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As Dean passed out of the corridor and back into the War Room, he faltered at the threshold, frowning at the sight of Castiel still sitting slumped and pensive in his chair, gaze not focused on anything that Dean could see.
Stepping into the room, his footfalls were as careful as his cautious approach. “Hey.”
Blue eyes flicked to him, one hand rubbing across the ever present stubble across his jaw. “Hello, Dean. I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“Not quite ready to settle in yet, I guess.” His eyes took in the exhausted way Castiel seemed to be… not draped, exactly, more collapsed, as though all strength had left him and he hadn’t the energy to move from his less than elegant sprawl in the chair. “You okay?”
Cas rallied himself, shifting into a straighter position. “I’m fine, Dean. I was only thinking.”
“About Lily?” Cas quirked an eyebrow and slid his gaze away. Sighing, Dean lowered himself into the closest chair, his knees nearly brushing Castiel’s as he did. He nudged Cas’ shoe with his boot. “Ignorance isn’t an excuse, but it should allow you to forgive yourself. We carry enough. Don’t carry things you don’t have to.” He nudged him again, forcing blue eyes to meet his. “You couldn’t have done differently because you didn’t know differently. We act on the information we’re given. If the information we’re given- by people we trust- is wrong… if we are intentionally misled …” He shook his head. “That burden’s not on you.”
“We ruined her life, Dean.”
“Ishim ruined her life. It started long before you. You thought you were protecting humanity.”
He didn’t add that he didn’t understand how nephilims could be a threat. Lucifer’s baby, sure, were the archangel to raise him, but babies- no matter their parentage- were clean slates. With Lucifer gone, how could Kelly’s unborn child be a threat? Were it to be raised by a woman who so clearly loved it already- despite the horrific events of its conception?
If he’d learned anything over the years, it was that people were more than the circumstances they were born into or the looming shadow of an absent father.
“Gotta admit,” he began, drawing Cas’ attention to him once again, “I’m curious. I didn’t realize you’d been on Earth before Jimmy. Different mission. Different vessel. Yet, when we met, everything was alien to you, even people.”
“My previous missions on Earth were always brief. We only did them when we had to, and they were usually done in a matter of hours. As was with Sodom and Gomora, sometimes we didn’t even have to come to Earth to deal out Heaven’s justice. In Egypt, Death walked among them, stealing the breath of the first born sons. Angelic presence is rare in recent centuries.”
“Yeah, according to the church paintings and lore, you use to frequent the place more often. Then paintings just… slacked off. Like the angels had left the building. What happened?”
Inhaling a sharp breath, Cas made a helpless gesture, at a loss. “Our father ordered us to stop. Stop involving ourselves so much in a way that was creating what would have otherwise been impossible.”
Though Dean had already heard this from Chuck, it was still outrageous to hear. “People needed you. Needed all of you. Surely the angels weren’t just okay with that.”
Cas leaned forward to rub at his temples, and Dean had to clench his fingers into the denim of his jeans to keep himself from reaching out to him, to place a hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze, to somehow try to take some measure of all that weight off his shoulders.
He carried too much, far more than Dean had ever realized. How did you support an angel? A cosmic force wrapped in fragile human flesh?
“They weren’t. It… caused an outcry. Division. It was the start of Anna’s fall, and was the start of angels doing things they had never done before: to be dishonest. For some- for many- it was impossible to hear the prayers, the outcries, and to not do anything. We were built to love. To serve. To protect.” He wiped a hand over his face. “Then we were told to stand by as innocents suffered when we could help.”
“What happened?”
Castiel pulled a face, one brow arching as the corner of his lip curled into a smirk that was both sardonic and proud. “We learned the art of deceit. Some for the better- to slip down to earth to grant miracles and answer prayers; some for the worse- to question Heaven’s authority and the way things were. Those who would help- I believe you would call them…” he pushed himself back into his chair, struggling to find the words, “Robin Hoods? Defy authority to help those in need? They were seen as rogue angels and vigilantes, and charged with breaking the laws of Heaven. Heaven didn’t have a prison before then. Now it’s filled with angels who loved humanity enough to sacrifice their freedom to answer their prayers. Soon there weren’t enough angels left that would question an order, and cold indifference set in for those who were left. ....Annael fell after that.”
Bumping his knee against Cas’, Dean shifted to try and catch his eye, attempting something that resembled an encouraging smile and hating himself that something so simple should be so awkward and ill-fitting feeling on his face.
“And the missions?”
