Chapter Text
A/N: "Neon Lights" by Pim Stones is so Sastiel coded.
Hebrews 11:1
Now faith is the assurance that what we hope for will come about and the certainty that what we cannot see exists.
Heaven was filled with noise, not the kind of noise one would associate with earth but a mix of angelic voices speaking and singing.
The difference has been startling the first time he had come to earth eons ago, it was a time he can hardly grasp properly with the erosion of time. Since then he had been sporadic his time on earth, only coming there to enact God's Will. During his time in heaven, Castiel had watched over humanity from the time the first fish came onto land until now, and he'd held a detached sort of curiosity for them in a way many of his brethren found exasperating. They had lived and loved and hoped throughout the ages, most oblivious to God and His heavenly host until the Prophets were chosen to speak His word. The pyramids, the plagues and flood and the wars that wagged. Castiel had come forward to enact His will, appearing before and guiding Prophets and listening to prayers uttered by those who died in battle for the Lord, begging and pleading to be worthy to enter Heaven.
Never had his name be whispered on human lips in person, or perhaps time had simply eroded that memory from him. So when he heard it, his name uttered so scornful and angry as it was thrown toward him as he stood before the man God ordered him to save. He had summoned him, at least they thought so, God had decided it was time for him to meet the human in his charge, the one who he had gripped tight and raised from perdition.
"Who are you?" He had asked, a hint of fear crackling the air around him, his knuckles white with the force he held his weapon.
"Castiel." He had repeated, head tilt to asses his charge.
Those bright eyes stared back, unbowed, teeth grit in barely held anger. "I know that, I mean what are you?"
It was here that he allowed his grace bounced upon the walls, lighting and thunder crackling in answering roar of restricted power. His wings, a fraction of his true self is cast upon the barn walls. "I am an angel of the Lord." He announced, prepared to have the humans kneeling for such proclamation but none came. It seemed that such things as faith had been equally eroded with time, the hunters had no healthy reverence to see a being from the heavens, as surprising as the revelation was to them.
A simple upside since he had raised Dean from perdition was that Castiel had finally seen the Winchester brothers up close, no longer spying every moment of their lives with passive indifference and given a chance to see earth up close again. He had watched them pray and had taken unexplainable interest in watching Sam pray every night. Dean was his charge, the one God's plan had entrusted him to act, and yet he finds himself watching Dean's brother more than Dean. He can hear Sam's words as clear if he were standing before him. And he was, in a way, he did not need to be near to hear the prayers of those in his charge, not that the likes of Dean Winchester ever bothered to pray, title of God's most righteous man notwithstanding.
It was not uncommon since he had raised Dean from hell that he heard prayers uttered on a whisper, quiet and unconsciously directed toward him. In the familiar halls of Heaven Castiel would find himself distracted by prayers that ghost over him like a soft breeze. It was not his charge who had such faith, such unwavering devotion despite what his short life had thrown him, no, it was not Dean but his younger brother. The words of prayer spoken soft and reverent echo what he can sense from the man, such kindness that radiates outward. It only sparks a sense of confusion to spy it, to hear it and know that this was the man the other angel told him was an abomination, something dark and twisted.
"Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you." Sam Winchester prayed.
Something that humans would call amusement rattles in his vessel's chest, the emotion settling in his grace with a flare of warmth for Sam was quoting the gospel of Matthew, an earnest spiel of familiar words mixed into the more personal nature of his prayer. They are researching for a hunt, a witch, and Castiel allows himself a moment to observe them, his wings unfolding to carry him to the other side of this motel in the middle of nowhere. Through the window he spies them better to spy each brother sat upon motel bed's. Dean was was ignoring Sam and the clutter of research around him, muttering under his breath about wasting time praying as he cleaned his dismantled gun, the parts splayed out carefully upon the quilting.
It was strange, to know that he had been the one to liberate Dean from Hell, the burn of it is etched into his skin, into the very atoms of his being. Yet there was nothing in him that believed in God or angels or anything of the like. The man God had destined as Michael's vessel, as the sword was anything but holy. Then there was Sam, the man marred with blood of the yellow eyed demon, the rumoured vessel of Lucifer. How strange, that a man so devoted would be destined for such a twisted fate.
