘brand’ makes it sound so… deliberate. Even to an angel, the events of the rescue are somewhat hazy, blurred and muddied by the power emanating from the pure unfettered energy that he held in his hands. The power, and the pain. He had felt such anguish, it had surged through him like lightning, the most intense sensation that he had ever experienced. The closest he, as an angel, had ever come to feeling. And it drove him, on some instinct he couldn’t identify, to grip tighter. Why? Perhaps to reassure. To reassure who, though? Castiel cannot be sure. “It was not intentional. I think, perhaps, in the midst of the chaos I gripped Winchester’s soul too tight, leaving the mark.”
“I see,” Esme, in her first breach of eye-contact, peers down at the document before her. She takes a breath and returns her attention to Castiel. “I hope you will take care not to hold on too tight in the future.”
Castiel nods quickly. Of course he wouldn’t.
“You are dismissed,” Esme says, a small sigh escaping her. “Thank you, Castiel.”
“Thank you.”
He leaves.
“Hello, Castiel. Please come in.”
Castiel once again enters through the frosted glass door and is greeted by the plastic smile of the angel Esme, separated from him by a wide, white desk.
“Take a seat.” She gestures to the white armchair opposite her. Castiel once again sits, keeping himself perched on its edge. He notes that the same folder from before is placed, closed, on the desk right in front of her.
“Castiel, do you know why I have called you in here?”
Castiel shakes his head. “No, I don’t,” he answers, and it’s the truth. As far as he’s aware, he’d been performing his duties exactly as he had been ordered to. His orders were to test Dean in battlefield conditions and to follow along with what he said. That is exactly what he did. Though, perhaps the orders hadn’t been as straightforward as he’d initially assumed. The thought has certainly crossed his mind that his superiors had been hoping for an alternate, more gruesome outcome. But for now, Castiel casts those doubts from his mind and focusses his attention on the angel smiling at him from across the table.
“Hmm,” Esme hums with a nod. She flicks open the folder and quietly clears her throat. “I wanted to discuss your actions yesterday, with Winchester.”
Castiel holds his expression steady, silent, leaving space for Esme to continue her line of questioning and get to the point.
“It has been said that you speak to Winchester with… an air of familiarity,” she states, looking to Castiel with a gentle, yet accusatory expression.
He frowns slightly. “It is my job to build a rapport with Dean, to gain his and his brother’s trust.”
Esme’s eyes narrow ever so slightly in a flinch. “Dean…” she repeats. “I see.”
Castiel’s frown deepens as he feels the sharp spike in Esme’s tone. “I am aware that most angels have had little to no direct contact with humanity, but I can assure you that my interactions with the Winchesters carry exactly as much ‘familiarity’ as is required.”
Esme pauses, her fingers tap over the paper in front of her as she watches Castiel, though his expression is steadfast and unwavering. She flattens her palms atop the folder and inhales. “I was informed that following the incident, you went to speak with Winchester, alone.”
“You were ‘informed’,” Castiel says with bite. “This was Uriel’s doing, wasn’t it?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
Castiel slumps back in the armchair and lets out a deep sigh. “Uriel has little appreciation for the humans,” he says, skirting any mention of his private conversation with Dean, or any of the doubts he may or may not have discussed with him.
“And you do?”
“Yes. I’m an angel, that’s my job,” he asserts. Esme simply looks at him with her piercing gaze, not saying a word. “It is also my job to liaise with Dean, and his brother, to get them to work with us. Threatening, belittling or ordering them around may achieve that, and any other angel is welcome to try, but I doubt they would be successful. I, on the other hand, have had success with the Winchesters.” Castiel huffs to stop himself from ranting further. “Were there any other concerns, or can I get back to working on stopping the apocalypse?”
“For us,” Esme corrects, voice raised a fraction above her normal volume.
“Excuse me?”
“We are trying to get the Winchesters to work for us, not with us. You would do well to remember who is serving whom.” Esme stares Castiel down for a second, lips still slightly upturned though her eyes shoot daggers. She exhales softly. “That is all, for now. You are dismissed. Thank you, Castiel.”
Castiel’s jaw is tight as he forces out a quick, “Thank you.” He leaves, his coat billowing behind him as he speeds out of there.
“Hello, Castiel. Please come in.”
