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Gabriel and Castiel. Because I've wanted to see those two brothers talk for a while now.
Title: Grace
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Castiel
Summary: Gabriel wants a word with Cas, and catches up to him on a beach near Santa Barbara
Wordcount: 3648
Disclaimer: Not mine
Warnings: A little bit of language, and probably more musings on God than is healthy, but then they are angels. Some Grace-sharing too, but I'm not sure if that's something one should warn for.
Spoilers: Just for 5x08
Castiel felt him coming, this time. Little brother was getting more wary, these days. Possibly the term 'paranoid' could be used, but Gabriel's pretty sure that only counts if they're not actually out to get you, and he'd been having words with Raphael lately. And by words, he meant ... He didn't know what he meant, what they'd been. Not friendly, anyway. He still wasn't completely sure when his Healer brother became the most smite-happy angel in the spheres, but having seen it, he understood Castiel's attitude a bit better.
He just wished he'd know all that before he'd kicked the shit out of Cas. He'd wondered why the little guy had been so terrified, and so scarily determined. It was one thing to be scared of him because of his natural power and awesomeness, but what he'd seen in Castiel ... that had been something else. He hadn't understood it at the time, but apparently having your essence ripped comprehensively to shreds by the most focused and skilled archangel in existence would do that to you. Especially if it was followed up by every other archangel in existence deciding to take a few pot shots for good measure.
All things considered, freakish determination and kicked-puppy look aside, Castiel was actually coping pretty well. Which was sort of what he wanted to talk to him about, if the bloody angel would just stay still for a minute ...
He ran him down finally on a beach just down the coast from Santa Barbara, which, alright, revealed somewhat more taste than he would have credited the guy with. Castiel turned at bay in the sand, the sea licking at his heels, and there was a touch there, of showmanship, of drama, that Gabriel couldn't help but appreciate. Much like the Winchesters he'd taken to following around, if Castiel was going to go down, he obviously intended to make a good show of it. And if there was anything on this Earth Gabriel still appreciated ... it was a good show.
Just for that, he decided not to completely freak the poor guy out.
He appeared at the top of the beach, well out of range of anything the weaker angel could try to do, but also as a courtesy, to let Castiel brace himself as he strolled down the sand towards him. Let him pull some dignity around him, instead of lashing out on instinct against a closer target. What? He could remember to be nice once in a while.
"Castiel," he greeted, smirking faintly. The lesser angel stiffened, chin tilting up in instinctive challenge, blue eyes flashing with defiance and what was left of his Grace. He made a hell of a picture, actually, and Gabriel could feel himself eyeing it appreciatively. Castiel swallowed hard.
"Gabriel," he returned, quietly. He had a sword in his hand that he knew Gabriel would never give him a chance to use, and his fingers clenched around it.
Gabriel waited, hoping for something more. A challenge. A 'what do you want'. A 'leave me alone'. A 'how have you been', even, though he confessed that one was more than a little unlikely. Not just from Castiel. No-one in his family gave a shit how he was of late. But Castiel ... He sighed. Once upon a time, he remembered seeing the lesser angel and thinking 'that guy could outwait an ice age if he had to'. Once upon a time, he remembered thinking he should try it, freeze him in a glacier and see what he did. Actually, he should probably have realised at that point that the whole archangel gig was probably not for him, if he was going around thinking things like that. But he hadn't done it, in the end. Not because it would have gotten him in trouble. But because Castiel would have waited. There was just no fun in watching that kind of patience play itself out. Gabriel was a Messenger. He was fast. He didn't do waiting.
Which was why he was the first to cave this time around too. Castiel couldn't leave unless Gabriel let him, but that didn't mean the little guy was in any mood to cooperate, and Gabriel could just see the thought behind his eyes, the determination, the faint hint of smugness. Even facing a being that could literally wipe him from existence with a click of his fingers. Even after having been already wiped from existence by said being's brother. It was almost impressive.
Damn. Fine. So he might admire the pipsqueak a little.
"I've been looking for you," he said casually, ignoring the twitch of Castiel's eyebrows. Gabriel had a feeling that if Dean had managed to get to it yet in his whole educate-the-oblivious-angel programme, Castiel would right this minute be rolling his eyes and saying 'duh'. But that was fine. What he had to say next would drop him right back down a peg or twenty. "I've been talking to Raphael, you see."
