My guilt dishonours me. I killed my brothers, raised myself to "God", turned my back on the people who cared, unleashed the Leviathan on Earth. My hands are so drenched in blood I can't see them. Purgatory was a blessing. It's only fitting that, to atone for such monstrous sins, I spend my time locked up with monsters. But I wasn't there long enough. Something pulled me out. So now I'm here, still guilty and without my Grace.


{Denny's closed roleplay blog for Unholy Origins.}

Far To Go [Samandriel&Castiel]

fidei-defensor:

 Samandriel’s landing was not his best. Not by a long shot. But he was not used to carrying another. A human would be nothing, but another Angel? Just because his Grace was fading did not mean that in the grand scheme of things Castiel wasn’t an immense creature. And the fact that one of his wings were injured in the fight against the Leviathan’s did not help matters.

Burned bronze and tan wings fluttered once more as they became used to being grounded once more. There was a slight ache due to the extra weight and a throbbing pain in his left wing. But they were soon folded tightly against his back.

The younger Angel was fidgety and nervous. He had never seen Castiel in this sort of state and Samandriel did not like it. He cocked his head to one side as he listened to his older brother speak. He knew that he was expected to take Castiel to the Winchesters, but he himself didn’t know for sure where they were.

"I can feel Dean’s presence strongly… Not too far from here. But.. His Soul feel strange. Almost…"

Samandriel caught his lower lip between his teeth as he thought about how to describe the feeling he got from the Elder Winchester. But there was only one word to describe it. And it was just… Wrong.

"Angelic."

“Angelic?” Castiel repeated aloud, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.  Angelic was not a word typically used to describe human souls.  Its usage here was odd, disconcerting.  It added another layer of baffling to the already-bewildering circumstances.  It was wrong.  Humans could not transcend their mortal status to become angels.  It was unheard of – impossible, even, to do so.  Angels were separate beings entirely from humans, created by God to be messengers and warriors, as well as to carry out His Holy Word.  They were completely spiritual beings, so bright and pure that they could not abide by humans without a vessel.  Humans were simple creatures in comparison.  Yet, Dean had apparently overcome that difference and risen to a status of higher power.  He had, yet again, achieved the impossible.

It was hard to accept, however, that this was the case.  Certainly, Samandriel offered no lies, but the possibility that what he said was true was slim.  Castiel longed for his Grace so that he could himself reach out and scrutinise Dean.  If he could but examine the hunter for himself, perhaps he could say with more certainty what had happened to him.  Crippled as he was, however, he had only Samandriel’s word to consider.  He could assume with hesitance that something was skewing the younger angel’s perception of Dean, though this probability turned up yet more questions.  This reasoning did seem more viable than the alternative, though he ultimately figured it best to wait until he could look at Dean for himself before coming to a final conclusion.  His reunion with the hunters now seemed more urgent than ever.

"Which way is he?"

posted 11 months ago with 9 notes
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#fidei-defensor #Far To Go

After finding himself in Purgatory following Dick Roman’s defeat, Castiel chose to stay in order to atone for his sins.  Content to stay and serve out his due penance, none could be more shocked than he when he suddenly found himself back on Earth bereft of Grace.  What could be responsible for such an atrocity, the angel wants to find and sort out so that he can rightfully serve through his required time.  However, what he’s increasingly finding is that this won’t be a viable option, for it is not only Earth facing turmoil, and his presence might be required.

Castiel felt lucky to have found another angel soon after his return, though Samandriel has so far been unable to answer all of Castiel’s most urgent questions.  He has, however, introduced him to current affairs with the news that Michael, too, is back without Grace.  He further proved helpful by bringing the flightless angel to Bigfork, the evident centre of events.  From here, Castiel plans to glean the rest of what’s going on, though may be unprepared for it.  His decided starting place is the Winchesters, and he has asked Samandriel for help in locating them.
{Far To Go}

Later, after finally locating Dean’s motel room, Castiel contented himself to wait out for the hunter to return inside.  However, by virtue of his uninvited presence, he inadvertently surprised Dean, starting them out on the wrong foot.  Tensions are high, and all Castiel has gotten so far is shock anew at the fact that Dean has turned angel and that the dreaded and mythical “aethyrs” are going on.  Though he knows only little of what they entail, he understands enough to know that God is dead.  Never having anticipated such a bombshell, the one word has completely shattered the ground beneath Castiel’s feet, for he now knows he is looking at Doomsday.
{Chains Keep Us Together}

posted 11 months ago with 0 notes
#unholy plot summary

Far To Go [Samandriel&Castiel]

fidei-defensor:

Samandriel’s wings lowered and pressed against his back. He wished he had more to tell his brother, but really he was just as in the dark as Castiel. The younger Angel couldn’t even really explain why he came to Bigfork in the first place. Just that he was drawn to it and when he arrived… It wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. There was nothing he could say or do to make anything better. It all just raised more questions.

However, if he could help him track down the Winchesters. That was certainly something he could do. The younger Angel had yet to approach them, but he could feel them in the town. However, he wasn’t going to mention the utter wrongness that he felt coming from the brothers. If he didn’t know any better, Samandriel would have said he was tracking an Angel and a Demon. But of course that couldn’t be true.

"Yes. Michael."