“Esme,” Castiel greets with a nod as he wastes no time taking his seat. Castiel holds himself confidently. He cannot be sure exactly what barrage of nonsensical accusations are going to be hurled at him today, but he can be sure that he’s not taking it. He has his doubts, yes, but not in his actions. Not here and not today.
Castiel cannot help but give Esme a slight glare, since Uriel is hiding his opinions behind her and he cannot direct his frustration at him directly.
“Castiel, do you know why I have called you in here?”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” he says, eyebrows raised slightly in a stand-offish, yet nonchalant posture.
Esme taps her hand on the still closed folder in front of her. It’s slightly fuller than it was the first time Castiel saw it. She doesn’t open it up just yet, instead resting her hands atop it’s closed cover and digging into Castiel with sustained eye-contact.
“You failed to control Winchester, Castiel,” Esme says with a sigh. “The traitor, Anna, escaped with all of her power. I’m told another angel had to step in and take control of the situation, since you were not able, or perhaps more aptly, not willing to make the necessary threats to secure the deviant.”
Castiel takes in a deep breath, but maintains his steely gaze. “Losing Anna was… unfortunate. But I do not believe that threatening Sam’s life was the solution. We need Dean to trust us. If we hurt Sam, Dean would never work with us again.”
Esme passes her eyes over Castiel, reading all of his expression from his posture to the placement of his hands and back up to that icy glare. “Hmm,” is all she gives in response, her painted-on smile making it seem almost smug.
“For the record, threatening the Winchesters didn’t work either,” Castiel continues, sharp and assured. “At least after everything they may still be able to trust me.” He tries not to sound so self-satisfied, but in truth he’s glad, so glad, that he somehow managed not to destroy the relationship he’d built to Dean and to Sam. Of course, because they needed them, but also because he’s found much joy in his charge over them. It’s fulfilling, it feels so much grander than anything he’s done before. Perhaps it’s ego, but Castiel revels in being the one angel that the Winchesters trust.
“You are right,” Esme says. Castiel’s expression morphs away from it’s strongly held position as he’s taken aback. “Maintaining the Winchester’s trust is essential. It is a relief to hear that you have managed to do so, even under such circumstances.” She pauses, then slides the folder, still shut, over to one side. “I’m satisfied with what I’ve heard from you so far. I have no reason to pursue further action at this time.”
“Oh,” Castiel says in a small voice. “I see. Then… is that all?”
“Yes, that is all. For now. Though do bear in mind you tread a fine line. I’d be mindful not to cross it.” Esme inhales slowly and maintains unflinching eye-contact for an uncomfortable moment. “You are dismissed. Thank you Castiel.”
He rises, lips pressed together, and gives a small nod. “Thank you.”
“Hello, Castiel. Please come in.”
Esme’s usual airy tone is low and stagnant. Her usual mild-mannered smile is gone, her face instead is flat and stony. Castiel draws in a breath as he enters. He steps in slowly, waiting for Esme’s gesture to take his seat. She sits shortly after him.
“Castiel, do you know why I have called you in here?”
For the first time, Castiel answers in the affirmative, “I suspect it has something to do with Uriel’s betrayal.”
Esme closes her eyes for a moment as she sighs. “Yes, we are all terribly shocked,” she says, sounding like she’s giving her best impression of someone being earnest.
“Castiel,” She looks Castiel dead on, her jaw tight and her brows furrowed ever so slightly. “You were the only witness to his betrayal of us.”
“I am aware. I’ve already given my statement,” Castiel replies, voice steady, low and calm.
“Of course. I’m not part of the investigative team, but I was asked to speak with you to reassess some of the previous concerns that Uriel raised with us,” Esme explains, hands placed still on the desk. “We were aware that the two of you did not necessarily see eye-to-eye, but considering how the situation has escalated- well, all previous incidents may hold more weight than we initially assumed.”
Castiel cannot help but look away, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. He had once considered Uriel one of his closest comrades, they had fought together in the same garrison for such a long time. But ever since the start of the apocalypse, well, ever since Dean, Uriel’s opinion of Castiel had soured enough to have him complaining repeatedly. Castiel wonders if, while every dismissal without reprimand was a relief for him, it was merely further proof to Uriel that Heaven was a lost cause, that they wouldn’t listen to him. Castiel knows that there’s nothing he could have done, and he still believes that his actions were the right ones. In light of everything, he can only hope that he can convince Esme of that now.