Right on the money. Castiel flinched down to his bones, holding himself rigid to try and hide it, and his eyes flickered away. Defiance to badly concealed terror in zero seconds. Not bad going, even for a Trickster as long in the game as he'd been.
He wondered why there was no satisfaction in it, then.
"See, I've been a bit out of the loop for a while," he went on, tilting his head and prowling around the other angel, watching the faint tremors of him, seeing how Castiel only let his eyes follow him, because if he moved his body, all that fear would show, all that terror, and even now the kid was too stubborn for that. "I mean, I've known that Micheal and Lucy were back in business. Hard to miss that. And I knew the Winchesters were ground zero for it. And I knew they had a dinky little rebel angel following them around. Looking for Daddy. All that I knew. But what I didn't know ... was what that angel had done."
He stopped, peering up into Castiel's pale features, trying to catch and hold that fierce, trembling gaze. Castiel refused, sliding his eyes away, looking down at the sand. There was a faint flicker of a frown, as he noticed that the sea had rushed forward to play with his feet, soaking his trousers, and he tried to let it distract him, let it take him away from the question in Gabriel's eyes, but the archangel rather thought that there was nothing on this Earth that could have taken Castiel away from his fear in that moment.
Well, maybe one thing.
"You died for them," he whispered, reaching out to physically pull Castiel's head around, to make him meet Gabriel's eyes. "You challenged Raphael for them. You died. You died, and you came back, and believe me, if Raphael had been even a fraction smarter than he was, if there was an angel in existence who could lie to me, he would never have told me that. They are keeping that as quiet as they possibly, possibly can. Because that, little brother ... that is a very scary thing. Do you even know how terrifying they find that knowledge?"
Castiel blinked at him, fear sliding away as confusion made it's way to the fore, and oh, Gabriel remembered this too. This little brother, who could ask a thousand questions with one faint, befuddled look, who could make the certainty of archangels tremble as they tried to answer them. No wonder they feared him. Right now, with the lives of billions in play, with the end of the world nigh, no-one wanted to look into blue eyes and have to doubt. No-one.
"I didn't know," he whispered, almost gently. "When I locked you away, when I hurt you, made you fight. I didn't know what you'd done. What you'd faced. I didn't know what Raphael had done to you, or what you were given in return. If I had ..."
And there, finally, a spark of something other than fear. A brief flare of anger, of contempt, of soft pity. "You would have done exactly the same," Castiel growled softly, with the hard eyes of someone who knows for sure, who knows beyond doubt, that if anyone at all has the chance to hurt him, they will. And it's strange, how truly guilty that made Gabriel feel, when nothing on Heaven and Earth had managed that in too long to count. Briefly, he had to wonder if their Father had made this angel for the sole purpose of playing other angels like harps.
"Maybe," he said, stepping back with a little shrug, an old and faintly bitter smile. "We'll never know for sure, I guess. Anyway. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about." That chin went right back up again, wary and challenging, and Gabriel stifled a grin. Castiel, little brother, you've been spending far too much time around the Winchesters. Far too much. And that there ... "What is it you see in them, little brother?" he asked, genuinely curious. "What is it about them that makes an angel defy archangels and the Will of God for their sakes?"
"It was not ..." Castiel said rapidly, then paused. Slowed, thought about it. Gabriel tipped his head to watch him, idly fascinated by the tiny flickers of emotion, muffled and stiff, but clear as day. With some practice, you could read this angel like a book, he thought. "It was not His will," Castiel finished at last, slowly, dipping his head a little in faint shame. Defiance, certainty, belief, but still shame, like this was an opinion he had no right to hold.
It wasn't, really, but that was neither here nor there.
"Really," he drawled, enjoying the way the lesser angel's shoulders stiffened, his head dipping as if to accept a blow. Humility, despite the daring. Given exactly how much courage and/or pride it took for any angel to have an original thought these days, that was new. "And what makes you think you, of all people, can judge that?" Please, kid, give me the right answer here. Let me know I'm not wrong about this.
Castiel looked at him, head angled obliquely so that he managed to look like he was looking up at Gabriel, despite being the taller. It was a good trick, really, a subtle deference and an odd show of power, that he could bow before an archangel, but only by making a conscious effort. That this respect was offered by choice, not natural order. Oh, well done, kid. Well done.
"He asked us to look after them," Castiel said at last, softly, thoughtfully. "He made this world for them. All of it, both good and ill. And they ... know it. Even if they do not believe. Even if they have no faith. They know this is how it was meant to be. They know they have a right to live."