He nodded quickly as if to further confirm his information. The fight with the Leviathan was one he did not wish to experience again. But they had both gotten out with their lives which was more than could be said for most. And now he faced the decision of whether or not to tell Castiel about Michael’s condition. The Archangel had been practically human. Something that had both astonished and interested Samandriel.

"There is… I think our brother is…. There’s something wrong. His Grace… There’s barely any of it left. Michael is… He seemed like a… Well… Human."

The younger Angel shifted uncomfortably again. He may not exactly be Michael’s number one fan, but it was still a horrible thing to think about. First Michael and now Castiel. Samandriel found himself wondering if he would be next to have his Grace sapped from him. The thought sent a chill through his very being.

At Castiel’s request, Samandriel nodded. Unseen to the human eye, large russet and auburn wings spread wide and for a moment arched over them both. For a brief moment the younger Angel made a protective gesture towards his elder. Shielding him from everything with his wings, before pressing his hand to Castiel’s shoulder and taking flight.  

Nothing thus far was as astonishing to Castiel as the news that Michael was as bereft of Grace as he.  That some malevolent force could render something as powerful as an archangel to such a powerless state was disturbing.  Knowing this, he wondered if, perhaps, the nameless identity that had stripped his own Grace was the same one responsible for Michael’s impotence.  The notion was certainly feasible.  He could not discredit the possibility that there were two separate entities responsible, either, though it was somewhat more disconcerting to think about.  Regardless, with this latest piece of information, the situation suddenly looked much more dire than previously.

Castiel was shaken from his contemplation by the spreading of Samandriel’s wings.  His own wings twitched in longing at the prospect of catching the wind in flight.  He kept them pressed to his back, however, as they currently served no purpose.  This unsettled him, as flight had been his primary mode of transportation since his creation, and his inability to use it hindered him greatly.  He recognised that there was currently nothing to be done about it, however, and so he resigned himself readily to Samandriel’s help, hoping that he would not be long relying on it.

“Thank you,” he said upon their landing, grateful that he at least would not have to walk the distance.  He then took a moment to look around and notice his surroundings.  How long he would be spending in this town was thus far indeterminable, and having a general idea of what was around could prove useful.  More pressing than the surrounding buildings, however, was his situation.  Bigfork was a good starting place, but the path branched from here.  Inevitably, he would traverse both paths, as Michael and the Winchesters were equally important for him to meet, but where to start was the question.

Ultimately, he decided to search for Sam and Dean.  For this, there were several reasons, not least of all being the fact that he still thought of them as friends.  Their status concerned him as much as his need for help at the moment.  Moreover, he suspected that they would be a decent starting place, given their tendency to get caught in the middle of these kinds of affairs.  He figured their knowledge of the situation likely to be adequate enough to start him on the right track.  If not, he would simply turn to other sources next.  He merely hoped that they still thought kindly of him, though doubted the possibility in light of recent events.  Regardless, he at least hoped his reappearance would not perturb them too much, so that they could, at the very least, explain what they knew.  He felt this expectation to be reasonable, and finally turned his gaze back to meet Samandriel’s.

“You said the Winchesters are around here.  Are you able to locate them?”

posted 12 months ago with 9 notes
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#Far To Go #fidei-defensor

Chains Keep Us Together - Dean&Cas

badassonbowlegs:

The emotion laced into his features didn’t so much as soften when the word left Castiel’s mouth as it merely morphed from frustration to skepticism. Cas didn’t necessarily have a reason to lie to him, but then again… maybe he did, given the lack of contact over the months. And it wasn’t like it’d be the first time the angel had told him one thing while something else entirely was going on, the other man’s partnership with Crowley after supposedly killing the slimy bastard still more than fresh in his mind, and served up with a steaming side of anger regarding the months of torment Cas had inflicted on Sam by ripping down his wall. Trust was a very fragile thing—especially when it was given by a Winchester—and while the double crossing during the Crowley situation might’ve been a large crack in their dynamic all on its own, the Sam issue was an entirely different ballgame. A complete shattering of that typically implicit and unyielding sense of faith and loyalty Dean put into those he considered friends… family.

"Purgatory," he echoed, every bit of that disbelief weaving in through his tone while his brow hiked questioningly. Not that it was entirely far fetched either, as it had, in fact, been a theory tossed between him and Sam regarding their friend’s whereabouts after the showdown with Roman…

‘Well that’s where Dick would’ve gone, right?’ his brother had asked when Dean had all but scoffed at the idea. ‘So maybe Cas got yanked there too. Some kind of… I don’t know… tie to him for letting him loose in the first place?’ 

Admittedly, that had made some sense, so it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that Cas was being honest about it. But then, this was the same angel who had walked into Hell, not once, but at least twice, and had managed to climb back out. And one of those trips had been to the goddamn cage when he yanked Sam’s body out. Not exactly an easy feat, and now he was sitting here, telling Dean that he couldn’t get out of Purgatory?

But no, not couldn’t. Didn’t want to.

‘I stayed…’

That had the hunter bristling all over again as Cas went on to explain that it had been a way to punish himself. To atone for what he’d done. And fair enough, Dean didn’t know much about Purgatory, other than the fact that it was the only afterlife option for monsters, and that Eve was a raging bitch. But what he did know was that when people screwed up, running from those mistakes and the ones they had hurt wasn’t punishment; it was cowardice. A chance to shirk the responsibility of honestly making up for what they’d done, so it was with the glare still resolutely etched into his features that he regarded the angel again, shaking his head as the angel mentioned wanting to go back. 