“Uriel expressed concern with the way that Winchester addressed you,” Esme begins, having opened up Castiel’s now hefty folder while he was looking away. “He reported to us that Winchester refers to you by a bastardisation of your God given name. Is that true?”
Castiel's face is low and his breath shallow, but steady. “Yes, he calls me ‘Cas’,” he answers, swallowing his nerves as every answer feels like the wrong one.
Esme glances down at her documents for a moment. She sighs. “I see,” she says, words short and clipped. “You have made attempts to correct him?”
Castiel presses his lips together. “Uh, no, I- I never did. It didn’t seem necessary,” he answers. If angels could sweat, he would be at this moment. “It seemed to me like a signifier of Dean’s trust in me. I didn’t want to jeopardise that.”
Esme nods, and makes a small note. She makes no further comments, only continuing her line of questioning. “Uriel was concerned that Winchester spoke to you with disrespect. That he attempted to argue with you, even give you orders.”
“Dean can be… passionate, and a little combative at times.” Castiel tries his best to maintain a neutral tone, worried that his fondness will betray his message. “I did, at one time, confront him about this. I told him that he should treat me with more respect. It, uh, well it shut him up at the time, but I don’t think Dean is the ‘get on your knees and beg for mercy before God’s messenger’ kind of man.”
Esme raises an eyebrow. “Oh? You seem to have an intricate knowledge of Dean Winchester,” she comments with piqued interest, as if salivating for Castiel to slip up.
“Of course I do, I held his soul in my hands. I saw all of him, his very essence. And I have been working in proximity with him for months now.” Castiel huffs and firms himself to drive home his point. “I think it would show carelessness on my part if I didn’t have a thorough understanding of his behaviour and character.”
Esme’s face is completely stiff now, stern and unflinching. She presses her palms flat over top of Castiel’s open folder and leans forward slightly. “Do you like Dean Winchester?”
Castiel stiffs his jaw and keeps his face flat and sure. “Yes,” he answers. “I believe he is a good man. He is-” Castiel forces his own mouth closed and bites his cheek in a sort of self-discipline. Esme’s stillness and silence makes him itch, though. “Uriel seemed to think that my fondness of the Winchesters, or humans in general, impaired my ability to serve Heaven. In truth it was his blind hatred and disgust of humans that blinded him to our true purpose; serving God and his creations. I care about Dean because I care about humanity, because I want to stop Lucifer from starting the apocalypse. That’s not a weakness.”
“I see.” Esme nods, her signature facsimile of a smile spread across her face once more. “I’ll take what you’ve said today into consideration. That’ll be all for now.”
Castiel frowns, Esme’s poised exterior nigh impossible to read. “So what happens now?”
“Your case is still being reviewed,” Esme answers shortly. “I believe for the time being Zachariah is being brought in to deal with Winchester. If you’re cleared I expect you’ll be reporting to him.”
“Zachariah?” Castiel exclaims in disbelief.
Esme pays him no mind as she busies herself scratching notes into Castiel’s file. Without looking up she flicks her wrist and the door swings open behind Castiel. “You are dismissed. Thank you Castiel.”
“Hello, Castiel. Please come in.”
This time when Castiel enters it is entirely knowing. He feels like a dog with its tail between its legs, though he tries to hold himself upright and steady.
“Take a seat,” Esme offers, though this time it sounds a lot more like an order. Castiel daren’t refuse, so he sits down fast.
“Castiel, do you know why I have called you in here?”
“No,” Castiel says with a small shrug and a pout. Overkill perhaps, but Castiel has little experience with deceit.
The folder sitting front and centre on Esme’s desk is stacked, most definitely full to bursting. “I’m not sure that’s true, Castiel,” Esme says with a tilt of the head, her narrowed eyes betraying her unassuming smile. “Somehow the Winchesters knew about the prophet’s arch-angelic protection, and were able to leverage it against the demon Lilith. Only an angel would have that knowledge and I can think of only one angel who would be likely to divulge that information to Dean Winchester.” Esme shifts, keeping her gaze steadily trained on Castiel. “Often the simplest answer is the right one, isn’t that right?”
“I couldn’t say,” Castiel says, flat, ignoring his thumping heart.
“The last time we met you claimed that your fondness for humanity was an asset, that it would drive you to stop the apocalypse.” Esme leads Castiel, unblinking as she stares him down, scouring his soul for a crack.
“I did.”
“And how does that change things, knowing what you know now?”