Gabriel snorted. "So, they're the most arrogant beings in creation. How is this a good thing?"
"No." Castiel's eyes were fierce again, shining with the tattered shards of Grace, gently forcing Gabriel's to meet them. To see what they held. "They are not the arrogant ones. Our Father gave them the right to choose. He gave them free will. It is us ... our arrogance, to think we have the right to take that away. To undo what our Father has done. To take back what He has given." He frowned, not condemning, but pitying. "Dean, Sam ... they do not fight just to fight, just to be ... to be contrary."
Gabriel felt something flicker through him at that, a quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Sure about that?" he murmured, and for a second Castiel actually forgot to be afraid of him long enough to smirk back a little. And now Gabriel was feeling something like pride. Oh yes. Father made Castiel purely for use as emotional blackmail, he just knew it.
"Well," Cas allowed. "Not just to be awkward." Then he sobered, a little, and saddened. "They have the right to say no. They want to say no." His voice gained an edge, a vehemence. "All that matters to them in creation is in this world, and they have the right not to see it destroyed simply because angels have gotten ... impatient."
That last was almost a growl, and Gabriel looked at him for a long minute. Studied him. For long enough that Castiel started to curl in on himself again. Not out of a lack of a conviction. Out of fear. But he still met Gabriel's gaze, still shone with that depthless, immovable faith, that terrified, almost human challenge. Castiel looked at him, and Gabriel knew. Oh, how he knew. He knew what this angel was, what he represented, what he meant.
Castiel was the broken pillar. The ruined temple, the shattered mount. Castiel was the sad remnant of past glory, and the bitter reminder of their mistakes. Castiel was the man blinded by cruelty, staring into the sun and reaching out with simple grace into its warmth. Castiel was torn from Heaven, cast to Earth, reduced to all but human, and still, even still, he was all that remained of what angels were meant to be. One last, stained purity in a world rapidly going down the toilet.
No wonder his brothers kept trying to destroy him. Even just looking at him was more pain than Gabriel had allowed himself to feel in more than ten centuries.
"Maybe," he heard himself say at last, distantly, quietly. "Maybe. But haven't we ... don't we deserve ..." He stopped, trying to think how to make himself understood. Trying to think why he wanted this brother to understand. But Castiel ... there was faith in Castiel. More faith than Gabriel had seen in a long, long time. Faith enough to touch, maybe. Faith enough to ... to forgive. "Little brother, we are tired. So many of us, all of us ... Until Lucifer and Michael face each other, this war just won't end, and I ... and we ..."
"I know," said Castiel, softly. "I know. But it is still not our right, to hold them responsible. To make them suffer. These are our mistakes, Gabriel. Not theirs."
"They broke the seals," he answered. Petulantly. "They're not innocent, Castiel."
"No," the lesser angel answered, steadily, and Gabriel blinked. He'd been expecting a denial, there. He been expecting ... "They are not innocent. But they are good, Gabriel. They are right. They are worth fighting for. Worth dying for." Castiel stared at him, reached for him, Grace fading and crumbling around him, trying to show him, trying to make Gabriel understand. "For good or ill, our Father gave them the choice. He gave it to them, Gabriel. To deny them that ... What have we become, that we would deny them that?"
What have we become? And wasn't that the sixty-four dollar question ...
"I don't know," he said at last. He didn't. None of them did. Not any more. Not since ... not since the Morningstar first Fell, maybe. Not since they first realised they were not pure. They were not right. Not since they realised that angels could be wrong. That angels could act against their Father. That even angels had a choice. Not since they realised that when God gave the humans free will, He might have changed more than just the world. He might have changed them, too. Not since Father left, and took his orders with Him, and suddenly none of them knew what to do. There were no orders. There hadn't been for centuries. Only the prophecies, and the pain, and the burning hatred that rested between brothers.
What had they become? Lost. Alone. Almost human. And that ... that was poetic justice worthy of a Trickster, and if anyone ever found their bloody Father, Gabriel was going to have words with Him about that. There was a difference between having a sense of humour, and just being cruel ...
Even as he thought it, he could see Sam bloody Winchester, looking at him with desolate eyes as he begged for his brother's return, and fine, fine, he got the fucking point, already!
Dad, wherever you are, I hope you're laughing at this!
