No additional warnings for this scene.
Castiel always knew why*. Beyond destiny and bloodlines, he did not question* why from the first moment he clasped Dean’s soul to him and raised him from Hell.
“You mope.”
“No, Brother, I am not moping.”
“You mope like a bird grounded by the rain.”
Castiel sighed in amusement. “Michael…”
“Listen.” Michael grips his shoulder. “You need to lighten your load.”
“We are angels, brother. Our load is, as they say, metaphorical.”
“We are angels; it means we ride the particle beams of new born stars and sing the colors of creation.”
“I…”
“You worry.” Michael drew him close, his kindness and strength seeping into Castiel’s soul.
“You make me sound…” Castiel paused, fearful of blasphemy, squirming in Michael’s encompassing embrace.
“Human?”
“Yes.”
Michael was amused. “Hush, Little Brother, and let me soothe you.”
“Eat the pie.”
“I have no need of food.”
“It’s not food, it’s pie. It’s like Heaven on earth.”
“I would recognize Heaven, were we to see it here…”
“Stop eyeballing the pie, it’s our friend.”
“Is there a reason you want me to eat the pie?”
Dean put his fork down, frowning at the half-eaten pie as if to apologize. “You’re just…moping. Sam’s turning you all emo.”
“Emu?”
“E-MO.” Dean shook his head and resumed eating. “Look, you’re stressed. I’ve given up on getting you laid, so that leaves us pie.”
“Pie or sex?”
Dean nodded, his mouth full. “Exactly. Now shut up and eat.”
“Run!”
The order was telegraphed to them, as bright an as sure as a newborn soul. There was no room to argue or to countermand it, and running was the order that Castiel had to obey. But he chose to shift himself as his brothers and sisters fled the field to let Michael make a desperate stand, and Michael’s light sparked in surprise as Castiel ran towards him. They were brothers, and Castiel would not leave Michael to die in this battle alone.
He could no more conceive of his life continuing without Michael, than Michael could imagine leaving others to die in his place.
Castiel worried about this test; Uriel was obedient, but willful all the same, and his disdain for humanity was not a secret in the garrison. Castiel, in a few hidden moments of his long life, sometimes wondered why Uriel never followed Lucifer from Heaven. They did seem well matched.
But he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on this task, which was to present Dean with his choices and deal with whatever the fallout might be. He had no way to judge one way or the other if Dean passed or fail, or who was really putting this test to him, which was a blessing of a sort.
He watched Dean chose the lives of the people of the small town over his own life, and even that of his brother’s. It was not so very unexpected.
The skies crackled and sparked between them, Michael’s attention turned towards the track Lucifer laid down as he was dragged into Hell.
“Michael. Brother.” Castiel spoke, his voice as hoarse and broken as the remnants of their fallen brethren.
“You never told me of his doubts.”
“I would not, that they might upset you…I…”
“Quiet.” Michael’s voice was rich with judgment and despair. “Leave me, Castiel. This is no business of yours, after all.”
Castiel retreated, stunned, as he watched Michael’s wings unfurl and shatter the winds around them. “No, Michael. Let me help! Brother, do not leave…”
“Go, Castiel, for I do not have time nor patience for you and your foolhardy ways.”
Michael winked out, and Castiel stood alone.
Dean was angry, and hit him. Twice. Separated from Heaven, Castiel was more vulnerable to such attacks than he had been, but the cost was still minimal.
“I am sorry.”
“I don’t care! You sonofabitch! You let Sam OUT of the safe room?” Dean pulled back and looked upon Castiel with tortured wonderment and betrayal. Castiel, immune to Dean’s physical violence, shrank backwards under his gaze.
“I thought…at the time…it was best.”
“You didn’t fucking think!” Dean spewed vitriol, his fury and disappointment vibrating from the core of his being.
“No. No, I did not.” Castiel bowed his head in shame, but it had no impact on a human who knew nothing of the rules of the garrison, and who was cut off from the sound of an angel’s own soul.
“Get out.”
Castiel nodded once, and went, the familiar feeling of disappointment coiling around him, dark and sad.
As it has been, so it shall be, and Castiel was shy around Dean as the final days approached because he could not bear to disappoint another brother. He let Dean forgive him and he allowed Dean to hold him and he surrendered to Dean’s desires and demands willingly, gratefully, and honestly.
It was a small gift he could give Michael’s vessel, these assurances and affections, so much less than Michael used to share with him in the space between atoms and orders. Castiel cared for Dean, not (as he had been accused, before being cast out) in spite of his behavior, but because of it. Dean was merely a shade of Michael’s shadow, but it was all Castiel had remaining to him, and he could wait. Castiel was shaping and molding his charge in preparation of the time Michael made his move and returned and blazed through Heaven again.
Love of one was love of the other. Michael would see that; Michael would understand Castiel’s sacrifices, and would allow him into the circle of his light and the shadow of his wings once Dean said yes. Sometimes Castiel imagined he would miss Dean, but then he thought that would be like missing the light of a candle while swimming through a star.
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Michael (Supernatural)
Narrative mode: third-limited