Ah yes, knowing that the angels have no intention of stopping the apocalypse. Knowing that they intend to use Sam like a pawn and push Dean to the sidelines to merely watch. Knowing how that will destroy both of them, the weight of that responsibility, that failure, resting on their shoulders, bearing down on them like the weight of the all the oceans. Knowing that thousands, millions, maybe billions of people will die, and that Heaven intends to let it happen.
It changes nothing. The apocalypse must be stopped, or at least Castiel knows he has to try. As soon as he was told, he could hear Dean’s voice in his head, how he’d react, how he’d say it was bullshit, that it was evil, no better than the demons’ plans. Castiel had once told Dean that he was the only one who could stop it, and this he still believes. He has to get back, he has to warn him. For him to do that, he can’t be stuck here with-
“Castiel?”
Castiel snaps to attention from his mind running in place. He firms his resolve, and with his voice as steady as he can make it, he answers, “It doesn’t change anything. God’s plan is the righteous one.”
“You believe that?” Esme is leaning forward slightly in an offensive position. The left corner of her mouth lifts ever so slightly. “And if that meant killing Dean Winchester? You would carry out the order without question?”
Castiel knows he must tread carefully here. “It would be regrettable, I cannot say that I wouldn’t… hesitate. But if God demanded it, then yes, I would kill Dean Winchester.”
There is a long pause as Esme sits, poised like a tiger ready to pounce, completely stock still. “Why would you hesitate?” Esme’s head is cocked to one side in a suspicious curiosity. There’s no ambiguity from her now about exactly how this is going.
“I-” Shit. He’s got to say something that’s true enough not to sound like crap, but not the whole truth. “Because Dean is someone that I saved. To kill him… it would sour that victory.”
“You seem so unsure, Castiel,” Esme says with a mocking faux-concern in her voice. Her usual smooth, flat tones are gone, replaced with passive aggressive peaks in pitch and emphasis. “Are you certain that’s the reason?”
Castiel is silent - he knows a losing game when he sees one. There’s nothing he could say now to sate the angel before him, practically salivating at every word of his self-incrimination. The only time he’d ever seen any hint of the genuine from Esme, was that smirk, the one that hangs off her now, the revelry in seeing Castiel take himself apart before her.
“Castiel,” Esme sighs, leaning back and reverting to a more sombre expression. “In the last year you have risen up the ranks quite drastically. You’re a rare case of an angel who rose from obscurity to do something magnificent, to get his name in the gospel. You have distinguished yourself, Castiel. You cannot throw that away for the sake of one disrespectful, violent, simple-minded human.” Castiel bristles at her words, but he bites his tongue. Esme’s expression darkens. “He is a faithless man, Castiel. He does not believe in our Father. He does not believe in our cause. He does not believe in you.”
“I know that,” Castiel forces out. “I- I know that our cause is greater than any one man. Whatever your concerns may be, you needn’t worry.”
“We needn’t worry?”
Castiel huffs, inflating his chest to pull himself straight upright. “Have I not served Heaven dutifully? Have I not done exactly what was asked of me? Did I not-” Castiel presses his lips together and exhales sharp and short through the nose. “Was I not able to get Dean to torture Alastair for our cause? Give me an order do I not follow?”
“Of course,” Esme slowly interlocks her fingers as she rests her hands on her desk. She breaks out her smile again, but her eyes are cold. “And I expect you will continue to do just so. Heaven is watching, Castiel.”
“I-”
“You are dismissed. Thank you Castiel.”
Castiel bites the inside of his cheek as he gets up and turns to leave. Heaven is watching. Or perhaps merely waiting.
“Hello, Castiel.”
Esme’s familiar voice is the first thing Castiel hears as the high-pitched ringing dies down. Her rounded, deceptively gentle face is the first thing he sees as the blinding white light fades. He’s sitting in the plush white armchair opposite Esme’s wide white desk. She sits opposite, the paper-fat folder sitting there on the desk, under her palms.
“I assume you know why I have called you in here.”
Castiel is silent, focussed entirely on slowing his bated breath. His fingers dig into the armrests as he tries to steady himself while the room still spins, his mind unsettled after the upset of being ripped from his vessel. There had to have been five angels there, encircling him, blades drawn with intent.
Esme closes her eyes and sighs. “I warned you, Castiel,” she scolds, the disappointment unfiltered in her voice. “I tried to steer you back to the righteous path. I did try.”
