When a Good Man Goes to War
All the charactors are lent,
and I do not own a single cent.
So please don't sue,
I'm begging you!
Friendship dies and true love lies
Night will fall and the dark will rise
When a good man goes to war
"Brothers and sisters, find strength in our Father, the Lord."
Castiel, Angel of the Lord, can still hear the words, the war cry, echoing through his Grace, strengthning his faith; Angels do not dispair, they don't feel doubt or fear. The fact that their Commander had felt the need to imbue the host of Angels with something as human as courage on this blackest of days spoke of the significance of the mission before them. They would need every ounce of faith they could muster.
Castiel, Angel of the Lord, can still feel the softness of the wind brushing past the edges of his true form, as gentle as a caress and as powerfull as a tornado, and he revelles in silence as he flexes his wings in his descend from Heaven to Hell.
Castiel, Angel of the Lord, can still see a small remnant of the multicolored facets that the shimmering sunset sends across the creation of his Father. Soon there will be no more sunshine, soon there will be only darkness, dense and choking, and Castiel know that he might never again see sunshine rippeling across the surface of a lake. He might never again see a crisp beach leaf unfolding in a spring shower. He might never again see a seedling growing into a giant oak. But Castiel, Angel of the Lord, feels no fear, feels no doubt. He is a soldier of God and he will not dispair.
The smell of decay is the first thing to hit Castiel, but as he and the other Angels makes their way thrugh The Gates of Hell, he can feel the air begin to tear at his very being. Angels are made from light, light cannot survive in Hell, and therefore Angels cannot survive in Hell, not without being tortured into madness. Castiel knows this.
Lucifer the Light Bearer had been their leader, the brightest and purest of lights, before he was cast into Hell, sent to a place where he could never again see his beloved stars, condemned to being trapped here in Hell and have his Grace ripped and shredded for all eternity. A poetic justice, perhaps, that he is now as murdrous and flawed as the humans he had refused to kneel before.
The host of Angels breach the lower circles of Hell after years of battle, drenched in the stale blood of hundreds of thousands of Demons and Hell Hounds, garish wounds scarring their true forms, scars that will never heal, infected with the searing dust of Hell. Slowly their wings are singed, turning grey and then black, and they ache, their Grace stained and strained. But the Angels fight on. Never giving an inch, never losing sight of their purpose.
Castiel is not the strongest Angel here, by far. But as the Angel host fights their way thrugh the Depts they are not protected by their divine powers. All they have is their Grace, burning dull but full of mission and their raw fighting skills. Castiel is a strong warrior, nimble and merciless in the face of his enemies, and he outshines all his brothers and sisters, because this is his purpose, this is his destiny.
They have no idear how many Demons they cut thrugh, it's an endless battle. All the Angels can do is to maim the Demons untill they are so hurt that they must retreat to lick their wounds, and there is always a new Demon to fight, strong here in the foul Pit of Hell, empowered by the same presence that scorch the Angels.
Castiel allows himself to take in the entirety of the tortured landscape they pass thrugh. This is it. This is the Darkness that creates and breeds his enemies. This is where Lucifer created his first, and all of the millions after her. The Depths of Dispair. Castiel thinks the name is fitting, as he slowly feel his own hope falter. But he refuse to dispair. Not even here. Especially not here.
The fight continues and Castiel watch his brothers and sisters die around him, the light in their eyes dying out like a flame being sufforcated, and their Grace exploding in a brightness that hurt even the Angel's eyes after years of darkness. The radiance and immense force of a dying Angel gives a few days of calm rest for the remaining warriors, as the Demons are whiped out for miles or coiling back into the darkness in fear.
There is no difference between day or night here, like in Heaven time is a continuum, never changing, just passing. Therefore Castiel can't say what makes him suddenly aware that this is the day. Something shifts, eventhough nothing changes. It seems like they all feel it, they all know it, like a great shared cognizance informs them. The war is lost. The seal has been broken. The Rightious Man has been broken.
Castiel dosn't move for days, hours, weeks, seconds, fragments of time that have no meaning here, no meaning when facing the Apocalypse. He watches his brothers and sisters, some clearly too weak to make the journey back, some too weak to even be alive. Castiel isn't weak, and he isn't broken either. His Grace still burns stronger than most, and he still has a mission. They were send here to break free the Rightious Man and the orders hasn't changed.
And that is what he tells the Angels. They look at him in surprice, some even outraged. They have failed, definite and undeniably, but Castiel dosn't accept this and he won't let them either.
Castiel isn't one of the oldest Angels. He didn't experience the absence of light, but still he is old. He has fought countless of crusades, wars lasting hundreds of years, battles against creatures so powerful and impressive that hundreds of Angels lost their lives fighting just one. And yet somehow he is still here. But fighting their way into Hell, robbed of their powers, burned to their cores, the Angels has never felt weaker. And still they continue, going where Castiel leads them.
Ten years they add to their war in Hell, with just as many lives lost, added to the ones who died in their efforts to rush the Pit. But the Angels aren't in a rush now, there is nothing to stop, no marker to reach. Just one little soul, burning no brighter than the rest of the broken souls in Hell. Except to one Angel. Only Castiel feels the Rightious Man's soul as a beacon, bright and humming in the darkness. Without Castiel the Angels would never have found him, but then again, with out Castiel they would never have continued, they might not even be alive.
When they reach the Rightious Man he is unguarded, unprotected, an unsignificant, broken soul, as singed and wounded as the Angels who have fought their way to him through millions upon millions of Demons. But the Angels dosn't ask, is this what we fought and died for? Because they all know, they all understand what Hell can do to you.
And slowly Castiel walks the last few steps, eyes searching the face of the man infront of them. He seems unaware of their presence, or maybe just unaffected. But as Castiel reach out and gently lifts his chin, the Rightious Man flinch away as if burned. His eyes rise up to meet Castiel's for the first time of many, and Castiel has never seen such defeated selfhatred.
"Dean." Castiel whispers, and at first the man dosn't react. He dosn't know he's supposed to, dosn't remember his own name. "Dean, it's okay. I'm here now. Angels are watching over you." And with those words Castiel wraps one arm around the broken soul and together with his brothers and sisters he begins the long journey back, with the soul safe in his arms.
To Be Continued...
A/N: English is my second language and I don't have a beta. As a consequence some grammar mistakes and misspelling will occure. Please use the review option
I hope to did Castiel justice in this part. I suspect this will be quite a long story, and I also think I'll move some of the oneshots from Slow Realisations inhere where they'll fit very well, so if you recognice a future chapter, that's why.
The poem in the beginning is from Doctor Who.