"No. No, you are right where you’re supposed to be, Cas,” he said flatly, though the words were sharply edged with that anger bubbling just beneath the surface. The only reason it was still in check at all was because losing his temper these days usually came with casualties, and while he had managed not to explode any people yet, he did not want to test that theory on Cas. No matter how pissed off he was at the guy, the angel was still… a friend, and Dean had a long list of people he’d rather try that trick out on than his friends… even in spite of whatever their friendship was or wasn’t worth these days.

But thinking about his own unchecked grace, and the questions that Cas had about it made something else the angel had brought up during his breathless explanation settle in on the hunter, and for the moment, all of that emotion was set aside in favor of satisfying the need to make sure he’d heard right as realization dawned on his face.

"Wait a minute, without your… Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me…" he all but groaned. But while his own angelic status was admittedly more confusing to him than not, now that he was sure he wasn’t going to be smote by the intruder in his room, and was actually paying attention to the… feeling that Cas’s own grace was emitting, it was easy enough to tell that something about him was… off, without the need for reassurance about the matter from the other angel. It seemed… weak when compared to his own, and even though Dean was hardly an expert on how angel mojo worked, something like this seemed like it would be one of those ‘strength comes with age’ sort of deals, meaning that Cas’s grace should’ve easily been overpowering his own. Now that the hunter was reading the situation though, that was very obviously not the case at the moment, and he rolled his green eyes before letting them slip closed, reaching a hand up to rub at his forehead in another bout of frustration.  

image

"Well that figures…" And honestly, it did. At this point, it was safe to say that his whole life had been governed by the shit end of Murphy’s Law anyway, so really, how could he even pretend to be surprised that with the end of everything bearing down on them, one of the only ties they had to all of Heaven was now defunct? That was just how it always worked, and if he’d actually bothered to give the possibility of Cas walking through the door much thought before now, he probably could’ve felt something like this coming a mile off. After all, it had been a few days since another check had appeared in the totally ‘screwed column’, which clearly meant they were due for one.

With this news, and after mentally taking stock of the situation as it stood now, he finally dropped his hand and looked over at the angel seated on his bed, wondering just how much, if anything at all, the other man knew about the state of things now, considering his absence. Did he know about God being dead? Not just gone, but dead? Did he know what the aethyrs meant, or what the signs of them were? It didn’t seem like it, given his surprise over Dean’s new status, which meant that it was going to be up to the hunter to break all of that news to him. Everything from Cas’s father being six feet under… or whatever… to the fact that they were standing on the brink of everything being wiped out. Not just humanity, or even the planet. All of the planets, the stars, Heaven, Hell… the universe as a whole, just… gone. About to blink out of existence entirely.

Talk about a shitty welcome back gift.

And suddenly, Dean was extremely glad this reunion had come after his beer run, although considering the immensity of the conversation they were about to have, whiskey probably would’ve been the better investment. Still, he ripped open the soggy box and pulled a can out to pop it open before swinging one of the dining chairs around in front of him, seating himself with his chest leaning against the back of it as he took a long drink from his beer before focusing his attention on Cas again.

"Alright, look, one question at a time dude. First, I dunno who pulled you up, but it isn’t just you. Gabriel, my dad… even Thing 1 and Thing 2 crawled out of the cage. And this…" Motioning with his free hand to the warp in space behind him where his wings attached, heavy and huge even while folded in, to his back, Dean shrugged, shaking his head again. “This is part of it, I guess. I got angel mojo, Sam’s got some… weirdo x-ray soul-vision crap going on. And we don’t know much, but as far as we can tell, it’s…"

There, Dean hesitated for a moment, biting the inside of his lip as he hovered on the edge of dropping the first bomb. He didn’t know for sure if it would stir any understanding in Cas, but if it did rang a bell, then it was possible everything else would slide into place without him having to spell it out for the other man. Which, on one hand, would be great, if only to absolve Dean of the task of bearing a metric fuckton of bad news. But on the other hand, it would mean a whole lot of devastation packed into a single verbal punch, so it took him a few moments to brace himself for the impact it could have before he breathed out a sigh, and found Cas’s gaze again to hold it as he spoke.  

"Does the word aethyrs mean anything to you?"

The resentment Dean harboured towards Castiel did not escape the angel’s notice.  Disheartened though he was to see this side of the hunter during their reunion after such a long time, he could do nothing but bear it silently.  After the countless atrocities he had committed, he deserved no less.  No doubt that Dean remembered everything – the lies, the betrayal, the ruthlessness… the tearing down of Sam’s wall.  That had been a time during which he was confused, desperate, misled; Heaven had been facing civil war and he had only wanted to end it.  What else was he supposed to do?  Even looking back on it now, he was lost.  Turning to Purgatory had not been the answer, he now knew.  Chasing that door and prying it open had done naught but wreak havoc and hurt everyone – himself, his brothers, his friends, countless others caught in the repercussion.  Never had he intended for so much widespread destruction and pain, but desperation had blinded him.  Yet, no amount of rational explanation would make right his wrongdoings.  All that could be done for that was hard punishment, and that was why he had opted to stay in Purgatory.

