Chapter Text
“So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord…or I shall destroy you.”
Castiel gazed at (Y/N), Dean, Bobby, and Sam. The power of a god—the hundreds of souls within him—swirled, alive with strength. He could destroy them with a snap of his fingers. He had shown as much.
Bobby looked back with dread, frozen with apprehension. This was not Castiel, the angel who had helped them so many times. This was a monster ready to kill those who did not fall in line.
Sam swallowed, the pain from his returned memories from Hell giving him a headache. His fear of what Castiel was capable of was stronger, though. And he had stabbed Castiel. There was no telling how the new “God” would respond.
Dean stared at Castiel, his dear, dear friend. He had fallen so far, and now, beyond believing he was saving Dean and (Y/N) and everyone else he claimed to care for, he was the danger to them. He was threatening them.
(Y/N) watched Castiel warily. They mourned the loss of his goodness, his mercy, everything that made Castiel Cas—their friend. Their own magic was at the tips of their fingers, and they fought the urge to shift with the energy longing to break free and lash out at the danger near the young witch.
“Well…” Despite his reservations and justified fear, Bobby spoke first. “Alright, then.” He had survival instincts, and he didn’t need to die because of his pride. He sank to his knees. “This good or you want the whole forehead-to-the-carpet thing.” Castiel didn’t respond, just glancing at the three hunters who hadn’t moved. “Guys?” said Bobby, prompting them. He wouldn’t watch them die because of something as simple as this.
Slowly, Dean and Sam began to bow. (Y/N) did not move. Castiel met their gaze, and they looked back evenly. If he was going to become a monster—this was no better God, not without mercy and humility—then (Y/N) was not going to pretend to respect him.
“Stop,” said Castiel suddenly, and Dean and Sam froze. “What’s the point if you don’t mean it?” He sounded…disappointed. “You fear me.” He searched (Y/N)’s gaze, but he could not find what he was looking for. “Not love, not respect, just fear.”
“Cas—” said Sam.
“Sam, you have nothing to say to me,” said Castiel. “You stabbed me in the back.” He looked at Sam coldly, and Sam swallowed. “Get up,” said Castiel, and Bobby stood.
“Cas, come on, this is not you,” said Dean, voice hoarse with desperation.
“The Castiel you knew is gone,” said Castiel.
“Are you going to kill us?” said (Y/N), hands curling into fists.
Castiel turned towards them, and Dean, Bobby, and Sam watched with horror.
“What a brave little ant you are,” said Castiel. “You know you’re powerless.” He glanced at their hands as their fingers twitched. “Well…not entirely powerless. It does not measure up to mine, however. It would be pointless to fight me. So I have no need to kill you. Not now. Besides…once, you were my favorite pets, before you turned and bit me.”
“Who are you?” said Dean, aghast at what his friend had become.
“I’m God,” said Castiel. “And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up, I will strike you down.” He paused and spoke again. “Not doing so well, are you, Sam?”
“I’m fine.” Sam cleared his throat, but his breaths were ragged. “I’m fine.”
“You said you would fix him,” said Dean instantly. “You promised.”
“If you stood down, which you hardly did,” said Castiel. “Be thankful for my mercy. I could have cast you back in the pit.”
“Cas, come on, this is nuts,” said Dean. “You can turn this around. Please!”
“You are not a better god,” said (Y/N). “You are as corrupted and cruel as every other deity we’ve met.”
Castiel looked at them, and (Y/N)’s hands curled into fists. “I hope, for your sake, this is the last you see of me.” He disappeared.
Sam groaned, and everyone looked at him.
“Sam, you okay?” said Dean worriedly. “Sam?”
Sam turned towards them, and blood dripped from his nose. He cried out and dropped to his knees. His hands landed in broken glass, and he jerked back. Blood dripped from his hand. He stared into space in panic, seeing things that weren’t there. The memories of the Cage burned as horribly as the flames of Hell against his mind.
“Sam!”
The voices of (Y/N) and Dean echoed. Sam collapsed.
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(Y/N) closed their eyes. Beside them, Dean was working on the impala. She was broken from her latest crash, but she was going to survive many more because Dean was going to fix her up. On their part, (Y/N) was taking deep breath and trying to expel all the endless energy inside them. After Castiel went godly, the buzz of magic hadn’t left their veins. Their panic and fight-or-flight instincts hadn’t dulled, so the desire for magic hadn’t faded. (Y/N) was trying to keep it under control, but it was pressure building within them.
“You helping him fix her or takin’ a nap?”
(Y/N) was glad to have Bobby appear to distract them. They opened their eyes. “Keeping him company,” they replied.
Dean stuck his head out the impala’s window. “And that’s a lot of help,” said Dean, getting out.