"Screw this," he muttered, snapping back to reality to find Castiel frowning at him. In concern, and after everything, after all of it, that ... that just about finished him. That just about broke him. He'd been lost, abandoned, in all likelihood laughed at while he struggled to learn the most basic of lessons, the lesson he'd taught to thousands of humans in his turn and never learnt for himself, and now, here and now, the one angel in Heaven or Hell with no cause to care about him, the one angel who might have the right to want him hurt ... that angel looked at him in concern. Because that angel, alone of all of them, had watched two humans, and learned. That angel had kept his faith, looked at what their Father had made, and understood.
"Come here," he said, abruptly. Snapped, really. Castiel flinched, concern slipping back behind fear. But not, he noted, disappearing. Fuck. Fine. "Castiel. Just come here!"
"Gabriel ..." So scared. So battered. So alone. Castiel had really had the shit kicked out of him, hadn't he? Well, screw that, too.
"Please," he said, gently. It wasn't like he had any pride left, after all. He'd seen what pride did to angels, in the end, and while he might be a slow learner in this one instance, he wasn't stupid. He could afford this. He could afford to say please, when it was important. "Cas. Please."
And Castiel looked at him, looked at him long and hard, eyes bright with fear and strength and faith, and then his brother laid down his sword, and came to him. Castiel reached out, human body humming with fear, Grace trembling in readiness to be torn once again, but he reached out. Though it shook him to the core, he reached out to his brother.
Oh God, Gabriel had missed ... but he wasn't going to think about that. He'd had enough moping for one evening. So instead, he reached out in his turn, wrapped his arms around his little brother, and poured all the power of his Grace into him. He reached out, power and light and glory, and poured himself into Castiel's Grace, into his soul, touching the wounds Raphael had left, Zachariah, Lucifer, Michael ... touched what his brothers had torn, and pulled it back together, wrapped it back up, filled it once again. Castiel gasped, pain and relief and weeping amazement, shuddered into him, his taller form curling around Gabriel's, his Grace reaching out in wonder, and Gabriel could feel himself weep at the love in him, could feel himself shake at the joy.
"Brother," Castiel whispered, stunned. "Gabriel." He slid to his knees, clinging to Gabriel, unable to stand against the rush of feeling, against the power of an archangel. Castiel had learned to fight many times. He'd learned to stand tall against violence. But never, and Gabriel knew this now, never, had Castiel ever had the chance to learn how to stand against kindness. Against compassion.
No angel had.
"Hush, kiddo," he said, gruffly, holding tight as the lesser angel sagged, lowering him gently to the sand, following him down. "Just ... just hush, alright? It doesn't mean anything. Just ... just hush." He could feel tears in his eyes, could see them standing in the blue ones staring up at him, could feel the depth of pain and love behind them. How long? How long had it been, since any angel had known this? Since before the first Fall, for him. And Castiel ... he wondered if Castiel ever had. "It doesn't mean anything. I'm not ... I don't ... It doesn't mean anything."
Castiel looked at him, all awe and wonder and faint confusion, the angel who could question and make God answer, and then ... then he smiled. Soft and faint as fading Grace, strong as an archangel's power. He reached out through renewed Grace, spread innocent wings, and wrapped them around Gabriel in return. While Gabriel stared at him in stunned fear, he reached up, laid a hand on the archangel's cheek, and smiled.
"Yes, it does," Castiel whispered gravely. "Thank you, brother. Thank you."
That was too much. "Don't thank me," he said. Growled. Scolded. "Don't thank me. I haven't done anything." And then, for some unfathomable reason, despite the exhaustion of millennia, despite a thousand years of hiding, despite every self-preserving instinct he had, Gabriel found himself whispering: "... Yet."
Castiel's smile was like the sun coming up, on a world that had not seen it in years, and for the first time since he'd left Heaven, Gabriel wondered if maybe their Father hadn't been wrong to give them this. This world, this choice, this fear, this pain, this love. He looked at his little brother, and wondered if maybe there was hope for them all yet. Castiel smiled, and Gabriel found reason to hope.
The kid was made to play people like harps, he was sure of it. But maybe he'd forgive Dad for that.
Just this once.
Contd: Storm
Title: Grace
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Castiel
Summary: Gabriel wants a word with Cas, and catches up to him on a beach near Santa Barbara
Wordcount: 3648
Disclaimer: Not mine
Warnings: A little bit of language, and probably more musings on God than is healthy, but then they are angels. Some Grace-sharing too, but I'm not sure if that's something one should warn for.