He had hoped Dean would understand.  He needed Dean to understand.  Without his understanding, he suspected he would find no help here, and his return to Purgatory was essential.  How else was he supposed to serve his penance?  He had committed too many sins, all abhorrent to varying degrees.  Not even his eternal suffering could ever truly make up for his crimes.  He could think of many punishments fitting for what he had done, though Purgatory was surprisingly merciful.  Regardless, that monstrous territory was what he had been granted.  His position was such that he could not turn down this proposition, so humbly had he accepted it, content to bleed and suffer for atonement.  That he had been denied his punishment was unthinkable; that it was supposed to happen unfathomable.  Being told that he did not, in fact, belong in Purgatory mystified him, and his gaze turned incredulous as Dean said it.

He was not where he was supposed to be.  How Dean expressed doubt over such an irrefutable fact escaped his understanding.  His arrival in Purgatory could not have happened merely as an accident.  It had been too perfect.  There, among the eternal prowling monsters, lay the answer to his guilt, finally revealed to him after extended agony over his transgressions.  So surely the aberration was his untimely extraction, because he was not ready.  So much more of his blood had to spill before he could be absolved.

Yet, something halted him before he could put voice to these thoughts.  The idea that maybe he was supposed to be here, absurd though it seemed, struck him as not quite so upon further consideration.  Had he been pulled back by some design of fate?  The possibility rang true with the other strange circumstances he had heard about.  Michael had broken free from the Cage and Dean had developed angelic Grace, two things which should not have been possible under typical conditions.  A grand design seemed implied, the likes of which Castiel resented more and more.  It was entirely possible his reappearance had not been mere circumstance.  No matter how much the thought disquieted him, he could no longer ignore it.  Not with the evidence stacked so high before him.  Something – something big – was happening, and it required his presence, Graceless – and subsequently useless – though he was.  His stomach twisted into knots, though he maintained his composure through this realisation with only the slightest contortions in his facial expression to give away the lurking uneasiness.

The situation perturbed him more and more, though nothing could have prepared him for Dean’s next words.

"Does the word aethyrs mean anything to you?"

The word reverberated excruciatingly through Castiel’s head, rendering him silent as it aroused latent memories.  For a moment, all he could do was stare at the hunter with a mixture of befuddlement and horror.  “Aethyrs” was, indeed, a word with which he was familiar; one which carried dire connotations.  The word “aethyrs” had been tossed around in Heaven, spread from angel to angel as they pondered its legitimacy.  Humans were not the only ones who spread tales and myths, and that was all the aethyrs were: a myth.  His knowledge of them was vastly limited, but what little he did know boded ill.  How had Dean come to learn such a frightening term?  Suddenly, he regretted coming here.  One strange event had only led to another, and now it seemed he was facing the worst news to hit him since his creation.  He did not want to hear about it – did not think he could bear to hear it.  Yet, it was already too late to turn back.  Grave were the implications of this one simple word, and perhaps it was better to hear of it sooner rather than later.

God was dead.

But no.  That could not be.

God, the Father, Creator of Heaven and Earth, the Almighty, King of Kings, Alpha, Omega, Beginning and End; the Mighty God, did not die.  He had discarded that myth long ago, figuring it too excessively presumptuous to hold any truth.  God was eternal, for was that not an integral part that came of being the omnipotent, omniscient God?  He could not die.

Yet, if that were the case, then why would this accursed word surface again here in such context?  The possibility of something severe occurring was one he could not deny, though he had not anticipated something as catastrophic as the rumoured aethyrs.  As much as he wanted to pass the idea off as absurd and put to rest the notion that his Father was dead, he simply could not.

His throat felt constricted, as if the breath was being squeezed from him via an invisible but fiercely strong force, and he found it hard to talk.  Regardless, he caught Dean’s gaze with his own and proceeded to answer his question in a hoarse voice.  “Yes.  These aethyrs…  I’ve heard of them.  I’ve not heard much, but…”  He trailed off here, unable to continue with the train of thought.  He took a steadying breath and continued, though could not repress the weakness afflicting his voice.  “My Father is dead,” he said, his voice flat and dull, “and you think these aethyrs are causing everything.”

Far To Go [Samandriel&Castiel]

fidei-defensor:

The fact that Castiel didn’t know what had happened scared Samandriel. Because Castiel was his older brother. He had been interacting with humans and working with the Winchesters. Castiel was supposed to know everything that was going on. The older Angel had been Samandriel’s comfort blanket of sorts. Everything would be alright because Castiel would know what to do. He had been secretly in awe of the Angel who had rebelled and gone his own way. Who had chosen free will.

Samandriel felt he could never do anything like that.

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. Suddenly his Vessel being too tight and too confining. The younger Angel wasn’t used to being in the presence of his own kind. It had been years… Thousands of years. And now it seemed like every Angel of Heaven was dropping in on this little town in the middle of nowhere. Even Leviathan had shown up out of nowhere and every other supernatural creature seemed drawn to the place. But Samandriel was no closer to finding out why.

"I… Am afraid I can’t give you any answers, Castiel. I myself have been trying to discover what has been going on. I have been told that the Winchesters have been spotted in this town, but I have yet to meet them. Michael is around here somewhere. If we find him, perhaps he can tell us more."