“Only when we had to. Generally, they were hunting down more rogue angels. We didn’t interfere with the path of humanity anymore, believing it undermined the entire concept of freewill. For every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction. Our constant interference corrupted the natural order of life itself.”
Dean pursed his lips and sat back in his chair, considering. “So that’s why there weren’t anymore angel portraits.”
Castiel blinked and looked at him, brows knitting together. “There are.” After a beat, he elaborated, “For the sake of Heaven’s Historian. All approved angelic appearance on Earth must be documented. And angel’s history, their appearance- if only for the fact the angel may mask their presence and need to be tracked through visual recognition if they defected.” He turned, reaching for a soft leather book wrapped in a cord Dean hadn’t really noticed before, deft fingers picking it up and then setting it in Dean’s lap. “There’s a picture in there.”
Sitting frozen in his seat, Dean kept his open hands clear of the book that seemed to burn through his jeans and send his brain buzzing with alarm and shock. He didn’t have to have seen it before to recognize what it was, the well thumbed through sheets of paper, notes and photos stuck between pages, paper clips and dog-earred corners to mark places of significance.
“...you have your own hunter journal.” Surely it was expected that his heart would be pounding like it was due to the significance of Cas casually handing over something so monumental. His hands trembled only slightly as he reached for the book, then withdrew, curling his fingers into fists. “I didn’t realize.”
Eyes studying him, his hands, his body, his face, Cas angled his head to one side and made a dismissive gesture. “After all of that happened with Naomi; when I could no longer trust my own memories or actions… I set out to create a physical record of my history. Something physical that was only truth and couldn’t lie. When I couldn’t trust my own mind… I could trust this.” Swallowing thickly, Dean bobbed his head in a nod, still unable to bring himself to move in the face of this colossal show of trust. “...you can open it, Dean.”
His tongue darted across his bottom lip, eyes flicking to Castiel’s then down again. “I just… this is… this is you, man. Not just hunts and lore and notes- you. I just-”
A hand settled on his knee, a warm buzz of contact through denim that was both soothing and flustering, blue eyes too intent and earnest and open staring into his.
“Dean. You can open it.”
Hands fumbling, Dean lifted the journal, unwinding the leather cord keeping it secure before reverently opening it across his lap. The pages were filled with words penned by careful hand, often seeming to vary between English and Enochian as Castiel was unable to find a proper translation for what he meant to say, each letter and symbol uniform, page slightly indented from pressing down too hard with the pen.
He didn’t read them- or well, he tried not to, words and phrases and sigils jumping out at him as he turned through the pages as months, years, and centuries past beneath his fingers. He stopped the moment he found the correct one, immovable as his eyes latched onto the portrait of six angels staring into the camera.
“There are gaps,” he said, mouth dry and light-headed. “In your timeline.”
“Those were the times I could not verify. When there was no record, or when the record did not match things as I remembered. There is a separate book for things as the Historian recorded them and as I remember them.”
Even with the sepia coloring of the picture, Dean knew the eyes looking back at him were blue. Knew the face behind the mask, and the way the eyes shown with muted amusement and wry wit. Even had he not recognized Ishim and Mirabel, he would have known without a doubt Castiel’s face among the six.
“You look the same,” he said, touching the photograph. When he looked up, a smile gracing his lips, he was met with Castiel’s look of confusion. “The way you hold yourself. Your mannerisms. Hell, your whole facial expression and freaking judgmental eyebrows.” He laughed, offering the book out. “You look exactly the same.”
There was a blush of color on Cas’ cheeks as he carefully closed the book and wrapped the leather around it. “I admit I did not expect you to recognize me in a different form.”
“Cas, I am fairly certain, I’d know you anywhere, no matter what form you took.” He watched as the angel gently set the book aside. They’d shifted at some point so that their knees were pressed alongside each other, huddled like they were sharing secrets not meant for others to hear. He pressed his knee against Castiel’s, their calves touching briefly with the motion. “You never told me you were a girl.”
Cas blinked, looking at him sharply. “I’m not a girl. I’m an angel.”
Dean waved a hand. “Yeah, no, I get that. Angels are agendered unless stated otherwise, I meant… I thought Jimmy was your first time on Earth, remember? You had a girl vessel before. I never knew.” He shrugged. “I mean, I can understand the confusion with advancements in technology if more than a century passed since you’d last touched down, but people… that gap, I still don’t get.”