Spoilers: Just for 5x08
Grace
In the end, it wasn't hard to find Castiel. Not for him, anyway. A millennium's worth of contacts on this little mudball, they helped, but more to the point he's Gabriel. He's the Messenger, or had been, and once upon a time that meant there was no soul within the purview of Heaven that was not his to find at will. Even now, even veiled in a Trickster's power, that part of him couldn't be denied. And Castiel ... oh, but his brother's soul did draw him. Pulled him from the heavens, freed him from the earth. Castiel, who should be the least of them now, and somehow, still, was not.Castiel felt him coming, this time. Little brother was getting more wary, these days. Possibly the term 'paranoid' could be used, but Gabriel's pretty sure that only counts if they're not actually out to get you, and he'd been having words with Raphael lately. And by words, he meant ... He didn't know what he meant, what they'd been. Not friendly, anyway. He still wasn't completely sure when his Healer brother became the most smite-happy angel in the spheres, but having seen it, he understood Castiel's attitude a bit better.
He just wished he'd know all that before he'd kicked the shit out of Cas. He'd wondered why the little guy had been so terrified, and so scarily determined. It was one thing to be scared of him because of his natural power and awesomeness, but what he'd seen in Castiel ... that had been something else. He hadn't understood it at the time, but apparently having your essence ripped comprehensively to shreds by the most focused and skilled archangel in existence would do that to you. Especially if it was followed up by every other archangel in existence deciding to take a few pot shots for good measure.
All things considered, freakish determination and kicked-puppy look aside, Castiel was actually coping pretty well. Which was sort of what he wanted to talk to him about, if the bloody angel would just stay still for a minute ...
He ran him down finally on a beach just down the coast from Santa Barbara, which, alright, revealed somewhat more taste than he would have credited the guy with. Castiel turned at bay in the sand, the sea licking at his heels, and there was a touch there, of showmanship, of drama, that Gabriel couldn't help but appreciate. Much like the Winchesters he'd taken to following around, if Castiel was going to go down, he obviously intended to make a good show of it. And if there was anything on this Earth Gabriel still appreciated ... it was a good show.
Just for that, he decided not to completely freak the poor guy out.
He appeared at the top of the beach, well out of range of anything the weaker angel could try to do, but also as a courtesy, to let Castiel brace himself as he strolled down the sand towards him. Let him pull some dignity around him, instead of lashing out on instinct against a closer target. What? He could remember to be nice once in a while.
"Castiel," he greeted, smirking faintly. The lesser angel stiffened, chin tilting up in instinctive challenge, blue eyes flashing with defiance and what was left of his Grace. He made a hell of a picture, actually, and Gabriel could feel himself eyeing it appreciatively. Castiel swallowed hard.
"Gabriel," he returned, quietly. He had a sword in his hand that he knew Gabriel would never give him a chance to use, and his fingers clenched around it.
Gabriel waited, hoping for something more. A challenge. A 'what do you want'. A 'leave me alone'. A 'how have you been', even, though he confessed that one was more than a little unlikely. Not just from Castiel. No-one in his family gave a shit how he was of late. But Castiel ... He sighed. Once upon a time, he remembered seeing the lesser angel and thinking 'that guy could outwait an ice age if he had to'. Once upon a time, he remembered thinking he should try it, freeze him in a glacier and see what he did. Actually, he should probably have realised at that point that the whole archangel gig was probably not for him, if he was going around thinking things like that. But he hadn't done it, in the end. Not because it would have gotten him in trouble. But because Castiel would have waited. There was just no fun in watching that kind of patience play itself out. Gabriel was a Messenger. He was fast. He didn't do waiting.
Which was why he was the first to cave this time around too. Castiel couldn't leave unless Gabriel let him, but that didn't mean the little guy was in any mood to cooperate, and Gabriel could just see the thought behind his eyes, the determination, the faint hint of smugness. Even facing a being that could literally wipe him from existence with a click of his fingers. Even after having been already wiped from existence by said being's brother. It was almost impressive.
Damn. Fine. So he might admire the pipsqueak a little.
"I've been looking for you," he said casually, ignoring the twitch of Castiel's eyebrows. Gabriel had a feeling that if Dean had managed to get to it yet in his whole educate-the-oblivious-angel programme, Castiel would right this minute be rolling his eyes and saying 'duh'. But that was fine. What he had to say next would drop him right back down a peg or twenty. "I've been talking to Raphael, you see."
