Chapter Text
Since the day Castiel was 'born', he knew his purpose was to love.
Where others stayed impassive, Castiel spoke up. Where others turned away, Castiel turned to, and prayed to an omnipotent yet neglectful god. Where others doubted, Castiel had faith.
Where others loathed, Castiel loved.
Every inch of him, from the moment he came into being, ached to devote himself to humanity. He watched millenniums go by, silently observing the world and the creatures it contained. Each second he spent learning, frowning at faults and smiling at battles won.
His devotion to humans had always been a barrier between him and other Angel's in his garrison. 'You are a warrior Castiel. Do not forget where your loyalty must lie.' Ishim reminded him. Castiel knew this of course. His thoughts for the humans didn't stem from loyalty, simply from… curiosity. Obligation, even. Angels were made to serve humanity, so why not embrace it? Why not, dare he say, enjoy the task he was born into? Was that such a crime? The others certainly thought so.
His leaders pulled him away from humanity, refused to let him see them longer than was strictly necessary. They tried to stamp the emotion clear out of his head. Castiel thought they never would. As long as he would live, his love for humantiy would never cease, never ebb. It would only get stronger. They knew this. It only made them try harder.
When the Righteous Man was born, Castiel hadn't felt pure devotion in a long time.
'Dean Winchester,' they called him. Dean, with his countless freckles, olive eyes and bow legs. Dean, with the protectiveness of a mother wolf, willing to commit atrocities for the ones he loves. Dean, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet walked as if it was water down his back.
Dean, who was so painstakingly human.
He wondered if all humans were like that, determined and justice driven, but Anna informed him they weren't. Anna shared his fondness for humans, but her reasons lied elsewhere rather than devotion. He wasn't sure what her intentions were, but she had been to earth many more times than him, and had much more knowledge on humans. If she said they weren't, then they weren't.
He wondered what had made Dean so special.
Perhaps it was simply how the Righteous Man was prophecied to be, a pillar of strength in the face of devastation, a light in the neverending darkness. But something in Castiel knew it wasn't. Knew there was something special about Dean that no prophecy could ever predict, that no purpose could ever dictate.
'Naivety,' Michael called it.
'Love,' Castiel corrected.
Michael had always said human souls were precious things, God's proudest creations. Castiel had always believed him, but he had never seen it for himself. The moment he layed eyes on Dean Winchester, he knew that fact was true. Even when tied up in the ruthless clutches of hell, Dean's soul burned brighter than ever. Something primal in Castiel gave him the urge to protect. To mark. To claim.
So he did.
The hand print left on Dean's arm was not an accident, no matter how much he wanted to convince others. Convince himself. He played it off to his superiors as an oversight, him mistakingly using too much of his grace. They simply frowned and disciplined him in the only way they knew how.
Castiel would have been supried that they noticed, but it was the Righteous Man. One of the two singular men who would be responsible for the fate of all life itself, let alone the one that was to help them win the war.
'Dean Winchester has been saved,' the message chorused. Angels had never sung as loud as they had then. The start of the end, a chance for this destructive chapter of the world to be closed and all of humanity to start anew, to start better.
Some small part of him, in the corner of his mind, wondered if it was wrong to put Dean through such agony for their own benefit.
No. It wasn't for them, it was for the world. Humans did not know when they needed to stop, this reset was for the best. Castiel believed it. He needed to believe it.
Besides, disobedience was never an option, no matter how much he loved.
In private, as he watched the newly rescued Dean from above, he weeped. He weeped for the torture Dean had gone through, and he weeped for the many more devastations he would endure in his life.
He prayed that Dean wouldn't suffer. He prayed that the lord would have mercy on a man who was pure, immovable like a tree who'd grown roots in the people he treasured the most. He prayed for kindness and affection and for tenderness and protection for the man who lived for others more than himself. He knew his prayer would fall deaf on ears designed to block out the cries of those truly in need.