Samandriel’s nervous fidgeting and uncomfortable look did not escape Castiel, whose head inclined slightly at this observation.  The answer he would receive was evident even before the other angel opened his mouth to speak.  Samandriel knew no more about this than did Castiel.  That Samandriel knew nothing of his sudden return did not fully surprise him, as the circumstances surrounding it were quite strange, though he did feel the tugs of despair as he realised his question must continue to go unanswered for now.  He was not still completely hopeless, however, for Samandriel still offered other potential aid.  If he could just lead Castiel to the Winchesters, he would yet prove to be a huge boon, though this seemed unlikely.  Even still, he could, at the very least, bring him to nearby Bigfork, where perhaps he could find his own way.

Before he could make this request, Samandriel startled Castiel to the point of speechlessness with a burst of unanticipated information.  Head cocked, all he could was stare as he processed what he had just learned.  The Winchesters were evidently rumoured to be within this nearby town, a coincidence so vastly improbable that it must transcend the parameters of mere chance.  That this might be a fated situation occurred to Castiel, though he at first passed it off as absurd.  That he might be meant to intercept the Winchesters in Bigfork, and that doing so was more important than his punishment, frightened him because it boded some kind of misfortune.  He did not want to think about what that might be, though he could not afford to fully discard the thought, either.

As shocking as that revelation was, however, it paled in comparison to the inconceivable news he next heard.  “Michael?” he repeated aloud, puzzled.  The last Castiel knew of the archangel’s fate was that he had been trapped in the Cage with Lucifer.  That had occurred only a few years ago and was not subject to change, given the Cage’s admirable security – so strong it was the sole thing capable of containing Lucifer.  Escape from it should have been impossible under normal circumstances.  Yet, if what Samandriel now said was true, Michael had somehow been freed from his imprisonment.  What that meant for Lucifer and Adam, who had also been contained therein, Castiel now harboured uncertainty.  Lucifer could be free again, and if such was the case, any number of things could happen, none of them pleasant.  He hoped that this was not the case – that someone had pulled just Michael out and left Lucifer to his eternal confinement, – but there was a very real possibility that Lucifer roamed unrestrained.

Doubtlessly, Michael would know more about what happened with the Cage, and he might prove capable of answering other questions, too.  This could be useful, particularly if Samandriel could take him straight there, but uncertainty delayed his decision regardless.  The archangel might not show a happy demeanour towards the angel who had helped the Winchesters halt his fated apocalyptic confrontation.  Castiel figured his odds of being scorned higher, particularly if Michael had heard about the terrible atrocities he had committed since then.  Even so, his curiosity weighed heavy on his mind, urging him to take Samandriel up on his offer to find the archangel to make his inquiries - foremost among them pertaining to the Cage.

Facing him was surely inevitable; prudent, even, he would say.  He had to speak to Michael sooner or later, though he also desired to find the Winchesters still.  Strangest of all so far, it seemed that both leads were nearby.  Bigfork, Montana, for whatever reason, seemed to be at the centre of everything thus far.  If the Winchesters, Michael, Samandriel, and himself were all there, there was no telling who else he might find.  There was also yet no telling what kind of cataclysmic event might be occurring to cause such a development, and that was worrisome.

“Bigfork,” he said suddenly, having concluded that it was the best starting place.  ”Can you take us there?”  There, he would surely find at least some of his answers, of which there were now many.  He could find the Winchesters and Michael there, maybe start to glean the big picture of whatever was happening.

posted 1 year ago with 9 notes
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#fidei-defensor #Far To Go

Chains Keep Us Together - Dean&Cas

deanfrigginwinchester:

In a never ending biblical-type assault, rain pelted the glass of his windshield with ferocity, the swishswish noise of his wipers seemingly growing angrier by the second. He feels bad for his car. Cooped up in one town, hammered constantly with shitty weather… She’s not made for this, but she keeps on going, odometer ticking over every mile. 120,000, 130,000… footprints of his life—of their life—embedded into the tread lines of her tires, and she rarely complains. A rattle here, a shake there, but he can always count on her, even when she hates what’s being dished out to her. Like now, for instance, every pissed off swish of the wiper blades telling him so.  

"I know baby, me too," he agreed with a consoling pat of the dashboard. Luckily, they weren’t going far. Then again, in a town this small, far didn’t really exist, and the grocery store wouldn’t have even been considered driving distance, if not for the monsoon outside. So it wasn’t long at all before he finally pulled into the motel parking lot, swinging his car into her spot, which is how he knows they’ve been here too long. Because no matter how many people check in and check out of the motel, no one else ever parks there. Not even when he’s gone. It drives Dean crazy as much as it conveniences him.

Cutting the engine, and with his 30 pack in hand, he climbed out of the cabin, rain drenching him almost immediately as it soaked through layers like they didn’t even exist. There wasn’t even a point to running for cover under the overhang above their motel room door, so instead he simply walked, soggy box in one hand while his other fished around in his pocket for the key to his room. But something stops him, and he looks up at the door, eyebrow raised in wary curiosity.