This man offered nothing by kindness, handling the brunt of emotional innocents when hunting demons and other otherworldly beings, a softness to his hulking demeanour when dealing with children and the vulnerable. There was a sense of empathy within him, even for the beings they hunt where Dean seemed content to deal with the beings not with words but action, to put a bullet into the creatures with no further thought but to rid the earth of them. There was something utterly humane about him, a strive for good and upholding the family motto Dean seemed to like to throw around, that is was their job to hunt things and save people, like the notion wasn't utterly selfless to aid mere strangers.
Castiel had seen many things in the eons, plenty of it filled with bloodshed and the worst of humanity but Sam's actions were a balm to such indifference, humanity in its rawest form of a caring heart. How his brothers thought this man was only a mere abomination has confusion settle in him as it was a boy with demon blood who knew how best to live his Father's will, not the man the angels revered so highly.
Perhaps that was why he had come to watch them, these humans his Father had cared about enough to order them to save them time and time again. For a moment Castiel allows himself to just observe them until the sound of wings signal the arrival of one of his brothers.
As he turns, Uriel's gaze is hard, disgusted to be ordered to follow the whims of mere humans. "Why do you watch him?"
Castiel's brow furrows. "Dean is my change, our Father bid myself too. You know this, Uriel."
Uriel stares. "No. Not him, the abomination." He spits, face twisted like the mere word was foul.
Castiel glanced away from his own brother, attention turning to the Winchesters holed up in a motel in the middle of nowhere. "Is it not wise to have knowledge of both, entwined as the brothers are?" He ponders.
It rankles him, he has always found what humans would call peace in watching Sam pray and Uriel has cast seeds of doubt within him, making him second guess his own decisions. No, this was just, this was aligned with His righteous plan. It would be a moment he'd look back on, pondering that perhaps it wasnt just him becoming human that changed his view on humanity, on Sam, but perhaps it had always lingered. Maybe he was created as this flawed thing, that he wasnt corrupted by the Winchesters as his brethren would come to say but perhaps it was always the will of God for him to have himself so throughly changed by them.
As he watches, Uriel shifts, antsy to finally reveal himself to the men before them. "The witch has figured out those boys are onto her, every moment we wait is a second we waste. Let us move now." He says, shifting focus. Oblivious to Castiel's distracted thoughts, Uriel lets out a sigh, a human gesture he seems oblivious to having picked up on. Having been around humans for so long and integrating amongst them would have such habits stick, the thought is foreign to Castiel as he considers the complexity of humanity and its ways. "Besides, the quicker we do this the quicker we can get this over with." Uriel muttered, his patience grown thin. "Is is only God's Will that has me remain here without having them heal to flames."
"Patience, brother." Castiel urges. "Let them have the night, we will speak to them in the morning."
Uriel smiles, a flash of teeth. "I think you just enjoy observing them, I don't know why. Or maybe I do, that is your problem Castiel, you have too much heart."
Castiel has no comment for that, he had swiftly learnt that it was best not to fan the flames when it came to Uriel after all these years fighting side by side. Was it not the way of angels to care? to be above pettiness and anger. It seemed like a struggle of late, battling with such emotions infecting his brethren who lingered amongst humanity for too long. Their very touch seemed to corrupt, eroding the way things had been for centuries until they were ordered to walk amongst the prophets.
"Tomorrow then, we will meet them at this location." Uriel relents. "Perhaps you best continue to observe, Castiel, you seem to enjoy it." With those parting words he leaves in a flutter of wings, leaving Castiel alone in the darkness of night.
Through the motel blinds he can spy the human that remains awake despite the late hour, Sam Winchester has books on Samhain open, his laptop open to the string of the witches crimes. It is only the light from his screen that lights the pages before him, the lamp upon the bedside table too dull to give any real light. Castiel allows himself another moment to watch silently before he too joins his brother back in Heaven.
When they returned to the motel the next day Castiel came to a conclusion soon enough, their room had been tampered with when the brothers left, that much was true for there was an energy in the room that was different to the day before. They were meant to simply meet the brothers after they came back from their investigation but it seems this would not be so simple. As he walks the perimeter of the room he suddenly crouches, sensing something in the wall the bed's rested against. Anything else would have skipped over this but Castiel had a multitude of knowledge in his mind that had instinct calling him to observe closer. His hand reaches out through plaster and wood to find a mix of rough fabric, a sort of hessian that was typical of witchcraft through the ages. Castiel toys with the hex bag they had found wedged between the wall in thought, this would have been a death sentence for one if not both of the men had they not found it.
