TITLE: A trainwreck from the human perspective

A/N: I may be one of the few people who actually loved (in a traumatized, NOOOOO, sort of way) the finale and the development with Castiel and this is, I suppose, a post season 7 idea (I haven't got the faintest idea of course, seeing as I don't know what is planned for the next season, but I'm guessing this is post series *sob*).
So, Castiel is human, alone and thinking. And then something will happen, but that is not this chapter^^
All thoughts are meant to be seen through Cass eyes, not me thinking here, just the angel (or human).

This has NOT been beta'd so all mistakes are kudos to me (hopefully there are none, yes?).
Rating due to later events, because I love me some angsty, hurt Cas and redemption (YES, he will be redeemed you naughty series).
No pairing unless you choose to see it that way. I like to leave the possibility open to the individual.

Disclaimer: I'm disclaiming (though very much against my will)


Accompanied by unbidden thoughts in a cheap motel room


Castiel sits on the bed. His arms are wrapped around his tucked – in legs, his chin balanced on his knees. His eyes are unfocused, but wide and fearful. This isn't how he remembers it from last the time. This is darker and he is more alone.

He'd had a taste of humanity before, back when the apocalypse had been impending and God had seemingly abandoned the world to the whims of tantrum instilled angels. He'd never expected to become something like them, Hell, something worse than them.
The difference between them and him, were probably original motives. "I mean," Castiel thinks to himself, "it all boils down to family, one way or another." The angels had their "Daddy issues," Castiel… Castiel had betrayed the family that actually surrounded him.

He sometimes feels like the Winchesters attract something like lost puppies. Their lives are so permanently screwed anyway that they become attached to anyone who – in some weird way or another – becomes latched to their war against beings usually a thousand times stronger than them.
You couldn't help but feel loyal to their black and white ways of seeing the world, although, maybe it became less simple since Sam started on the demon blood that led to his downward spiral. It was scary, discovering that the world existed in shades of grey, that in order to do good, one allowed evil. Even became evil in certain instances. Sam had experienced it, but… Dean had forgiven him and, well, it wasn't as if Sam hadn't redeemed himself by sacrificing his life to an eternity in the pit with a pissed off archangel and his demonic brother.

This was where it started.
Dean returned to Lisa again. Castiel had, at the time, wondered whether she would try to stab him upon entering her life again, but apparently Dean inspires love to whoever he lays his eyes on. He was purposefully keeping his promise to Sam. It was the only part of Sam remaining.
Castiel – determined not to ruin Dean's "so called" happiness – returned to heaven, now intent on handing out "Team Free Will" T – shirts to angels without orders. Angels without orders are baseless, apparently. Order an angel to hang itself (of course, allowing for the fact that angels technically do not die of this) and the angel will gladly do so, if it were told that God wanted it so. Sadly, even within the ranks of faithful angels, there will always exist one that wants to play God. And, to honour the play, one angel, preferably much weaker and "corrupted" by human kind, will step up to the challenge. This angel was in this instance cast by Castiel.
Motives: Faith towards God. Strange, how it always comes back to faith. No matter how much free will poisons his veins, Castiel knows that it was originally belief in the free will that God encouraged that started the war. That, and the fact that Raphael disagreed strongly.

Castiel almost wants to blame Dean at this point. Dean raking his stupid leaves in that stupid garden, living with that woman, trying to live his stupidly fake life.
At this point in the story Castiel knows it is a fake. Castiel has raised Sam from perdition (ah, the irony) and eventually Dean will return to whatever runs through his blood: Family, hunting. Sure, Lisa and Ben are in a simple fashion Dean's family, but they are not a part of his life. As soon as he hunts again they will fall by the wayside.
But Castiel wanted him to feel safe for a moment. Sentimentally idiotic, he knows, but if there was one thing he did not wish at the time, it was to ruin Dean Winchester's simple, "white – picket fence" life, no matter how brief it may have been.

At that moment he wanted to reveal himself and possibly help in raking a few stupid leaves together. It even felt realistic to do so.
Alas at small reprieves.


Castiel hears a noise. A creak. With these eyes he cannot discern the shadows from reality and he longs to stand from the bed to explore the source, but simultaneously he fears these noises. He, an angel of the Lord, fears the dark within a simple motel room.
He wishes he had his old eyes and could simply see through the dark, "eyes" being a technical term, seeing as he never really had eyes as an angel.
Only that once, that scary time when he'd awoken in a hospital and felt, well, the best description would be "minor, physical irritations," had he received the bitterness of humanity in all its glory and – for the love of… well, you know – it was perceived through a friggin bug scratch.
He'd been a Winchester puppy back then, for want of a better word. Worry had been etched in Dean's voice when Castiel had called him from the hospital. It was odd. Worry was not something that was generally associated with angels. At the time, Castiel had steadfastly held onto his "angelism." Yes, he'd lost power, but he was still, in some sense, divine. Perhaps the strongest argument towards his humanity was that he was lying to himself at the time. Angels don't lie.

"But to return," Castiel says aloud in the room, trying to drown the silence and the noises that always multiply within it. "I was watching Dean raking leaves. I think he would have called it "a breach of his personal space" had he known. I haven't told him about me watching him. I probably never will…"


Crowley was – is – a son of a bitch. A well spoken, alluring, annoyingly smoothly accented, ill – tempered and manipulating bastard.
He had successfully diverted everyone's attention by assisting in the campaign against the devil. What everyone – "yes, including myself, I admit to my folly" – had failed to realize, was that Crowley was not working in everybody's best interest. He was working for his own. Returning to Bobby the use of his legs was a cunning decoy, one that had even the old drunk believing his demonic lies for a while.

