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It is an early spring night when they discover to close the gates of Hell you must also close the gates of Heaven at the same time. Kevin has read both tablets countless times and both angel and demon tablets state the same thing, God has chosen Sam to close the gates of Hell and Dean to close the gates of heaven. They should be buoyant closing the gates of hell means all demons sent back to Hell, however it also means all angels would be sent back to heaven forever.
Castiel would be lost forever.
The angel’s expression betrays nothing as Kevin shares his knowledge, still betraying nothing as he hears Sam’s exclamation and watches Dean tear into a table, flipping it over, smashing glass and letting out his anger and anguish. He watches silently as Dean looks to the angel, his face full of desperation “There must be another way, there’s got to be a different way” he says his voice breaking, “Without Risking Cas, without him being lost.”
It is unlikely.
“I need time to think,” Castiel breathes softly, there is so much noise in the Men of Letter’s layer, it is suffocating the angel, he needs to think, and there must be some way to avoid being lost to Dean. But he cannot find that way in this noise, in this environment, he needs somewhere he can think, where he can find revelation, “I need some time, how much do we have?” he asks softly.
“Cas, dude, you aren’t going to do anything stupid?” Dean says fearfully
“I need time to think,” Cas repeats firmly, trying to avoid the hunter’s eyes.
“Cas-“ Dean exclaims
“Dawn,” Sam interrupts, “You can have until dawn.”
Within seconds Castiel has flown from the bunker and is in a small church on a little island off the English Northumberland Coast, Holy Island. Lindisfarne, the island famous because the Vikings pillaged this part of England first, but it is still holy, the monks and faithful that flocked here over centuries can be felt in the earth. He once watched Bede write the gospels here. He watched the monastery be torn down by Reformation all scars are felt in the air of the tiny church that is over a thousand years old.
It is almost dawn and the church is in darkness, except for the candles that had been lit by the previous day’s faithful.
Castiel and God have not been on speaking terms for some time. Ever since his father had abandoned the world to the apocalypse, he had felt abandoned by the one who he should love and obey most.
Then Dean Winchester happened.
And like a row of dominoes falling over, the stopping of the apocalypse, the civil war in heaven and the lead up to swallowing the souls of Purgatory and becoming a pseudo god, everything had led him up to this point. He walks to the altar and stared at the cross in front of him.
“Did you know it would end up this way?” Castiel whispers softly, “Did you know that it would end with me doing this?”
Castiel kneels on the tiled floor, looks up to the stained glass windows that glitter with the sky behind them, purples, reds and oranges “Father I am here. What shall I do?”
It takes a lot for him to say that, as a disobedient child, a rebel, but a son nonetheless. There is only one way he can stay on earth, but it means sacrificing all that he is. Turning away from heaven, turning away from all he has known.
Some would say that he is already half way there, a fallen angel.
But even though he is fallen, he is still an angel. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, feeling the history of the building around him, his grace thrumming at the memories, the thoughts of his favourite heaven of an autistic man who had died in his bath. Of everything he had seen over millennia, everything he had done as an angel.
Those orders that sent him to Hell to raise the righteous man.
That had changed everything.
He didn’t fall in love with him straight away; he thinks a small smile tugging on his lips. He was curious of him. This righteous man who swore, who drank, who slept with women, who stole who broke every commandment going. And yet was honourable, loyal, loving, he was a walking contradiction. Castiel was lost when he first put a hand upon Dean, but because he could not have prevented himself not following such a man, he had no such hope of prevailing against Dean.
He would have always followed him, like a moth to a flame and damn the consequences if he was burned.
It was after he rebelled, became a fallen angel, that Castiel truly began his descent. He had started to fall in love with Dean Winchester. Enough to help him stop the apocalypse, willing to die for him.
Which he had.
Become God for him.
Which he had and he had unleashed the Leviathans because of it. Not all of Castiel’s devotion to Dean Winchester was good.
He feels his grace thrum in the empty church, feeling the history of a million prayers that had been said in the hallowed ground. He lets himself pulsate in the church, feeling lulled into peace. Would he be able to give up this?
The grace, the infinite being that he was.
He looks to the altar, “You never are going to ask my questions are you?” he whispers softly, “You are never going to give me a sign?”
He sighs “Or is everything I have done part of your benediction, part of your plan? Have you always wanted me to have free will?”