"Well, well." Uriel mocks, eyeing the discovery Castiel had uncovered. "It looks like the witch is one step ahead of them."
"Faith, brother." Castiel utters instead, placing the hex bag upon the closest bedside table in muted disgust.
Uriel lets out a wordless noise of dismissal, a disgusted tick before as his attention flicks toward the motel door. "Oh, look, here come the oafs."
A moment later the heavy footsteps announce the brother's arrival and it is Sam who enters first with Dean only a step or two behind him. His reaction to them is immediate, his gaze landing on Castiel sitting upon his bed and instinctively draws his gun, a battle hardened move so smooth he didnt need to think on it as he moves forward in an offensive stance. There's fire in his eyes, distrust as he surveys the room. "Who are you?" Sam demands, suspicion and anger marring his expression.
"No Sam, Wait! That's Castiel," Dean urges in a rush, hand splayed outward like he could protect him from the Angel or viscera and at Sam's hesitance he places a hand upon Sam's drawn gun, pushing it down so that the muzzle points toward the stained motel floor. "The angel." He continues, useless trivia if the dawning look on Sam's face is anything to go by. Then his green eyes flick toward the other figure in the room where Uriel stood facing the window, his back to them. "Him, I don’t know." He confesses.
Sam continues to stare at Castiel in shock, his jaw slack as he looked upon his face, his once steady hand holding a gun trembles faintly, with nerves or fear Castiel does not know.
It struck him as he finally meet the younger Winchester that he can hear the sound of Sam's soul, a bright and hopeful and pure thing. It has every tainted whisper quieten, wondering with celestial eyes how the golden shine could have anyone look upon Sam and think he was anything other than pure hearted.
Rendered momentarily silent, something in the man's demeanour prompts Castiel to speak, "Hello, Sam." He greets at last.
The sound of his name seems to wake Sam from his daze, a smile brightening his expression. "Oh my God." Sam gasps, freezing on a heaving exhale that stutters out of him as he realises his faux pas. "Oh, uh- Look, I didn’t mean to- Just, sorry. It’s an honour, really."
He shifts, moving to holster his gun and once done he shifts forward and holds out his hand to shake Castiel's. Castiel's amusement flares, a twitch of a smile uncontrollable as he senses Sam's awe. The sight distantly reminds him of Jimmy Novak's awe, the speechlessness that stumped him to spy the true nature of angels. Distantly he's aware as Dean goes and closes the door to their room, it matters little as Castiel looks down at the hand that shakes once more, not in nerves but in a manner of insistence, to prompt Castiel into action. It is those hopeful eyes that sway him for they remind him of his Father's gospel, prompting and waiting with his hand outstretched toward him in what Castiel notes is a handshake, a utterly human gesture of goodwill that Castiel had spied for hundreds of years.
"Castiel," Sam says, the name uttered with such reverence that Castiel's grace sings in echoing joy. "I've heard so much about you."
Castiel stands, coming to face him in a bid to observe closer but finding himself hesitating as Sam's hand lay waiting for him to take. "And I, you, Sam Winchester," he says, stepping forward to take Sam's outstretched hand and cover it with his own in an act he had seen prophets and the Messiah do to work miracles and comfort the disturbed, a show that he was not unwilling or afraid to touch him. "The boy with the demon blood."
A rush of whispers accompany his words, the even present heavenly host of angelic whispers a wave of sound in his vessel's ears. Sam's palm is warm in his, worn with callouses from wielding weaponry over the years, he can sense more than that, all the atoms and cells that make up the human thrumming in his careful hold. There had always been whispers in Heaven about the Winchester brothers, some would speak on how they held such great importance to the world, to the continuing fate of it. There was constant chatter on who was good, that Dean was destined for greatness where Sam was destined for ruin. Such constant battle, like destiny could not be overcome, that one cannot become better under circumstance or much worse. Such sentiments linger in his mind now, such doubt that even as he wished so deeply that the roles were not set in stone.
