FIC: "Last Prayer" by shadow_artemis - PG
Title: Last Prayer
Author: shadow_artemis
Characters/Pairing: Castiel, some Chuck (with hints of Dean/Castiel)
Rating: PG for language
Summary: As the archangel descends upon Chuck's house, Castiel reflects on everything.
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me. I'm just a college bum. I owe more than I own.
Notes: Spoilers for Lucifer Rising, though if you haven't seen it already, why are you spending your time here? It's based on the deleted scene from that episode, anyway.
The house rumbled. Dishes crashed onto the floor as the windowpanes visibly flexed. White light in its purest form flooded the room. Next to him, Chuck stood wide-eyed, still unaccustomed to and afraid of the full glory of an angel. Not that he fully understood the sheer power he was facing, anyway; few mortals could ever begin to comprehend something as vast as Heaven’s splendor.
Castiel could only vaguely make out the prophet’s form at this point, but he saw the man was staring into the light, trying to face the fury of Heaven with all the strength of gelatin. It was noble, brave, but almost entirely false-Chuck couldn’t possibly grasp what was happening, never mind that Castiel could feel how afraid the man really was. Still, he was braver than most men.
Not Dean, though. Dean was strong, stronger than he’d ever acknowledge. Dean was willing to defy the most powerful beings in the entirety of creation because he knew they were wrong. It was a strength that few men possessed, let alone exercised, a strength of self and conviction.
Castiel himself couldn’t say he had that sort of strength, not when he’d bent to Zachariah’s will despite his own misgivings. The plan was called virtuous, but even as he repeated that to himself, every fiber of his being, tangible and otherwise, knew it was wrong. He saw his mistake now, in what Dean would call hindsight, a folly that only humans were said to manifest.
It was disturbing at first, these doubts-angels were not supposed to doubt, being perfect agents of the Lord-and despite his attempts to squash them, they had only grown more powerful. In Heaven, Zachariah had attributed it to his closeness with Dean, and ordered him to break all friendly ties before they tore out his grace themselves. Pushing Dean away was painful, more so than he’d like to admit, and now he wished he’d never done so. This was wrong, all wrong, and if only he’d have trusted his own developing instincts, maybe he and Dean could have prevented this without the loss of life.
But there was no use lamenting what could have been. They had all made their decisions, and there was no going back.
Staring into his own death, something he had never feared before and still did not find entirely perturbing, he thought of Dean’s own words, the ones that resounded through his mind more clearly than the voice of an archangel:
“What the hell?”
It was simple, if not crude and uncouth, but it was the best summation of his decision. Rebelling went against everything he had been created for, but what was the point of protecting and exalting his Father’s creation if there was nothing left? To say that his faith had been shaken was not entirely true: he no longer had faith in the hierarchy of Heaven, but he still had faith in God, wherever he was, and that was true faith.
He had faith in Dean too, faith enough that he was willing to face oblivion for what the man believed. It was just; he knew that much now. The will of Heaven was no longer the will of God, and he could not stand by while Zachariah and his counterparts destroyed all that their Father had created.
Still, it was rebellion, at least in their eyes. God was gone, and only the corrupted angels were giving orders. He could not be redeemed in their eyes, but maybe God would understand. This would then serve as his atonement, for both disobeying Heaven and for not trusting his instinct in the first place.
So, one last time, Castiel prayed.
He prayed that God would be found.
He prayed for a swift end.
He prayed for forgiveness.
He prayed that humanity would not burn.
But above all, he prayed that Dean Winchester would succeed.
Author: shadow_artemis
Characters/Pairing: Castiel, some Chuck (with hints of Dean/Castiel)
Rating: PG for language
Summary: As the archangel descends upon Chuck's house, Castiel reflects on everything.
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me. I'm just a college bum. I owe more than I own.
Notes: Spoilers for Lucifer Rising, though if you haven't seen it already, why are you spending your time here? It's based on the deleted scene from that episode, anyway.
The house rumbled. Dishes crashed onto the floor as the windowpanes visibly flexed. White light in its purest form flooded the room. Next to him, Chuck stood wide-eyed, still unaccustomed to and afraid of the full glory of an angel. Not that he fully understood the sheer power he was facing, anyway; few mortals could ever begin to comprehend something as vast as Heaven’s splendor.
Castiel could only vaguely make out the prophet’s form at this point, but he saw the man was staring into the light, trying to face the fury of Heaven with all the strength of gelatin. It was noble, brave, but almost entirely false-Chuck couldn’t possibly grasp what was happening, never mind that Castiel could feel how afraid the man really was. Still, he was braver than most men.
Not Dean, though. Dean was strong, stronger than he’d ever acknowledge. Dean was willing to defy the most powerful beings in the entirety of creation because he knew they were wrong. It was a strength that few men possessed, let alone exercised, a strength of self and conviction.
Castiel himself couldn’t say he had that sort of strength, not when he’d bent to Zachariah’s will despite his own misgivings. The plan was called virtuous, but even as he repeated that to himself, every fiber of his being, tangible and otherwise, knew it was wrong. He saw his mistake now, in what Dean would call hindsight, a folly that only humans were said to manifest.
It was disturbing at first, these doubts-angels were not supposed to doubt, being perfect agents of the Lord-and despite his attempts to squash them, they had only grown more powerful. In Heaven, Zachariah had attributed it to his closeness with Dean, and ordered him to break all friendly ties before they tore out his grace themselves. Pushing Dean away was painful, more so than he’d like to admit, and now he wished he’d never done so. This was wrong, all wrong, and if only he’d have trusted his own developing instincts, maybe he and Dean could have prevented this without the loss of life.
But there was no use lamenting what could have been. They had all made their decisions, and there was no going back.
Staring into his own death, something he had never feared before and still did not find entirely perturbing, he thought of Dean’s own words, the ones that resounded through his mind more clearly than the voice of an archangel:
“What the hell?”
It was simple, if not crude and uncouth, but it was the best summation of his decision. Rebelling went against everything he had been created for, but what was the point of protecting and exalting his Father’s creation if there was nothing left? To say that his faith had been shaken was not entirely true: he no longer had faith in the hierarchy of Heaven, but he still had faith in God, wherever he was, and that was true faith.
He had faith in Dean too, faith enough that he was willing to face oblivion for what the man believed. It was just; he knew that much now. The will of Heaven was no longer the will of God, and he could not stand by while Zachariah and his counterparts destroyed all that their Father had created.
Still, it was rebellion, at least in their eyes. God was gone, and only the corrupted angels were giving orders. He could not be redeemed in their eyes, but maybe God would understand. This would then serve as his atonement, for both disobeying Heaven and for not trusting his instinct in the first place.
So, one last time, Castiel prayed.
He prayed that God would be found.
He prayed for a swift end.
He prayed for forgiveness.
He prayed that humanity would not burn.
But above all, he prayed that Dean Winchester would succeed.