Something… or someone rather, is in there, and if he had to hazard a guess, he’s pretty sure it’s the angelic sort of someone, given the tingly feeling that weakly shudders through his own new grace. Great. Like he doesn’t have enough angels coming out of the woodwork to pop up in his porn. At least that one was a sort of friendly face though. For all he knows about the new intruder in his room, it’s one of the handful of other angels who he’s pretty sure solely exist to make his life miserable. Zach, Uriel, Michael, that Rachel bitch… 

He’s so focused on running down the list of possibles that he doesn’t even catch the tell tale pins and needles feeling working its way through the top of his left arm. If he had, the answer as to who was on the other side of his door would’ve been plain as day, silvery white scar in the shape of a hand print prickling at being so close to its source. But he doesn’t notice, and so, with a deep breath, and after figuring that there’s no chance of whoever is in there just leaving since they likely know he’s standing outside if he knows that they’re inside, he pulls out the key in his pocket and jams it into the lock, turning the knob along with it before he gives the door a gentle push to open it.

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Whoever he was expecting though, it isn’t who he sees, and he’s understandably startled, nearly dropping the case of beer in his hand before the nanosecond of shock wears off enough for him to swear under his breath and step inside.

"Christ, Cas, warn a guy next time! I just spent the last 30 seconds out there wondering if I was about to walk into angel harakari!" Shutting the door loudly behind him, he didn’t even stop to think about what he wanted to say. Instead, demanding questions just came spilling out of him, hardly a breath between them the second he turned to face the angel again. 

"Where the hell have you been anyway? Do you even know how many times I’ve called your ass?" Called meaning prayed, but he hated referring to it like that. Dean didn’t pray—he just yelled at the sky. But if the angel did have an explanation, the hunter didn’t wait to hear it, launching into his assumptions instead. “What? God kicks the bucket, Heaven decides to unleash friggin Armageddon on us, and you just piss off to…"

But Dean wasn’t sure how to finish the thought. Not like Cas was the type to go party in Cabo with enough hookers to drown him up to his eyeballs or anything. So rather than try to come up with a logical explanation for where the angel had disappeared to, he settled on giving the guy an annoyed glare instead as he set his beer box down with a heavy thunk and shrugged out of his wet jacket, folding his arms across his chest as he turned to face the other man again with anger and frustration embedded deep into his expression.

"Well?"

Rain hammered the motel incessantly, reverberating within the room wherein stood Castiel.  The angel watched the monsoon as it raged outside through a window as he waited for the return of the room’s owner.  He had been anticipating this reunion ever since his unexpected return from Purgatory, figuring it best to meet with Dean and relate his experience as soon as possible.  The hunter’s well-being was important to him, of course, but the help the man might offer in identifying why Castiel had reappeared as he had was just as, if not more, important. He relished the opportunity to work the case with him, but ached more for the answers it would yield.  He needed to know who had brought him back, why they had done so, and what had happened to his Grace.  The last one was particularly important.  Without his Grace, he was all but helpless – it was required to execute angelic deeds, such as flying, healing, and fighting to his full potential.  His current state rendered him little more than human, clinging desperately to the insignificant amount of Grace still left to him.

Just where Dean could be found at this time, Castiel did not know, though it also mattered little.  He had succeeded in finding the man’s abode, however temporary it may be, and that ensured their eventual meeting.  As anxious as he was for answers, he was grateful just for this opportunity to meet again with the elder Winchester.  In the meantime, he saw no harm in getting comfortable, as he had no way to determine when exactly Dean would arrive.  He strayed from the window and seated himself on the bed’s edge instead.  His feet ached more than he had expected, and he regretted not having the Grace necessary to ease the pain.  That was just as well, however – humans certainly had to endure their share of foot pain.  Being in his predicament, he could no more avoid it than could they, so he must learn to tolerate it.  How long he would remain Graceless and have to abide by such inconveniences was indeterminable, but he resolved to handle it.  This was nothing severe, anyway – he had been on his feet too long, probably, and they just needed the rest.

There came a sudden exclamation of astonishment that announced Dean’s arrival, and Castiel snapped his gaze to regard the man before him.  His eyes held in them a hint of the concerns plaguing him, but rather than starting with those, he opened his mouth to apologise for unintentionally scaring the hunter.  Such had not been his intention – he only desired to reacquaint himself with his friend and perhaps get some assistance.  Something stopped him from uttering more than a simple “Dean, I—”, however.  As Dean bulled ahead with his questions, Castiel grew increasingly aware of a peculiarity about him.  He had changed, it seemed, and rather drastically.

Men did not become angels.  Angels were creations of God, separate beings entirely from humans.  Men did not possess Grace that the angels had, and had no way of acquiring it.  Odd, then, was the fact that, with Dean, Castiel felt the presence of such Grace, indicating the presence of an angel that he simply did not see.  Perhaps more curious was that the Grace felt unmistakably like Dean – so much so that Castiel could not deny the obvious connection.  Could Dean, then, have found some way to become one of the beings he seemed to most loathe?  Absurd though it seemed, what else could it be?

Castiel’s eyes widened with the intensity of this realisation.  It came to his awareness, though, that Dean either did not notice or did not care about his discomfort and uncertainty.  Indeed, the hunter seemed only to expect answers from the angel.  As he had come all this way with the intent of divulging all this information anyway, he saw fit to comply.

“Purgatory,” he started simply.  “I was in Purgatory.”  A pause followed as he considered how best to continue.  The passage of time had eluded him during his penance, and so he could not reasonably gauge how much time had been spent wandering aimlessly through the trees, fighting the horrors that jumped out at him.  The time must have been substantial, however, for Dean to have changed this much.  Instead of bringing this up yet, he opted to continue with everything he knew for certain regarding only himself.  “I was sent there after we killed the Leviathan.  I realised that being there gave me a chance to atone for all that I’d done, so I stayed.  I wanted to serve out my punishment.”