Castiel takes an unnecessary breath, something his vessel seems intent to do. "I am glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities." Castiel states, mind torn toward Uriel ranting earlier that day and the distant whispers from other angels in his ear of 'angel radio' as Dean so eloquently put it.
It feels like a misstep to have pain flash in the man's eyes before him, the hand caught his own twitching in an uncontrollable spasm and he cannot do more than tighten his hold as if to sooth it. A frown furrows his brow at Sam's surprise. It was not his intention to have the boy withdraw from him, to have his words strike pain. He had seen it with his own eyes that Sam is a good person despite what his fellow angels whisper about, his soul and actions showed that enough. He deserves God's love as much as the rest of humanity, regardless of the demon blood running through his veins. Still, there's guilt in Sam's eyes that shine as bright as his soul as he withdraws his hand through Castiel's slacked grip.
At the window Uriel speaks, "Let’s keep it that way." He utters, no doubt aware of the task before them.
Dean's eyes cut toward Uriel's figure, ignorant to the scene before him. "Yeah, okay, chuckles." He snarks toward the angel, before his attention shifting toward Castiel. "Who’s your friend?"
Castiel ignores the question. "This the raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?" He questions instead.
"Why?" Dean demands, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Dean, have you located the witch?" He prompts.
Dean's teeth grit, exasperation having his words tight. "Yes, we’ve located the witch."
Castiel stares. "And is the witch dead?"
The enquiry seems to awaken Sam from his contemplations, shaking his head as if to wake himself up. Sam blanches, gaze darting between them. "No, but-" He begins to reply but Dean barrels over him.
"We know who it is."
Castiel's attention moves toward the table by the bed, the one the brothers had slept by that night to the hex bag he had left there. "Apparently the witch knows who you are too." He says, holding up the hex back to display it toward them. "This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"
The brothers turn to look at another another, a silent conversation passing between them that Castiel has no hope to decipher. "We’re working on it." Dean admits at last.
It was not the words he would have liked to have heard for Castiel had hoped that their research and their investigations would have pushed them further than this, particularly with the witch become wise to their hunt. He had spied Sam researching late into the night, the shadow of darkness under his eyes an indication that he had continued long into the night. "That’s unfortunate." Castiel says simply.
Dean's eyes narrow into a glare, at his tone or otherwise Castiel does not know. "What do you care?"
"The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals." Castiel tells him.
A scoff escapes the oldest brother. "So this is about your buddy Lucifer." He mocks, walking a lap around the motel room with a watchful eye as if he could sniff out some other trap laid by the witch earlier in the day. But there was no need for that, neither Castiel nor Uriel could detect any further hex or curse upon the room.
From the window Uriel speaks. "Lucifer is no friend of ours." He corrects.
Dean pauses in his walk, a hint of fear breaking into the exasperation of his tone. "It’s just an expression." He mutters.
Castiel ignores them both. "Lucifer cannot rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs." He stresses.
Dean throws his hand up in the air, a motion of frustration and anger that seemed ever present within him. "Okay, great, well now that you’re here, why don’t you tell us where the witch is, we’ll gank her and everybody goes home." Dean snarks, turning to look at both angels with emphasis.
This time Castiel fights the human urge to sigh. "We are not omniscient. This witch is very powerful, she’s cloaked from even our methods." He says.
Sam's expression grows thoughtful. "Okay, well we already know who she is, so if we work together-" He says.
But wherever he planned to say is cut off as Uriel's frustration boils over, at the humans or the situation Castiel does not know or care. "Enough of this." Uriel snaps.
Dean own tension shatters in turn. "Okay, just who are you and why should I care?" He demands, squaring his shoulders in that typically arrogant way when some commonplace monster thought themselves above them.
Uriel turns from his gaze toward the window to pin a look at Dean, the power of his stare momentarily speechless. This time Castiel wonders how best to explain to the humans just what he and his brother planned to do. "This is Uriel, he’s what you might call a… specialist." He states. It has Uriel grin at his explanation but there is nothing friendly about it as he walks forward to join the rest of the men gathered.
Dean casts his attention toward him, "What kind of specialist? What are you gonna do?" He demands, his drilling stare caught on Castiel as if he could sense the plan from his expression alone.
Castiel frowns, a barely there thing. "You..." He pauses, glancing toward Sam. "Both of you, need to leave this town immediately."