Right on the money. Castiel flinched down to his bones, holding himself rigid to try and hide it, and his eyes flickered away. Defiance to badly concealed terror in zero seconds. Not bad going, even for a Trickster as long in the game as he'd been.
He wondered why there was no satisfaction in it, then.
"See, I've been a bit out of the loop for a while," he went on, tilting his head and prowling around the other angel, watching the faint tremors of him, seeing how Castiel only let his eyes follow him, because if he moved his body, all that fear would show, all that terror, and even now the kid was too stubborn for that. "I mean, I've known that Micheal and Lucy were back in business. Hard to miss that. And I knew the Winchesters were ground zero for it. And I knew they had a dinky little rebel angel following them around. Looking for Daddy. All that I knew. But what I didn't know ... was what that angel had done."
He stopped, peering up into Castiel's pale features, trying to catch and hold that fierce, trembling gaze. Castiel refused, sliding his eyes away, looking down at the sand. There was a faint flicker of a frown, as he noticed that the sea had rushed forward to play with his feet, soaking his trousers, and he tried to let it distract him, let it take him away from the question in Gabriel's eyes, but the archangel rather thought that there was nothing on this Earth that could have taken Castiel away from his fear in that moment.
Well, maybe one thing.
"You died for them," he whispered, reaching out to physically pull Castiel's head around, to make him meet Gabriel's eyes. "You challenged Raphael for them. You died. You died, and you came back, and believe me, if Raphael had been even a fraction smarter than he was, if there was an angel in existence who could lie to me, he would never have told me that. They are keeping that as quiet as they possibly, possibly can. Because that, little brother ... that is a very scary thing. Do you even know how terrifying they find that knowledge?"
Castiel blinked at him, fear sliding away as confusion made it's way to the fore, and oh, Gabriel remembered this too. This little brother, who could ask a thousand questions with one faint, befuddled look, who could make the certainty of archangels tremble as they tried to answer them. No wonder they feared him. Right now, with the lives of billions in play, with the end of the world nigh, no-one wanted to look into blue eyes and have to doubt. No-one.
"I didn't know," he whispered, almost gently. "When I locked you away, when I hurt you, made you fight. I didn't know what you'd done. What you'd faced. I didn't know what Raphael had done to you, or what you were given in return. If I had ..."
And there, finally, a spark of something other than fear. A brief flare of anger, of contempt, of soft pity. "You would have done exactly the same," Castiel growled softly, with the hard eyes of someone who knows for sure, who knows beyond doubt, that if anyone at all has the chance to hurt him, they will. And it's strange, how truly guilty that made Gabriel feel, when nothing on Heaven and Earth had managed that in too long to count. Briefly, he had to wonder if their Father had made this angel for the sole purpose of playing other angels like harps.
"Maybe," he said, stepping back with a little shrug, an old and faintly bitter smile. "We'll never know for sure, I guess. Anyway. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about." That chin went right back up again, wary and challenging, and Gabriel stifled a grin. Castiel, little brother, you've been spending far too much time around the Winchesters. Far too much. And that there ... "What is it you see in them, little brother?" he asked, genuinely curious. "What is it about them that makes an angel defy archangels and the Will of God for their sakes?"
"It was not ..." Castiel said rapidly, then paused. Slowed, thought about it. Gabriel tipped his head to watch him, idly fascinated by the tiny flickers of emotion, muffled and stiff, but clear as day. With some practice, you could read this angel like a book, he thought. "It was not His will," Castiel finished at last, slowly, dipping his head a little in faint shame. Defiance, certainty, belief, but still shame, like this was an opinion he had no right to hold.
It wasn't, really, but that was neither here nor there.
"Really," he drawled, enjoying the way the lesser angel's shoulders stiffened, his head dipping as if to accept a blow. Humility, despite the daring. Given exactly how much courage and/or pride it took for any angel to have an original thought these days, that was new. "And what makes you think you, of all people, can judge that?" Please, kid, give me the right answer here. Let me know I'm not wrong about this.
Castiel looked at him, head angled obliquely so that he managed to look like he was looking up at Gabriel, despite being the taller. It was a good trick, really, a subtle deference and an odd show of power, that he could bow before an archangel, but only by making a conscious effort. That this respect was offered by choice, not natural order. Oh, well done, kid. Well done.