“Meeting you was the first time I was assigned to Earth for such a long campaign. It was the first time any of us were assigned here for so long, and we were here to fight a war. It… it’s not like when you work a case and the job requires you to earn people’s trust, to empathize with their plights and injustices. We were strangers in passing. We came to complete a mission, the rest? The people, their lives, this world? We’d separated ourselves so much and for so long that it was all white noise.”
“And your vessel?” Their eyes met and Dean jerked his head toward the journal that held an angel’s personal history written by hand. He wondered how it was able to fit within the confines of one book alone, and determined that getting the angel more books to fill would be his first priority come morning. “Tell me about her. I’m assuming she’s a relative of Jimmy’s?”
Cas gave a small huff of a laugh, his brow quirked up on a smile. “Distantly. Yes.” His smile grew more pronounced. “Her name was Elizabeth, and she was… vibrant. Quick-witted. Sharp-tongued. Persistent. She reminds me of you, actually. I was quite fond of her.” He made a noise, mouth twisting as he admitted, “As much as I knew how back then.”
“The other angels apparently kept their vessels. Why didn’t you stay with Elizabeth?”
Stiffening, Castiel slid his gaze away, voice guilty and small as he spoke, “Because I feared Falling.”
Face morphing to concern, Dean slid forward in his seat, grabbing one of Cas’ hands in his instinctively. “Hey…”
Castiel gripped him in return. “Angels that grew attached to vessels and human form then seemed to grow attached to Earth, to the things, to the people. I’d watched it too many times. Had seen the longing on Annael’s face as she drifted farther away, saw the emotions that lit Ishim and Mirabel’s eyes, the malicious glee and contempt in Uriel’s. Had then seen angels hunted down for it. We were told to remain neutral. Maintaining human form seemed the first step in veering from that. To want what was foreign and foremost forbidden. Heaven’s prison was already full with so many angels who felt- so strongly- when they weren’t suppose to.” He swallowed and shook his head. “I didn’t want to Fall. Didn’t want to not have a home. A family.” A derisive snort escaped him. “You see how well that turned out- given time.”
Rubbing the pad of his thumb over his knuckles, Dean gave his hand a squeeze. “Hey. Cas. You have a family. And you have a home. And nothing will ever, ever change that.” Sad blue eyes lifted to meet his, the silent reminder evident in their depths, and it took everything in Dean not to reach out and cup the sides of his face in his hands. “If I ever tell you otherwise, it’s because I know there is a gun to either yours or Sammy’s heads.”
“Or to yours?”
“They can pull the trigger if the gun’s to mine. You ought to know that.” He stood, taking Cas’ hand with him and prompting the angel to his feet. With only a slight hesitation, he grabbed the journal and began leading Castiel from the room. “And like I said, you can’t let the past weigh on you like this. You have too much history to do that. You did the best you could. You did what you thought was right. And you helped to bring a measure of justice in the end.” He glanced at him over his shoulder. “No one can ask more of you than that.”
They stopped at the door to the room next to Dean’s. It had been designated as Castiel’s, but there was little of him in it as he had no belongings and didn’t require sleep. He considered the door, then Dean. The hunter’s fingers slipped from his, the journal offered out.
“Just because you don’t need sleep, doesn’t mean you couldn’t if you tried- probably. Even still: you need rest, Cas. You are not invincible, and you are damn irreplaceable, so if you won’t take care of yourself, I’m going to make sure you’re taken care of.” He turned the brass knob and pushed open the door. “Stop letting your own past haunt you when everything you’ve done has always been with the best of intentions.”
Unplanned and unintended, Cas suddenly had his arms around Dean, face crumpled as his chin rested on the other man’s shoulder, and strong, warm arms wrapped around him in turn. They stayed like that a long moment, Cas clinging to Dean like he were the one thing keeping him from being overtaken by the flood water.
He swallowed. “Did you really recognize me?”
The arms holding him squeezed tighter, Dean rubbing his cheek into Cas’ hair. “I’d know you in any life.” He pulled back, fingers cupping the side of Cas’ jaw. “Get some rest. Come talk to me if you need to, and stop being Atlas.”
Smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, Castiel pressed into the palm laid against his skin. “Pot calling the kettle black, Dean.”
Huffing a laugh, Dean let his hand drop. “Go to bed, Cas. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He turned and went to his own room, hesitating at the threshold. Changing a glance back, he saw Castiel still watching him with a thoughtful head tilt. Dean gave him a smile.
“I meant what I said. I’d know you in any life.”
End
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