Dean's outcry is predictable. "Why?"
"Because we’re about to destroy it." He admits.
This time, the worry in the glance Sam and Dean share is not unfathomable to him. "So this is your plan, you’re gonna smite the whole friggin’ town?" Dean demands.
Castiel frowns harder. "We’re out of time. This witch has to die, the seal must be saved." He insists.
Sam grimaces, displeasure palpable in his stance. "There are a thousand people here." He argues.
Uriel simply blinks. "One thousand two hundred fourteen." He corrects.
The words do nothing to ease Sam's displeasure. "And you’re willing to kill them all?"
Uriel grins, a hallow thing that hints at the potential enjoyment in it. "This isn’t the first time I’ve… purified a city."
The brothers are silent at that, another silent conversion occurring between them. Something about Uriel words, or the look on the human's face has his vessel's stomach clench. "Look, I understand this is regrettable." He begins.
A scoff escapes Dean, the sound bitting and harsh. "Regrettable?" He repeats.
Castiel stares, "We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already." He states.
Dean starts up his pacing once more, his hand flexing as if wishing to wrap around a gun instead. "So you screw the pooch on some seals and this town has to pay the price?" Dean says.
The words are nonsensical, illogical things that Castiel has no sense of. "It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There’s a bigger picture here." He says instead.
Dean shook his head at that. "Yeah, Right. Cause you’re bigger picture kind of guys."
"Lucifer cannot rise. He does and hell rises with him. Is that something that you’re willing to risk?" Castiel queries.
Sam ghosts a hand over his brother's shoulder, a tactile thing to sooth or prompt him to stand down. Castiel eyes the human gesture with curiosity, his gaze following the lines of muscle until it meet Sam's shoulder and lifting it up further to catch Sam's assessing gaze already on him. As their gaze caught Sam speaks up into the tension. "We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone. Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die."
Uriel heaves a sigh. "We're wasting time with these mud monkeys." He says, a reminder or a warning Castiel can't tell.
Regardless, it is with regret that Castiel turns away from his charge, dropping his gaze away from Sam's with something shy of guilt. "I’m sorry, but we have our orders." He admits.
Sam lets out a choked sound, something between disbelief and anger. It prompts Castiel's traitorous gaze back to him, only to spy as Sam's gaze jumps between himself and Uriel, a raw desperation in his face that has his vessel's stomach churn in discomfort. "No, you can’t do this, you’re angels, I mean aren’t you supposed to – You’re supposed to show mercy." He stresses, like it was only a mere reminder of such merciful acts that would sway them from harm.
Uriel nearly laughs, callous in the face of Sam's bleeding heart. "Says who?" He ponders, a mocking thing.
The sight of Sam's pain and of Dean's echoing disapproval rocks Castiel in a way he didn't know possible. "We have no choice." Castiel admits bitterly. There was no free will, no choice to be made for being such as he. It was no secret that angels were simply made to do as they were told, simply following orders from God was ingrained in them from the moment they’d been made. It was clear that the difficulty and struggle of escaping this path was documented by scholars and amateur scribes alike, well, the mere small quantity that had even chosen to do so.
"Of course you have a choice. I mean, come on, what? You’ve never questioned a crap order, huh? What are you both, just a couple of hammers?" Dean argues.
The words strike him like a blade, sharp and stinging, too close to the truth he won't dare to admit. "Look, even if you can’t understand it, have faith. The plan is just." Castiel states, wondering absently if he believes his own words.
Sam's eyes are sharp equally, pinning him in place. "How can you even say that?" He demands.
Castiel wavers at the sight of it. "Because it comes from heaven, that makes it just." He says, wondering just how much it was for them or for himself.
Dean is unsurprised by his words, his lack of faith ever prevalent. "Oh, it must be nice, to be so sure of yourselves." Dean scoffs in turn.
Something twists within him, a foreign thing like the aggressive heat of flame, that it has words burst from him when normally he would stay silent. "Tell me something, Dean, when your father gave you an order, didn’t you obey?"
It has Dean pause, in surprise or muted anger Castiel does not know, only that his gaze lingers. "Well sorry boys, looks like the plans have changed." He says after a moment.
Castiel knows he has lost him to their cause long by the arrogance of tone alone, and Uriel is quick to come to the same conclusion. "You think you can stop us?" Uriel demands.