Castiel cannot bring himself to speak, knowing of course, that by this point anything he says will only serve to incriminate him further. His fear greatly outweighs his frustration, but it still simmers under the surface. He was so close to warning Dean. He had thought he was slick enough, stealthy enough by keeping communication short and vague. But alas, Heaven had already suspected him, and by that point there would have been nothing he could have done. Castiel can only be thankful those angels hadn’t skewered him on the spot for his transgression. Although wondering why they hadn’t only incites more terror of what exactly is to come.
“We had feared that this might be the outcome,” Esme presses her fingers the bridge of her nose as she scrunches her brows. “If it had been any other angel. But you? You have never been the most reliable cog in the machine; always sticking, catching. All those sympathies, Castiel, all those... tendencies. Of course it had to be you who pulled Winchester from hell.”
Castiel’s face of fearful worry intensifies with a deepening frown. His mind reels trying to re-contextualise his past - when had he been troublesome in the past? Castiel can only recall glowing praise from his superiors and comrades. Well, until now.
Meanwhile Esme has unravelled, her usual corporate poise and ethereal grace is gone. Her hands are animated, her face expressive, her words biting and scathing.
“Ha!” she exclaims in a furious outburst, catching Castiel off guard. “I cleared you, Castiel. I did. I assured my superiors that despite your record, you were truly loyal to Heaven, that you believed in our mission, in God. That above all else you were a good soldier, and you proved that in Hell. I will be duly reprimanded for this, thank you.” Esme bares her teeth in a frantic grin as she begins to cackle manically through her speech. “Oh but that’s nothing compared to what’s coming for you.” Esme sits back and straightens her back. She takes a deep breath and gently settles her hands on the desk - outburst over. “It’s over, Castiel. Naomi wants to see you.”
Finally Castiel’s mind settles enough to speak. “Naomi?”
“My superior,” Esme explains, cool demeanour returning. “I believe you’ve met once or twice- not that you’d remember.”
Castiel swallows. He racks his brain to recall the name- ‘Naomi’. The angel’s memory is absolute, it is a perfect and complete record of his past, but that name - ‘Naomi’ - brings up only dead-ends. Voids in Castiel’s memory, threads that splinter and drop into nothing. Digging further only causes strain and ache. “What does this ‘Naomi’ want with me?”
“She is going to take you apart. She is going to dissect you and pull from you whatever sorry notions you carry in your heart about humanity, about the Winchesters, about Dean.” Each word is punctuated with a subtle pleasure as Esme details Castiel’s imminent sanction. “Naomi is going to remind you, Castiel, that Dean Winchester is but a man. It is Heaven you serve.”
“She’s going to put the fear of God in me?” Castiel mocks darkly through gritted teeth, knowing he has no power now over his fate. He’s going to die, or something equivalent to it. And all for Dean Winchester - no. Not for him. Because of him, maybe. But every action he took, every doubt, every risk, all of it was for a greater cause than just one man.
“No. She’s going to make you fear Heaven, Castiel. As you should.” Esme is quiet, her face drawn slightly down, looking up at Castiel. She looks raw, her eyes are shadowed and her lips pressed tight. If Castiel were better at reading social cues, he might even mistake her expression for one of sadness or regret.
Two angels appear by the side of Esme, they step forward and drag Castiel up by the arms. He doesn’t fight, he wouldn’t get very far from here. One more appears by the side of the desk.
“Thank you, Esme,” the angel says, her voice carrying a similar smooth, polite tone to Esme. She faces Esme and smiles, brows furrowed and sad. “Thank you for taking care of Castiel until now, but that will be all.”
Esme’s face drops into one of pure terror. “Naomi, I-” With one swift motion Naomi plunges a pointed silver blade into Esme’s chest and with a flash of white light she crumples to the floor.
Unfazed, Naomi turns to face Castiel and smiles broadly, blank in the eyes. “Hello, Castiel. It’s good to see you again. I only wish we could meet under better circumstances.”
“You killed her,” Castiel says, washed out in horror.
“Yes, I did.” Naomi nods.
“Why?”
Naomi tilts her head and looks on Castiel with pity, much like how a human might look upon a wounded animal before taking a mercy shot. “She was bad at her job,” she states plainly. “There’s no fixing that. You, on the other hand, simply have a problem with motivation. And I can fix that, Castiel,
“I can fix you.”