There is still nothing.
He stands, turns away angrily, “Am I so damned? Are you always going to be so damned absent? I need guidance father!”
He collapses to his knees again, “I love him,” he gasps, “I cannot give him up, but to leave the grace of your love, forever. How? I love you too still. After everything. How can I choose?”
And it is the truth. Castiel still loves his absent father, the father who had set him on this path, so long ago. The path that has been filled with so much pain.
Pain comes with love he has discovered and it is that revelation that stuns him. He closes his eyes and can almost imagine he can hear the monks chanting from hundreds of years before. It is because he can, he can because they live in his grace. It is too much.
He flees the church and flies to the shore of the island, the causeway that links the island to the mainland and kneel s in the cold sand and gasps at the sight around him. The tide is going out slowly and the sun is starting to rise, the sky in the west is still dark purple but to the east there are colours ranging from red to orange to yellow and where it meets the light blue, purple, where it meets the darker blue, a violet.
He wishes Dean could see this sight.
Perhaps one day he will.
Castiel has his sign. It is one of his own making.
“Goodbye Father,” he says softly into the howling wind coming off the North Sea.
He returns to the lair of the Men of Letters at a different Dawn, he finds Dean by a fire drinking whiskey, the flames framing his face with a reddish glow that makes Castiel take a breath, “You are back then?” Dean says darkly, “Come to tell me it’s hopeless…what took you that long to find that out?”
Castiel smiles softly and makes his way to Dean and kneels before him, it makes Dean start and sit up as the hunter is unnerved by the angels smile, “Cas,” he says hoarsely, “I don’t want you to go so don’t be coming in here smiling and expect me to say it’s fine.”
Castiel chuckles, “I needed time to think.”
“What on how to say goodbye?” Dean scoffs, immediately tensing and looking away.
“Yes,” Castiel admits, he pulls something out of his trenchcoat pocket, “I did need to say a Goodbye,” he whispers placing something in Dean’s hand, “But not to you.”
Dean feels Castiel place something in his hands and looks down; he frowns puzzled but then sees the light. The light in the vial, “Cas,” he whispers, “Is this...”
“We need to find somewhere safe for that and yes it is what you think it is.” Castiel smiles softly, brushing his hand down Dean’s cheek, which is framed into a shocked expression, “I couldn’t leave you.”
“You ripped out your grace,” Dean whispered a tear falling down his cheek, “For me?”
Castiel looks deeply into those green eyes and knows he has made the right decision, the righteous man will never keep from surprising him, “If you will have me,” he gestures to himself, “I know I will not be use-“
He means to say useful, but he doesn’t get to finish as hefeels, feels, warm lips cover his and kiss him gently “Yes,” Dean breathes on his lips, “Of course yes.”
Tears fall down Castiel’s cheeks and he feels Dean hands cup his face as he kisses his lips, his eyes, his cheeks, lapping up his first tears, while constantly breathing “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Castiel has received revelation.
They close the gates of heaven and hell, there are still the occasion hunts for monsters, but the glare of demons has gone from the Winchester’s mind. Just because one evil is gone doesn’t mean they all are, is the Winchester way.
But without the threat of angels and demons, it does mean they can take one vacation. Sam is hysterical over the history “Vikings Dean, The Lindsifarne Gospels Dean!” Dean isn’t that fussed but funnily enough he likes the peace and quiet and he does feel at peace here.
Castiel wakes Dean up in the middle of the night and they make love, slowly and languidly. Castiel worshipping every part of Dean’s body, some would call that blasphemy but Castiel knows it’s the purest love he can imagine giving to another. And he loves Dean most.
Despite the fact they are utterly spent Castiel drags Dean out of bed when it is still dark, they wrap up warmly as the wind is howling and they make their way down to the shoreline, the sky is starting to lighten as they make their way down. They find a bit of Earth that won’t get washed away anytime soon and bury the vial of grace there, hoping it takes root as something beautiful like Anna’s tree.
Then Castiel leads Dean to the causeway as the sky radiates in different colours yet again and takes pleasure in seeing the reds, yellows and oranges light up Dean’s face. Dean turns to him then the dawn reflecting in his eyes, feeling the hunter slip his arms around him, placing his chin on Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel knows.
Knows this was always his path.
Castiel has his benediction.