There is a familiar stength as Dean marches toward Uriel, coming to stand threateningly before him. "No, but if you’re gonna smite this whole town, then you’re gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting me out of hell. I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead, see how he digs that."
Uriel bares his teeth in anger at the defiance before him. "I will drag you out of here myself." He promises darkly.
Dean smirks, all arrogance. "Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me, then we’re back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something."
At this Dean turns, shifting to catch Castiel's eye. "We can do this. We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning." He says.
It was with faint surprise, Castiel comes to the realisation that Dean was saying this to convince him, to sway him to his side. "Castiel!" Uriel cries in vexation, "I will not let these people-"
Castiel raises his hand, silencing him with a mere wave. "Enough!" He cries out toward Uriel but his gaze lingers on Dean before him before sliding it toward Sam's hopeful expression. "I suggest you move quickly." He says, words shy of an order to the two men. Uriel bristles, angry at his dismissal and his aid toward the Winchesters. But Sam stares at him with something akin to hope, such thankfulness and even Dean seems to be glad for his support, as minor as the emotion is displayed. "The decision’s been made." Castiel insists.
Uriel laughs, a dry disapproving sound. "By a mud monkey."
"You shouldn’t call them that." He says, shy of scolding.
"Ah, but it’s what they are, savages, just plumbing on two legs."
Dean's shoulders tighten, teeth bared in anger. "Now listen here you son of a-"
Castiel cuts in. "You’re close to blasphemy." He warns, to Uriel or Dean it doesn't really matter.
Uriel sighs, taking a moment to meet his gaze. There’s a reason we were sent to save him. He has potential, he may succeed here. Castiel thought, wondering if Uriel could sense such sentiments. "And any rate, it’s out of our hands." Castiel says aloud.
"It doesn’t have to be." Uriel argues.
Castiel stares. "And what would you suggest?" He prompts. He knows what Uriel wishes to say, his glance toward Dean evident enough, that he wished to drag Dean Winchester out of here and then we blow this town off the map innocents be damned. Castiel's mouth twists down in a motion prompted by his vessel's muscle memory, the only hint of his displeasure in such thoughts. "You know our true orders. Are you prepared to disobey?"
Uriel stares, but then the sound of wing sound as he leaves in a flurry of anger, a telltale sign Uriel had dismissed his explanation.
"Trouble in paradise?" Dean queries mockingly after a tense pause.
He doesn't care to answer, but Sam's stare weighs on him. "Uriel disproves of such methods as this." Castiel answers at last.
"What? Something ethical?" Dean scoffs.
Sam echos such displeasure. "I know angels did such things in the bible, but things were direct back then. Is that really so nessisary now?"
Time meant nothing to the primordial, and Castiel finds no use in voicing such thoughts and remains silent instead. Despite no need, Castiel lingers, watching as the pair gather their guns and supplies until he was left in the motel room waiting as the brothers completed the hunt.
It would be some time that he comes to lear that Dean's trail had failed and Sam had used his powers again despite the warning, despite the cost, he heard all of it through the word of his brothers and sisters. Watching for the headlights of the Impala Castiel finds himself guilty to be relieved that the brothers had saved the town, for that was his Father's creation, he was glad to see them live another day thanks to two men they would not know. And wasn't that just the epitome of faith, to have belief in what you can not see. Still, it seems faith matters not when they returned, weary and beaten back to the motel room to find themselves gazing upon Castiel's lingering figure with apprehension. He knew that his presence may be meet with dislike, but the strength of it surprised him to see.
"Where were you? We could have used you in that fight." Dean demands the moment he caught sight of him.
"Dean." Sam urges, an exhausted plea that goes on ignored.
Castiel can't help but have his thoughts turn toward Dean's demands, arrogant and self righteous. It seemed that Dean did not care for all-powerful beings such as angels as Dean's bloody dirty hands reach out to grasp the lapels of his trench-coat, smearing dark against the tan fabric. "If this shit is so important to you feathered bastards then why didnt you fight alongside us? Or is that beneath you to pack in with lowly humans?" He demands.
Castiel calmly raised his own hand to hold over Dean's prying the man's hands from him, the action cleanses him at the motion simultaneously as Castiel pushes Dean away from him in silent warning. He pins Dean with such a stare that his eyes flash with crackling power, the bitterness of anger settling low in his vessel's stomach. "I serve heaven, I don't serve man. And I certainly don't serve you."