“Would you let me touch her if I offered?” said (Y/N). “You get mad when I have to drive her.”
Dean grumbled under his breath and sighed. “How’s Sam?” he asked.
“He’s still under,” said Bobby. “But alive.”
(Y/N) nodded. They had no idea how to help Sam, which pained them, but at least he was alive. That was something, at least. “What about our new God?” said (Y/N) sarcastically.
“I got all kinds of feelers out,” said Bobby. “So far, diddly.”
“And what exactly are you looking for?” asked Dean.
“Exactly. What?” sighed Bobby. “Miracles, mass visions, trench coat on a tortilla? I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“Yeah, well, he’ll surface,” said Dean.
“So, say we do suss out where New-and-Improved flew off to,” said Bobby.
“Yeah?” said Dean.
“The hell we plan to do about it?” asked Bobby.
“I don’t know,” said (Y/N). “Zero clue. But we need to know. Cas is dangerous. And we’re the ones who know him, so he’s our responsibility.”
Bobby sighed. “I don’t even know what books to hit for this.”
“Well, figure it out!” said Dean. Bobby looked at him with a frown, and Dean swallowed. “I’m sorry. This ain’t in no book. If you stick your neck out, Cas steps on it. So, you know what I’m gonna do?”
“What?” asked (Y/N).
“I’m gonna fix this car,” said Dean. “Because that’s what I can do. I can work on her until she’s mint. And when Sam wakes up, no matter what shape he’s in, we glue him back together, too. We owe him that.”
“I’m with you,” said Bobby.
(Y/N) hoped Sam could be put back together. They wished they had a way to help. They wanted the itch inside them to go away as it buzzed louder than ever.
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Dean tossed (Y/N) a sandwich, and they caught it. Dean grabbed a beer from Bobby’s fridge and opened it with a pop.
“Hey, Dean, (Y/N).”
They turned in relief and surprise to find Sam. He was exhausted, and his wounded hand was bandaged, but he was alive and standing.
“Wow, you’re, uh, walking and talking,” said Dean, surprised.
“We’re glad,” said (Y/N).
“Yeah.” Sam laughed breathily. “I, uh, put on my own socks—the whole nine.” He sat down at the table.
“Well, that’s…I mean, are you-you sure you’re okay?” asked Dean, protective of his siblings as ever.
“Yeah,” said Sam. “My head hurts a little but basically.”
“Seriously?” said (Y/N). That didn’t seem possible. Castiel had removed the wall since it would hurt Sam. He was either extremely resilient or was missing something—omitting something.
“Look, I’m as surprised as you guys are, but, yeah, I swear,” said Sam. He was telling the truth, too. So far, nothing had felt wrong. He had the occasional vision of himself in Hell, but, although it was painful, he could handle it.
“Good,” said Dean, relieved. “No reason putting a gift horse under a microscope, right?”
“Yeah,” said Sam, nodding. He was as relieved as any of them. His foray into his own subconscious, his battle against other versions and parts of himself, and the torture of his memories returning had been disturbing enough. He wasn’t going to go searching for more problems if he felt fine. “So, what happened with Cas?”
“Why don’t you come help me with the car and we’ll fill you in?” said Dean. “(Y/N)’s no help.”
(Y/N) shrugged. “Oops.”
Sam chuckled and stood to follow Dean and (Y/N) outside. He heard a soft, cruel laugh, and the clinking of chains echoed. Sam frowned and looked around. He saw nothing. He shook his head. He had imagined it. Sam left the room.
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Hours away from Bobby’s Junkyard, the Lady of Serenity Church was having its Sunday mass. The preacher stood at the pulpit, and his congregation listened with rapt attention as he spoke with fervor.
“Plenty speak for them and their so-called lifestyle—media, Hollywood!” The preacher sneered. “Lady Gaga won’t shut up for love or money.”
The congregation laughed, nodding along with his words and revulsion towards the media and its acceptance of a sinful lifestyle.
“Yeah, funny,” said the preacher. “But that’s why we raise our voices and picked their so-called weddings and funerals!” His voice rose with each word, anger and disdain poisoning his tone. “Someone has to speak for God.”
“And who says you speak for God?” A new voice entered the silence of the church, disturbing the preacher’s endless stream of vitriol.
The congregation turned to face the stranger and found a man in a trench coat staring coldly at their preacher. Confusion rippled through them, and the preacher frowned at the interloper’s words.
“You’re wrong,” said Castiel. “I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation or gender identity. In fact, I have—had—a child who was neither heterosexual nor a man or woman. It has no bearing on who someone is.”
The congregation was aghast, and the preacher scoffed at the acceptance of such abominations. Castiel could see his disdain and the endless hatred of the room. His gaze turned somber and angry, the calm wrath only a god such as himself was capable of.