His brow furrowed in consternation.  “I was extracted suddenly and left near a highway, but without my Grace.  My guilt still torments me.  I shouldn’t be here.  I don’t know who’s responsible for this, but I need to find out before I can return.  So I searched for you.”  He lifted his eyes to meet Dean’s once more, though now they were clouded with uncertainty.  “And I see you’ve changed.  I’ve never heard of a human having Grace before, but you seem to have developed it.  Dean, what happened to you?”

Far To Go [Samandriel&Castiel]

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The mere presence of his older brother made his very Grace vibrate and swell within the Vessel. Alfiie’s body a paper thin cage against the might it was holding in. He swallowed down the tumbling Enochian that threatened to tear from his lips. Bit down on the songs of praise and love and… But something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Samandriel had been drawn to his brother’s Grace, yes… But only now did he realise how very little of that Castiel had left. A scrap, if that. And the younger Angel only noticed it because it called to the shining power within himself. Recognised it. Would have found it anywhere.

Samandriel was staring, mouth slightly agape and tears collecting in his Vessel’s eyes. Crying. Was he crying? What an odd thing. He could feel… Things. Not like a human, no… But sometimes… Due to his calling… Samandriel could feel. And right now he wished he couldn’t. He had heard that Castiel had vanished to Purgatory. Was punishing himself for the things he had done. And Samandriel had wept only as an Angel could weep. With his entire being. 

He took a shuddering breath that he didn’t need to take and licked his lips. it took a moment for him to realise that Castiel had asked him a question. The younger Angel shifted slightly and looked around. Three was nothing but highway and trees for miles and miles around. But he would be helpful. He knew where this was. He walked through here all the time, ever circling the town that seemed to attract so many supernatural happenings.

"A few miles out of Bigfork….Montana."

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Samandriel moved closer, wings trembling and shifting towards the other Angel. Wanting to encase him within his own Grace and protect him. Wanted him to know that he was not alone. Because this frightened Samandriel. Seeing his once mighty and fearsome brother… Looking so small and so very… Human.

"Brother… What happened to you?"

Mystified by the occurrences surrounding his own reappearance, Castiel could at best only offer conjecture on his current state.  Certainly, he was more human than angel due to the loss of Grace; something which did not seem to escape Samandriel’s notice, if the other angel’s concerned demeanour was any indicator.  He could speculate that his Grace had been stripped as penalty for the wrongs he had done, but he could just as easily guess that whoever had resurrected him had not intended to leave his Grace at all.  Maybe it had only been accidentally left behind. The fact remained that it was missing, and that was all that mattered.

With a sigh that carried the weight of certain weariness, he lifted his eyes to meet his brother’s and summarised his musings.  “I don’t know.”  The words felt heavy on his tongue.  The fact of his ignorance disconcerted him, but he could do nothing to amend that at the time.  He tracked Samandriel’s countenance with his eyes for a moment.  Then he turned his gaze contemplatively skyward and proceeded slowly with his explanation.  “I was sent to Purgatory to atone for my sins.  How long I was to be there was uncertain, but I was extracted at no such time.  This was… sudden.  It came too soon.  I still have much and more to atone for…  I don’t know who could have done it.  I don’t know what they might have been planning.  My Grace has been torn from me, though.  That’s all I know.”

Now he also knew where he was, though the name Bigfork, Montana did not mean much to him.  He could rest assured, at least, that he was near civilisation, and that meant people.  He could only hope Sam and Dean would be nearby, for reuniting with them was among his top priorities.  Better not to delude himself with such fantasies, however – the possibility of them being even in Montana at any moment was small, given their travelling nature.  In that sense, the town offered little else but the opportunity for him to recover from his impromptu return and collect his thoughts.  The idea appealed to him, he realised, but rather than go there right away, there was more he wanted to know - more that he needed to know.

“Samandriel,” he said, fixing his gaze inquisitively upon the other angel.  “Do you know anything about my return here?”  Just what kind of response he expected to get, he was not certain.  He hoped, however, that he would be able to shed at least a little light on the situation.

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Far To Go [Samandriel&Castiel]

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It was mostly the cities that Samandriel found himself. Both in his Vessel and slipping through the streets curled around the breeze and coiled around clouds. So many humans. So much pain. The agony washed over him. Over and over again. And he listened to the prayers that were just for him. His own little whispers in the dark of night. Tear soiled words and pain tainted hymns. These were his love letters, and he collected them and kept them close to what could have been a heart. Had their Father given them one that beat for those other than God.

But sometimes the young Angel preferred to go out walking where the houses and tower blocks thinned out. To where the whispered cries of praying humans seemed to fade a little. Samandriel could lower the volume and just walk. Out into miles and miles of nothing. Just the scent of grass and flowers, the whispers of the trees and the constant singing of the stars.

It was on one of these walks that the Angel noticed something different in the air. There was a pull on his Grace. Something so familiar and yet something he had not felt in a long time. Something lost. It tugged at his Grace again and Samandriel felt the sudden urge to strip himself of his Vessel and sing the Hosanna. To reach out with his Grace and touch the force that was somewhere on this lonely road. A force that was so much like his own. But more powerful. Older.