"He asked us to look after them," Castiel said at last, softly, thoughtfully. "He made this world for them. All of it, both good and ill. And they ... know it. Even if they do not believe. Even if they have no faith. They know this is how it was meant to be. They know they have a right to live."
Gabriel snorted. "So, they're the most arrogant beings in creation. How is this a good thing?"
"No." Castiel's eyes were fierce again, shining with the tattered shards of Grace, gently forcing Gabriel's to meet them. To see what they held. "They are not the arrogant ones. Our Father gave them the right to choose. He gave them free will. It is us ... our arrogance, to think we have the right to take that away. To undo what our Father has done. To take back what He has given." He frowned, not condemning, but pitying. "Dean, Sam ... they do not fight just to fight, just to be ... to be contrary."
Gabriel felt something flicker through him at that, a quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Sure about that?" he murmured, and for a second Castiel actually forgot to be afraid of him long enough to smirk back a little. And now Gabriel was feeling something like pride. Oh yes. Father made Castiel purely for use as emotional blackmail, he just knew it.
"Well," Cas allowed. "Not just to be awkward." Then he sobered, a little, and saddened. "They have the right to say no. They want to say no." His voice gained an edge, a vehemence. "All that matters to them in creation is in this world, and they have the right not to see it destroyed simply because angels have gotten ... impatient."
That last was almost a growl, and Gabriel looked at him for a long minute. Studied him. For long enough that Castiel started to curl in on himself again. Not out of a lack of a conviction. Out of fear. But he still met Gabriel's gaze, still shone with that depthless, immovable faith, that terrified, almost human challenge. Castiel looked at him, and Gabriel knew. Oh, how he knew. He knew what this angel was, what he represented, what he meant.
Castiel was the broken pillar. The ruined temple, the shattered mount. Castiel was the sad remnant of past glory, and the bitter reminder of their mistakes. Castiel was the man blinded by cruelty, staring into the sun and reaching out with simple grace into its warmth. Castiel was torn from Heaven, cast to Earth, reduced to all but human, and still, even still, he was all that remained of what angels were meant to be. One last, stained purity in a world rapidly going down the toilet.
No wonder his brothers kept trying to destroy him. Even just looking at him was more pain than Gabriel had allowed himself to feel in more than ten centuries.
"Maybe," he heard himself say at last, distantly, quietly. "Maybe. But haven't we ... don't we deserve ..." He stopped, trying to think how to make himself understood. Trying to think why he wanted this brother to understand. But Castiel ... there was faith in Castiel. More faith than Gabriel had seen in a long, long time. Faith enough to touch, maybe. Faith enough to ... to forgive. "Little brother, we are tired. So many of us, all of us ... Until Lucifer and Michael face each other, this war just won't end, and I ... and we ..."
"I know," said Castiel, softly. "I know. But it is still not our right, to hold them responsible. To make them suffer. These are our mistakes, Gabriel. Not theirs."
"They broke the seals," he answered. Petulantly. "They're not innocent, Castiel."
"No," the lesser angel answered, steadily, and Gabriel blinked. He'd been expecting a denial, there. He been expecting ... "They are not innocent. But they are good, Gabriel. They are right. They are worth fighting for. Worth dying for." Castiel stared at him, reached for him, Grace fading and crumbling around him, trying to show him, trying to make Gabriel understand. "For good or ill, our Father gave them the choice. He gave it to them, Gabriel. To deny them that ... What have we become, that we would deny them that?"
What have we become? And wasn't that the sixty-four dollar question ...
"I don't know," he said at last. He didn't. None of them did. Not any more. Not since ... not since the Morningstar first Fell, maybe. Not since they first realised they were not pure. They were not right. Not since they realised that angels could be wrong. That angels could act against their Father. That even angels had a choice. Not since they realised that when God gave the humans free will, He might have changed more than just the world. He might have changed them, too. Not since Father left, and took his orders with Him, and suddenly none of them knew what to do. There were no orders. There hadn't been for centuries. Only the prophecies, and the pain, and the burning hatred that rested between brothers.
What had they become? Lost. Alone. Almost human. And that ... that was poetic justice worthy of a Trickster, and if anyone ever found their bloody Father, Gabriel was going to have words with Him about that. There was a difference between having a sense of humour, and just being cruel ...