“On the other hand,” continued Castiel. “I cannot abide hypocrites like you, reverend.”
“Okay, fun’s over, friend,” sneered the preacher.
“Tell your flock where your genitals have been before you speak for me,” said Castiel, walking towards the pulpit.
The preacher paled as Castiel’s gaze burned into his very soul. Murmurs and questioning gazes went through the crowd, and the congregation looked at their preacher in confusion.
“And who the heck are you?” said the preacher, lifting his chin in feigned disdain. Fear was flowing through every vein.
Castiel paused in the middle of the church. “I’m God.”
Gasps went up in the ground, and people murmured to one another—half in amazement, half questioning the truth of his statement. One man stood angrily, about to accuse Castiel of dishonesty. Castiel tilted his head ever-so-slightly, and the man felt the weight of the world press in around him. He paled and shakily sat again. Castiel stood, unafraid of their doubts. He had more power than any of them could dream of. They could not harm him. Besides, he would prove himself soon enough. The bench beneath the doubting man broke, and he gasped. Fear gathered in the church. Castiel did not spare the man even a glance.
“And he who lies in my name shall choke on his own false tongue, and his poisonous words shall betray him,” said Castiel, darkness and power gathering in his voice.
The preacher coughed raggedly, and he spluttered. He gasped for air, but he was unable to breathe, his tongue lolling in his mouth. He coughed around it, face turning purple as he choked on his own tongue and the poisonous vitriol he’d spewed. The preacher’s knees hit the ground as his congregation screamed and cried out in horror. The preacher fell forward limply. He was dead.
Castiel looked down with satisfaction, and then he turned away. He faced the congregation as they panicked and stared in fear at the being before them.
“For I am the Lord…your God,” he said. He walked towards the entrance of the church.
Ghostly murmurs whispered in his ear, and Castiel paused with a frown. A sudden energy, not his own but otherworldly nonetheless, jerked through him. Castiel stumbled and caught himself on a church pew. The murmurs disappeared. Castiel looked up at the stained-glass windows. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up. He kept walking.
He left behind a dead man, a burnt church pew, and a glass depiction of himself.
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“Sudden deaths of some two hundred religious leaders are currently under investigation,” announced the reporter on TV. “The Vatican has yet to issue a statement, but some are already calling this an act of God.”
The scene switched from people being treated for possible injuries or exposure to gases and crying in panic to a woman. Behind her, a sign read “Lady of Serenity Church.”
“We all saw him—” she said. “No beard, no robe. He was young…and-and sexy. He had a raincoat.”
Dean turned the TV off. They had heard enough. Castiel was killing.
From that day on, daily reports of acts of reportedly God’s wrath came in from around the country. It all blurred together into a mass of kills.
“…believed to be targeted hits high up in the white-supremacy organizations, the FBI now believes the Ku Klux Klan has been forced to disband…”
Some of Castiel’s acts felt appropriate, like justice was finally coming for the bigots of the world that spread hate and violence.
“…Freak lightning strikes on the heels of the fire that burned down the Center for Vibrational Enlightenment earlier today, said a spokesman, ‘This tragedy represents the largest loss in new-age motivational speaker history.’ ”
Other acts from Castiel felt childish, like someone lashing out at anyone who did not fit his beliefs on what should be respected.
“Motivational speakers?” said Sam incredulously. The KKK and homophobic and transphobic predators he could understand, but motivational speakers felt relatively harmless.
“Guess he ran out of big-time bigots,” said (Y/N).
“I’m not sure new Cas gets irony any better than the old Cas,” said Dean. He closed the bonnet of the impala. “Of course, old Cas wouldn’t smite Madison Square Garden just to prove a point. He is off the deep end of the deep end. And there’s no slowing down.”
“So, what? Try to talk to him again?” said Sam.
“Right, because him telling us we’d be luck to never see him again makes talking to him possible,” said (Y/N).
“(Y/N), all we can do is talk to the guy,” said Sam.
“He’s not a guy. He’s God, and he’s pissed,” said Dean. “And when God gets righteous, you get the hell out of the way. Haven’t you read the Bible?”
“I guess,” said Sam.
“Cas is never coming back,” said Dean bitterly. “He has lied to us, he used us, he cracked your gourd like it was nothing. No more talk. We have spent enough on him.”
“Okay,” said Sam, backing off.
“Hand me that socket wrench,” huffed Dean.
(Y/N) sighed and leaned back. They stared at their necklace and fiddled with it. They knew their worries were correct; Castiel could and would kill them if they tried anything. However, (Y/N), Dean, and Sam couldn’t stand back forever. Someone had to stand up to this wrathful god.