Grace… It was another’s Grace he was feeling. An Angel of higher rank. That would explain his need to subdue himself, but to also sing the Praise of the one who approached. With no God to follow, Samandriel fell into step behind those of the higher rank. Taking a breath, Samandriel lowered his defences and allowed himself to truly feel who was out here with him. His breath hitched and eyes widened.

“Castiel?”

This was not Purgatory.

The thought was a disconcerting one and did not sit right with Castiel.  That he had escaped his punishment was unthinkable, especially when his hands remained drenched in the blood of countless angels and innocents.  There had been a time when his hands had not looked so monstrous, when they had even looked almost clean.  He pined for such a time now, for he had strayed far from his well-intentioned purpose.  Angels did not subject Heaven to disarray and civil war, did not commit genocide, did not unleash Purgatory’s wrath upon the world, and did not presume to be God.  Castiel once had been an angel of the Lord, loyal to His holy Word.  Now, bereft of purity and Grace, his status fell to something lesser – something more akin to human.

It was an empty feeling, the lack of Grace, though not one unfamiliar to him.  The last time he had lost his Grace was during the apocalypse the Winchesters had halted, and then it had been fully restored upon his resurrection.  That was in stark contrast to his return this time, wherein he found himself suddenly stripped of all but a trace amount of his Grace.  Though too faint to be put to much use, he took comfort in the fact that it was there.

So had his Grace been taken from him by design or by accident?  The answer to that lay in the answer to one other important question: Who had brought him back?  Who had seen fit to pull him from his imprisonment, despite it being the only place he rightfully belonged?  Could it have been Sam and Dean, imposing on Purgatory in order to ‘save’ him, even though he wished only to be left to atone?  No.  Though he did not put an attempt past them, he did not think the Winchesters capable of such an extraction.  Even if they had the audacity to try, opening the door was no simple task.  It had taken him a covert alliance with the king of Hell and iniquitous methods to pry it open the one time he did, and that had backfired cataclysmically.

But if not the Winchesters, then who?  Heaven would have no hand in his reappearance, he was certain.  Not after the fratricide and widespread destruction he had sown.  He had lost favour with Heaven and its host, and they were more likely to content themselves to allowing Castiel’s continued suffering for his sins.  Could, then, the creatures of Hell have seen some benefit in bringing him back?  That seemed just as unlikely, for what would demons gain from this?  Of course, that left no one considered as a viable possibility, and that was impossible.  Somebody had done it, a thus far faceless identity, for reasons yet indeterminable, and that was more discomfiting than anything else so far.

His wings clipped of Grace, Castiel slowly started putting one foot in front of the other.  He had to find his way to somewhere eventually, and the longer he lingered here, the larger became his discomfort.  Even as he made his way up the hill’s gently sloping incline, he surveyed his surroundings.  He had been dumped in the midst of a forest, if the trees were a good indication.  Beyond that, he could be almost anywhere.  Was he close to civilization, or somewhere devoid of such luxuries, doomed to wander for an indefinite amount of time?  Discerning an answer was beyond his capabilities at the given time, but rather than dwell on it, he opted to continue walking until he found something.  Just what he would find remained to be seen, though he would favour a road.

“Castiel?”

The call was faint, carried to him on the wind, but it brought him to an abrupt halt.  That was not one of nature’s soothing sounds.  There was someone nearby, close enough for Castiel to catch their voice unaided by Grace though he was, and whoever it was knew him by name.  His skin prickled and uncertainty clouded his thoughts – should he proceed onward and confront the speaker, or balk and turn back, where he could seek a potentially safer route?  His Grace was not sufficient enough to extend and evaluate the person from this distance, and without that initial analysis, he was left to merely speculate about their identity.

Could it be one of his brothers?  Such was a possibility.  He thought it odd that they could recognise him so easily without his Grace, but maybe they had sensed the faint power still clinging to him.  If they were a brother, or at the least an ally, the most he could hope for was assistance.  He needed to find Sam and Dean, for the hunters could surely help him in some regard.  If this person could just point him in their direction, that would suffice his needs.

On the other hand, he could be walking into a demon’s trap.  If faced with such a creature, he would have little with which to defend.  Graceless, his only means of survival would fall to his angel sword.  Familiar with the ways of the blade, he figured himself adept enough to take down most creatures and low level demons with ease.  Trouble came if it was something more threatening.

One foot moved forward, hindered by reluctance, but was soon followed by another and then another.

Castiel saw the road before he saw the man.  The pavement stretched on and on as far as he could see, invariably connecting cities and towns in fulfilment of its only purpose.  Following it would be simple, albeit arduous on foot as was his predicament.

It was then that he noticed the man in the red “Wiener Hut” hat and curious red-and-white striped attire.  The face was that of a stranger, but the familiar warmth emanating from him was unmistakable.  That Castiel had not noticed it sooner as he approached was unsurprising if simultaneously a slap in the face.  This man was no more than a vessel, housing the true identity within, and it was one he recognised.

“Samandriel,” he said, by way of greeting.  At this point, there were several questions he wanted to ask, foremost amongst them pertaining to the location of Sam and Dean.  Instead, he elected to start with an equally important and somewhat more pressing matter.  “Where are we?”

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