Even as he thought it, he could see Sam bloody Winchester, looking at him with desolate eyes as he begged for his brother's return, and fine, fine, he got the fucking point, already!
Dad, wherever you are, I hope you're laughing at this!
"Screw this," he muttered, snapping back to reality to find Castiel frowning at him. In concern, and after everything, after all of it, that ... that just about finished him. That just about broke him. He'd been lost, abandoned, in all likelihood laughed at while he struggled to learn the most basic of lessons, the lesson he'd taught to thousands of humans in his turn and never learnt for himself, and now, here and now, the one angel in Heaven or Hell with no cause to care about him, the one angel who might have the right to want him hurt ... that angel looked at him in concern. Because that angel, alone of all of them, had watched two humans, and learned. That angel had kept his faith, looked at what their Father had made, and understood.
"Come here," he said, abruptly. Snapped, really. Castiel flinched, concern slipping back behind fear. But not, he noted, disappearing. Fuck. Fine. "Castiel. Just come here!"
"Gabriel ..." So scared. So battered. So alone. Castiel had really had the shit kicked out of him, hadn't he? Well, screw that, too.
"Please," he said, gently. It wasn't like he had any pride left, after all. He'd seen what pride did to angels, in the end, and while he might be a slow learner in this one instance, he wasn't stupid. He could afford this. He could afford to say please, when it was important. "Cas. Please."
And Castiel looked at him, looked at him long and hard, eyes bright with fear and strength and faith, and then his brother laid down his sword, and came to him. Castiel reached out, human body humming with fear, Grace trembling in readiness to be torn once again, but he reached out. Though it shook him to the core, he reached out to his brother.
Oh God, Gabriel had missed ... but he wasn't going to think about that. He'd had enough moping for one evening. So instead, he reached out in his turn, wrapped his arms around his little brother, and poured all the power of his Grace into him. He reached out, power and light and glory, and poured himself into Castiel's Grace, into his soul, touching the wounds Raphael had left, Zachariah, Lucifer, Michael ... touched what his brothers had torn, and pulled it back together, wrapped it back up, filled it once again. Castiel gasped, pain and relief and weeping amazement, shuddered into him, his taller form curling around Gabriel's, his Grace reaching out in wonder, and Gabriel could feel himself weep at the love in him, could feel himself shake at the joy.
"Brother," Castiel whispered, stunned. "Gabriel." He slid to his knees, clinging to Gabriel, unable to stand against the rush of feeling, against the power of an archangel. Castiel had learned to fight many times. He'd learned to stand tall against violence. But never, and Gabriel knew this now, never, had Castiel ever had the chance to learn how to stand against kindness. Against compassion.
No angel had.
"Hush, kiddo," he said, gruffly, holding tight as the lesser angel sagged, lowering him gently to the sand, following him down. "Just ... just hush, alright? It doesn't mean anything. Just ... just hush." He could feel tears in his eyes, could see them standing in the blue ones staring up at him, could feel the depth of pain and love behind them. How long? How long had it been, since any angel had known this? Since before the first Fall, for him. And Castiel ... he wondered if Castiel ever had. "It doesn't mean anything. I'm not ... I don't ... It doesn't mean anything."
Castiel looked at him, all awe and wonder and faint confusion, the angel who could question and make God answer, and then ... then he smiled. Soft and faint as fading Grace, strong as an archangel's power. He reached out through renewed Grace, spread innocent wings, and wrapped them around Gabriel in return. While Gabriel stared at him in stunned fear, he reached up, laid a hand on the archangel's cheek, and smiled.
"Yes, it does," Castiel whispered gravely. "Thank you, brother. Thank you."
That was too much. "Don't thank me," he said. Growled. Scolded. "Don't thank me. I haven't done anything." And then, for some unfathomable reason, despite the exhaustion of millennia, despite a thousand years of hiding, despite every self-preserving instinct he had, Gabriel found himself whispering: "... Yet."
Castiel's smile was like the sun coming up, on a world that had not seen it in years, and for the first time since he'd left Heaven, Gabriel wondered if maybe their Father hadn't been wrong to give them this. This world, this choice, this fear, this pain, this love. He looked at his little brother, and wondered if maybe there was hope for them all yet. Castiel smiled, and Gabriel found reason to hope.
The kid was made to play people like harps, he was sure of it. But maybe he'd forgive Dad for that.
Just this once.
Contd: Storm
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