Fear flashes in Dean's eyes at the reminder of just who he was talking too, taking an unconscious step back closer to Sam a step behind him. Sam himself hovers closer, his hand reaching and hesitating in an aborted motion to pull Dean back toward him. "If not for us that whole town would be dead, no thanks to you." Dean hisses at last, eyes turned darkly to the dirty carpet.
He has nothing to say to that. Sam watches silently, shoulders curled in on himself as if he could make himself smaller but such actions do nothing to have Castiel attention stray from him.
"It may not mean much to you, but it is by such grace you have been saved through faith. This does not come from you, it is the gift of God." He says, finding the words escaping him unbidden, words from an age long past. Although the words are meant for Dean, he finds himself catch Sam's eye despite himself, for Sam's soul, bright despite the taint of demons has drawn his attention.
After the event of the witch and the brother's hunt Castiel returns to watch over them. There was no real reason for it, but he doesn't take a moment to wonder on such technicalities, there was no rule in silent observation. With a scan of the room he spies Dean is asleep on the bed, oblivious to Sam's distraction, no doubt citing how much of a nerd Sam was as he made his bed and asleep just as quickly.
It was clear that had showered the grime from himself after their hunt, the edges of his hair curling damp as it drips onto the collar of his shirt, momentarily Castiel laments on having left the before healing him but is quickly distracted. For on the table before him Sam had strewn various books on angels, one of them by Thomas Aquinas and other medieval theologians. He has a passage open before him the word of the Prophet Isaiah to be precise and Castiel does not know exactly what brings him to peer closer toward the text, noting Isaiah 6:1–8 open as Sam peers down at it. With a mere glance Castiel knew what was depicted there, he had been part of the heavenly host which revealed itself to such special figures of his Father's humanity. Still, He settles behind Sam's shoulder, reading over his shoulder.
In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him were seraphim, each with six wings with two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet and with two they were flying.
And they were calling to one another. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory.” At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.
“Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.”
Then one of the seraphim flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar. With it he touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for.”
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”
And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”
He said, “Go and tell this people: ‘Be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving.’ Make the heart of this people calloused; make their ears dull and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed.”
Then I said, “For how long, Lord?”
And he answered: “Until the cities lie ruined and without inhabitant, until the houses are left deserted and the fields ruined and ravaged, until the Lord has sent everyone far away and the land is utterly forsaken. And though a tenth remains in the land, it will again be laid waste. But as the terebinth and oak leave stumps when they are cut down, so the holy seed will be the stump in the land.”
"Pride is the arrogance of kings, even those as great as he." Castiel said, spoken softly to himself and as he rose his gaze from the book he spies his image reflected in the mirror facing them, noting that he can see himself behind Sam's figure. Sam stills at the sound, pausing as if he had heard his voice on the air as he stared down at the text.
"King Uzziah was cursed by my Father for his arrogance, he had entered the Holy Place of the temple and lit incense as the priests were meant to do, a sacred duty reserved from them alone. It was here that he had become prideful for he saw himself as above God, above the people he was meant to lead. He was confronted by the priests, but instead of humility for his wrongdoings he became furious and the wrath of my Father fell upon him. Afflicted with leprosay he lived his final days as a leper while his son Jotham governed as king. That was when the Prophet Isaiah was shown this vision of my Father." As he pauses in his explanation Castiel looks up, gaze caught on a shift in the mirror as Sam straightens from his slump and for a moment their eyes met through the reflection of the mirror.
"Is it truly acceptable to raise cities to the ground, to let fire and destruction wipe humanity out for the mere few who deserve such a fate?" Sam questions, no doubt caught up in the events of the day. He gives no explanation for such research, for why he would be looking into angels or the likes, nor does he attempt to turn around to face Castiel properly. There is no need for such things, Castiel can sense easy enough why passages of cleansing would intrigue him as much as wound him for the clear lack of forgiveness the Heavenly Host refused to gift him. It was clear they had reserved such forgiveness once before, why was he the one they could no longer forgive?
