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Like everything in life, people choose what to believe. Some people believe in angels, some don’t. It is said that angels, when dying, turn into small birds and fall to Earth. They spend their last moments of existence among their Father’s creations; then they just cease to exist.
Dean found the little black bird on the porch of Bobby’s house. After his father died in a car crash when he was seven, Bobby had taken care of him and his little brother. They moved in with him and lived there ever since. Their mother died in a fire when he was only four, his brother Sammy barely six months old.
Now Dean was twenty-four.
The bird had beautiful black wings; it was barely the size of his hand. Dean stopped by the door so he wouldn’t scare the little bird, then he approached it slowly. The bird didn’t move. Dean got closer to it and saw that the wings had a dark blue shine. Really small feathers were white around its black eyes, and its beak was dark yellow. He had never seen anything like it.
The bird moved its head towards Dean, opening its beak slightly, like panting. It almost felt like the bird was watching Dean, looking at his soul. Dean went back inside the house and brought a glass of water; then he sat next to bird.
“Hey, there,” Dean said, placing the glass on the floor next to him. “Did you fall from your nest?”
He knew the bird wouldn’t answer, but it was too silent, too quiet. Dean dipped two fingers in the water and put them in front of the bird’s beak. The bird opened its beak and drank the droplets that fell from the human’s fingers. A few fell on its front feathers and its head, so it shook them off. Dean smiled and repeated the action; dip his fingers in the water, bring them to the bird’s beak.
After a while, the bird tried to move, but one of its legs was hurt. It desperately tried to fly, but to no avail. The bird ended on its back, moving its wings and legs as if to get back up. Dean noticed the feathers were of a lighter tone on its breast and the underside of its wings. He carefully took the bird in his hands and put it back on its toes on the wooden floor. The bird chirped, and Dean couldn’t help but feel warm inside thinking his feathered buddy was thanking him.
“You’re welcome,” he smiled. “Now, you have to fly, or else you’re gonna die down here.”
Some part of Dean hoped the bird could understand him. He didn’t know it actually could.
This beautiful bird had once been an angel of the Lord. A powerful being; full of white light and grace. He was strong and fierce, though merciful when he was to be so. He was obedient.
All of this the angel was... until he saved a human from perdition.
The human taught him how to love. He showed the angel everything he could be if he helped others and saved lives. He taught him how to feel. And the angel spent his life protecting this human, helping him, loving him. He would put his human’s life before his own. And he did.
After everything this human had endured and suffered, the angel wanted to make it better for him. He fixed things as best as he could. He changed the course of history and the plans God had for the human; he altered his timeline. The angel knew he would be hunted; he would probably die, for he had rebelled for this man.
The human was considered irrelevant by the others; but not by this peculiar angel. For him, that human was the most important being of all creation.
So, the angel did everything in his power to bring him back, along with his beloved little brother, and give them a normal life. No angels, no monsters, no demons. Even if that meant he would never be with his human ever again.
If anything ever tried to get to them, the angel would stop it. He even marked their ribs with Enochian symbols so other angels wouldn’t find them.
Eventually, everything he had done against the rules and his superiors caught up to him. He was caught, tortured and punished. The other angels tried to make him turn everything back to how it was supposed to be, but the loving angel didn’t give in. No punishment would be enough to make him bring pain into his human’s life again. The angels grew tired of his stubbornness and left him to die, thinking they would find a way to restore the original order.
The angel was vanished from Heaven and thrown into Earth. He fell and fell and fell. His wings burned. He turned into a small black bird. He knew where he wanted to land.
The bird looked up at Dean and chirped again. Dean tried to help it to stand on its own, but the bird wouldn’t move.
“Come on, buddy, you can do it. Just unfold your wings.”
Dean was truly surprised when the bird actually obeyed. It spread its wings; but did not attempt to fly. The bird looked up at the sky, and then folded its wings again.
“No, no. You were already there,” Dean said. “Maybe you need a little incentive.”
Dean went into the house and came back with a piece of bread. He crouched and tore a small part of the bread to soak in the water. Then he placed it in front of the bird.