Castiel can, at present moment, relate to whoever is deceived by something as appealing as "doing the right thing." At this time in his life he would forgive anyone for strolling amiably down that paved road of lost good intentions. Maybe he and Sam ought to start a redeemers club, although one of those does exist already. It's called church.
Castiel doesn't feel like praying. If anyone deserves a well – aimed lightning bolt of wrath in the face, it's him. And Castiel knows that it isn't because he has flaunted power. He has learnt now from first hand experience (and he wasn't warned by Lucifer's and Michael's little dance party) that power corrupts. The power that is supplied via a lot of evil souls is probably not the best to invest in and it should be known that this power does not end with thoughts of handing lollypops to the starving people of the world. It is not misguided, yet selfless. It is pure, unadulterated evil and it consumes.

Castiel holds no illusions. His actions were his own. He did it out of love, loyalty, faith. Once.
Following events that led to his last prayer before that happened, he now knows that it turned to resentment. Even taking into account the greyer zones of life, he betrayed family, at that moment, on that damned bench. He – God help him – chose a demon. As if Sam hadn't been one big lesson since they'd met. Sam, the abomination, Sam with demon blood running through him, Sam who once feared that his brother would forever regard him as a freak.
And now Castiel is the freak.

Of course, although the original idea is the same "good guy gets tricked by demon" the story will never play out the same way twice. The beginning is the same and the ending will always be pain, but that oddity called "the middle" is what no one can predict.
Castiel could have failed and the second apocalypse would have been looming ominously, waiting to jump from under its bridge and eat up the world, like any bad – tempered troll. Albeit, a very large troll.
As it is, Castiel, alone, seemingly abandoned, performing one act after another that caused this play to end in something akin to moral relapse (the end justifies the means, right?), succeeded.


"The word "won" comes to mind here, although I am no longer sure over whom I triumphed. God, Raphael, Crowley, the Winchesters? All I remember from opening purgatory is feeling something new. I did not know at the time, but I'm guessing it has to do with devouring evil souls. Can't be good for you, I suppose. This thing, I guess it was evil. I wanted to hurt and worse: I could.
Here again, I must use the slogan: "Power corrupts." It's amazing how little can be said in two words."


Castiel recalls his words, his actions. Did I say that?
"So you see, I saved you" … "you doubted me" … Snap and Raphael was gone, replaced by blood and flesh and nothing … "I'm no longer an angel" … "I'm your new God, a better one" … "You will bow down before me and profess your love. Or I will destroy you."
All those souls laughing at him, that part of him that was still Castiel. They would win ultimately, everything that Dean and Sam had fought returning in this single entity that was meant to be a friend, family, whatever he meant to the Winchesters.
Castiel had felt like a fraud at that moment, "I am not God, am I? What is really important to me?" But the souls had urged him on, feeding on his righteousness, his resentment, anger, doubt, guilt and, strangely, love. Evil fed on that too, surprisingly.

The thing that still felt real for a moment was Dean. He remembered words he uttered so long ago "Dean and I do share a more profound bond. I wasn't gonna mention it."
Back when he was still Castiel, angel of the Lord, he had gripped this man's soul (yes, a man, but not "just" a man), broken and deformed as it was and raised him from the deepest pit, scarring him.
Castiel suddenly relished their bond more than ever. He could see it trailing like a shining lifeline between himself and the man – his "eyes" could see clearer than humans.
In that moment of messed up megalomaniacal thoughts that he wasn't even sure were his own, it felt real, concrete – binding him to this human as he once was. It was good and Castiel wanted to listen to reason, wanted to become Castiel again as he basked in the terrified glow of Dean's soul. But the voices inside him repeated to him: Terrified. He's terrified. You are no longer his. Castiel's natural act would have been to remove whatever threatened his human, but evil fed off that protectiveness, reminding him that He was what was being feared and he was God, wasn't he? Why should these humans fear him? Unless they don't worship him, of course.
And Castiel was gone.


"There. I've, uh, reached the point of the story where I am not sure how to continue. I guess I don't really want to, but I've heard (possibly a Winchester told me, I don't know. They've told me a lot) that you feel better when you've got stuff off your chest. It's a strange phrase "off your chest." Now that I have time to think about it, I suppose it's to do with your heart. It is true that my heart feels heavy, literally, and that I'm sickened and weary. I am also hungry, but I think that has more to do with the human condition than my mental health. A while ago, I would not have understood the association that is created between the physical and the psychological. To be honest, I do not understand it now, but I am feeling it."

Before, when he had been dangerously close to losing his beloved grace, it had been uncomfortable. Understatement. He had never actually told Dean and Sam how frightened he had been. The fact that he had the notion to be afraid was worse. The fact that the boys took it in their stride was comforting.
Questions, having to face the reality, these were matters that Castiel never had a chance to dwell on the last time. If he inadvertently tried, he drowned unbidden thoughts with alcohol.
Go Dean for introducing that forgetfulness drug.

Castiel has no alcohol now. If he did, he would be using it to forget what really pulled him through that first haul. But now that he is alone in the motel and cannot sleep, he must continue watching the tragedy he has written." It's some lousy writing that has been utilized in bringing this story into existence," says Castiel to the room.

The room stays silent and Castiel is not sure who he is talking to anyway.


TBC... I wanted to start out slow, just to show how incredibly alone Cas really feels after my version of season 7... of course I have NOOO idea if the real season will end with Castiel losing his Grace, but Sam had to go an eternity in the pit (he didn't thank goodness), so Castiel has a MAJOR way to go before being redeemed^^