Sam's hand upon the table trembles, a barely there thing as it rests near ancient tomes. "Pride is an easy sin to follow." Sam says, "A life of a hunter is infused in it, it breeds such arrogance until one day you dont even notice it has infested every part of yourself."
It was only due to his silent observations that Castiel noticed that since the angels had appeared before them Sam's faith had wavered the moment the cursed whisper of abomination was cast around him. The tone of his prayers shifting, a hesitance, a subdued whisper casting his once hopeful prayers into something muted. Humanity held themselves to such low regard to his Father and his Heavenly beings, it was strange, particularly with the utmost love his Father cast toward them despite their flaws and sins.
"You don't think you are worthy, to pray, or to speak to God as you once did." Castiel notes, and shame has Sam look away from him, his hair falling in a way that does nothing to hide the guilt that aches raw on his soul. It strikes Castiel absently that perhaps he had a part in that, for making Sam believe he was unworthy of forgiveness and to be heard by God and his Heavenly Host. "You hold little faith for yourself, Samuel. Perhaps you have something in common with Isaiah then you make think." He says.
"You know... meeting you all got me thinking." Sam begins and his eyes shine in the reflection of his laptop, such reverence in his gaze that Castiel felt was no longer worthy of the thing he had become, not to someone who had almost considered a town worthy enough to sacrifice until humans reminded him otherwise. "There was a verse, Corinthians 13:13, I remembered it when I thought about the prays I whispered at night. It said, right now three things remain; faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love." Sam said. "I thought that was angel would be like, not angry and callous."
"Sam." He says, the name rasping on his lips. What can he say to that, there was more truth in that than argument against.
"That hex bag..." Sam begins before he falters, shaking his head in silent dismissal. Just when Castiel thought silence would return between them Sam huffs a laugh, a breath of an exhale than anything truly amused. "I thought you'd be different." He admits.
Castiel's head tilts, as if attempting to work out the man before him.
"Dean always told me that you were... that angels were 'winged-dicks' as he so eloquently says. I thought he was just bitter or angry.. I don't know, I guess I just didn't think he'd be so... correct." His eyes rise from the desk to meet Castiel's in the mirror. "I thought angels would be righteous. It seems fitting, the stories and accounts attest to this." Sam admits.
"Your thoughts have changed." Castiel observes.
Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair, perhaps fighting the urge to turn. "He told me that was the problem, that angels are like that because they believe themselves righteous no matter how right or wrong their sections are, and that there’s nothing more dangerous than some a-hole who thinks he’s on a holy mission. And it had me thinking... is this who I have been speaking to all this time? Is this God? And Heaven? Is this what I’ve been praying to all this time?"
"You're disappointed." Casriel notes.
Sam's face is lined with tension. "I dont know. Dean went on a typical tangent, saying how I shouldn't give up on 'this stuff' just for a couple bad apples, that the whole barrel isn't rotten because of that. That perhaps God isn't aligned with them as we think."
"I have no way of knowing the outcome of my Father's thoughts, Sam, even if I was I were to find myself opposed to them. I was not... made... to consider such things."
Something almost sad shadows Sam's expression. "Yeah, I can understand that." He whispers.
John Winchester had often clashed with his sons, that was common knowledge. Castiel isn't sure what to make of him drawing similarities between them.
"I just.... I wonder if anyone is listening up there, in Heaven, is he... does God even listen to us anymore?" Sam wonder aloud.
Castiel's head tilts, brow furrowed as he mused on the words. "I do not the whims of my Father, it has been a long time since I last saw His face." He admits.
"If a being such as you isn't sure then what is the hope for the rest of us?" Sam retorts bitterly.
He finds words escaping him, the beginning of the gospel spilling from his lips. "Is faith not the assurance that what you hope for will come about and the certainty that what you cannot see exists?" He ponders, pausing to watch the micro-expressions wash over Sam's face. "Does knowledge of my Father's presence only hold now that you know we exist? Days ago you walked around with no need for proof, why does your faith waver now that I stand before you?"
Sam's head ducks, a bashful motion. "You have a point there, Castiel."
It prompts the words from him, a semblance of his own will. “If you cannot pray to God you can always pray to me,” Castiel whispered, “I will listen.” He promises.
At this Sam finally turns to face Castiel properly, a query on his lips but there is only empty air behind him, the flurry of wings the only sound in the motel room.