“I bet you’re hungry.”
But the bird still didn’t move.
“Come on,” Dean took the wet bread and held it in front of the bird. It opened its beak and closed it again.
“Listen, I really want to help you, but you have to help too.”
“Dean?”
Dean turned on his toes to see his brother standing by the door. He stood up and greeted his brother.
“Heya, Sammy. Meet my friend,” Dean pointed to the bird. “He was here when I came out. I think he’s hurt.”
“He?” Sam laughed and approached the little bird on the floor. He frowned, “Dean, the bird is breathing really fast. Its heartbeat is accelerated.”
“Maybe he’s scared,” Dean grimaced, he didn’t want the bird to be afraid of him.
Truth be told, the bird was scared, but not of them. It was scared because it was dying. And if its small heart was beating faster than usual it was because the angel inside the bird got to see the brothers again; he got to see him again.
“It’s going to die, Dean,” Sam said, sighing.
“Shut up, Sam. He’s gonna make it. He just has to fly.”
“He can’t fly. I don’t think he can make it. It’s just logic; if he can’t fly, he won’t be able to survive.”
“Fuck logic! It’s his life; it doesn’t matter if he’s a bird. I’m gonna save him.”
Sam sighed and headed for his bicycle. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
Dean nodded and sat down next to the bird again. “Bye, Sammy.”
Sam left and Dean was alone with his friend. Then he had a brilliant idea. He laid on the floor, he crossed his arms and used them as a pillow for his chin. Now he could look at the bird eye to eye. The bird cocked its head to the left in a curious manner; Dean didn’t know why the motion felt familiar.
“You can’t die on me, buddy. We’re gonna get you to fly.”
I promise.
The bird moved a bit closer to Dean and moved its wings. Dean made a happy noise and slowly moved one of his arms to get free from under his head. He carefully approached the bird and watched –mesmerized- as it didn’t flinch or backed down. With a single finger he caressed the bird’s head and wings. He did it several times, feeling peaceful. It even looked like the bird was enjoying it. It closed its eyes and started sliding softly to the floor.
“Hey, no, no, don’t close your eyes.”
Dean tried to give it a few drops of water, but the bird didn’t want them.
“Okay, I got an idea.”
He got on his knees and very slowly took the bird in his hands. He stood and placed it on the fence surrounding the porch.
“Now, you’re gonna fly,” Dean said. “I’ll teach you how to fly.”
The bird opened its wings and tried to walk, but its leg failed and it fell back to the floor, moving its wings as it fell.
“Shit! You okay?”
When Dean tried to touch the bird again it didn’t let him. The bird pressed its wings close to his body and lowered its head. It started panting again, opening and closing its beak. It was in pain. All the harm Dean could not see was killing the host inside the bird.
“No, no, no. Come on, you can do it. You’ll live,” Dean caressed its wings again, slowly so he wouldn’t hurt them.
The bird chirped weakly and slowly slid to the floor, opening its wings and resting its head on the floor board. Dean tried to get his friend up again, to make him open his eyes. The bird just moved its wings and swatted Dean’s hands away. Dean had to watch as the bird made itself comfortable on the floor, laying on its side, curling its toes and pressing its legs to its body. The wing that wasn’t pressed to the floor extended and covered Dean’s fingers on the floor next to the bird.
Dean knew the moment the bird died. Its breathing faltered, its body stopped moving. Its eyes closed. Everything just stopped.
He hadn’t saved his friend.
He took its body carefully and walked to the grass next to the porch stairs. He dug a small hole in the ground with his hands and buried the bird there. He wanted to give him a name, it just felt right to do so. He found a piece of wood and pulled out his knife. He carved a name in it and put it on top of the little tomb.
Hours later, when the sun was setting, Sam came back to the house. He left his bicycle and walked to the porch. Right next to the front steps was a small tomb, and Sam’s heart clenched at the sight. A profound emptiness took place in his heart when he realized that Dean had given the bird a name. And he didn’t know why, but it was painfully familiar.
Castiel.