WHERE ANGELS SIT
By: Karen B.
Summary: Short snippet. Castiel pulls Dean from the pit. Castiel pov.
Dreamer's note: Always, I thank you for reading. And as always, claiming anything goes against my grain. We own nothing in this world, but our own souls.
His mourning had been very deep and very real. The weight of the world placed upon his heart -- and his heart caved. The cross he had born for years lay lifeless, breathless in his arms -- and he wept. At that moment, Dean Winchester desired my father like he had desired no other. He sought nothing more, looked up to the night sky, and prayed -- for the first time in years.
When my father was not able to respond in a way that was favorable to Dean -- another soul had been lost.
Not all angels sit at the table of God. Dean Winchester had sold his soul to the darkest of all angels. I did not condone his human heart or actions, but respected Dean Winchester. For under all his mysterious, unbiblical ways, he was a fierce, obedient, and loyal solider. We are all called upon to fulfill a mission. Angel, human, and demon alike. I, myself, had been sent on many a mission -- I could never hope to understand. I understood Dean's mission, however, and it was that passion, that seed planted deep inside his very nature, within his red blood, that parched his soul and bound him to spend eternity in living hell.
For the love one has for a brother, is an overwhelming power. And to take their place in death -- no greater sacrifice can be made -- no matter how misplaced your own soul may become.
Dean's human heart, unable to accept my father's will, now had been bound and chained for thirty years, unshackled only for ten.
Finally, the day had come. My fellow brothers and I, called to do battle -- to save Dean Winchester's tortured soul.
In preparation, the trumpets sounded their unmistakable sound, and we went forth. My brother's fought hard to create the man-sized hole leading into pure evil. Large flocks of us had fallen to our deaths. Many trampled under the feet of demons, burned up, lost within Hades unquenchable fire.
My father had a purpose for Dean. Some of my brothers were not happy about those plans. However, it was not for us to sit in moral judgment. I, for one, was determine to pull Dean Winchester back into the light, bring him refuge from the powers of darkness.
The revolving door to hell was open, and would not stay open for long. Fire blasted forth, unclean lips spat, the sins of the world battering us, filth settling over our heads and pounding, wrestling, blotting our spirits into nonexistence -- no greater battle had yet come to be.
Angles turned to and fro, backward in flight, struggling to keep the gateway open. Our mission -- extract Dean Winchester from eternal damnation -- or die.
The confrontation was a massacre. Demon after demon poured fourth, sent not only to slay, but to corrupt, condemn, and forsake. Enlarging Lucifer's demonic army with the very wings of my father's fallen soldiers.
I fortified myself. There were only a handful of my brother's left holding the door open. This was perhaps the most difficult thing I'd done and by far the most frightening. However, above anything, I had to free Dean. I froze a moment, took a breath, pinned my wings back, and then without hesitation or thought dove headlong through the dreadful hole, into the dark den of soul stealing thieves.
I plowed through the milky blackness of the unfaithful, murderous, and the unholy. Desperate not to cry out, desperate not to fail, not to lose faith -- only to obey the will of my father.
I flew down over the heads of a circle of demons. The heat intensifying, nearly melting my wings together. I caught only a quick glimpse of Dean. Tried grabbing him, but couldn't find him through the engulfing flames and smoke. I had to get to him, trying again, I plunged through the thick union of black shadows that surrounded him. I felt a pang of suffering run through me. Dean was still human, truly a righteous man, tortured and cruelly placing that torture onto others, seemingly without a care. I swooped in close, this time able to grab him, but he slipped from my hand. I swiftly turned about, my right hand outstretched, sanctifying myself as I closed in. If I was captured, I would forsake my father and all that I was, forced to turn, denounce my faith, and obey the angel who sat in eternal darkness.
As I drew near, I reached out a steady hand, gripped Dean's shoulder tight and pulled -- separating his righteous soul from the wicked of Lucifer's.
"No, no, no! Sam!" Dean gasped, a raw scream filling the sulphric air.
It was a good sign. A sign that meant I had a firm hold, even though the sound of pain that he emitted sent my own heart to my feet. I had Dean Winchester in my possession. And I would not let go.
Cross-eyed demons reared, clamored, clawed, screeched and wailed their discontent, piercing my mind like a thousand pitchforks. Arms flaying, the monsters of misery took hold of Dean's legs. We were pulling him apart. A tug of war between heaven and hell. Sorrow, pain, unhappiness, despair, and heated anger rolled over me like an inky-black sea. I was lost. Could not bare the weight of evil as I struggled to raise Dean.
Dean cursed loudly, barely tolerating the damage extracting him was causing. I winced inside, taking no pleasure in his continued suffering. My powers passing through his shoulder would leave a permanent brand, but I did not let go. Pulling harder, I looked up through the ever-closing hole towards heaven. Hellfire, black air, judgment, and tribulation flared all around us -- the evil blinding.
Dean had cried out one last time, then gone lifeless in my grasp, his threshold for the pain -- gone. I was concerned for his well-being, but out of time and options. Extracting him from darkness, my only goal. I prayed he would survive. The hole above was narrowing, and I saw several more of my brothers' fall past me into the horrifying abyss.
I wanted to cry out -- but kept silent.
I wanted to lose heart -- but put my trust in my father.
Blessed is the man who endures, who mourns, who keeps the faith.
Just as the doorway out of hell's fire was about to close, a blinding light, whiter than ivory or snow, lit the darkness. Grace gripped my heart, gave me the strength I did not know I had. In return, I gripped tighter to Dean, bursting upward, wrapping my wings around my charge -- breaking free -- redemption at last.
I lay Dean's soul -- intact, inside the box where his brother had placed his physical body, covered by six feet of dirt, in the middle of a forest.
"What? What friggin' happened? Wha' did you do?" Dean demanded, through the dark, although in a feeble tone.
I couldn't answer. I had to get back to my fellow brothers. The gateway had to be closed, demons were escaping, my brother's dying. Dean was back in charge of his own soul. Out of his hell, back in his body, he would have a lot to deal with. The images of hell never would be gone.
"Rest." I touched his forehead and Dean was unconsious again.
I would not abandon him. We were connected, he and I. And I would prepare him for warfare. For the terrible truth -- this battle was won, but the true conflict had just begun.