Actions

Work Header

A second chance

Chapter Text

Hopeless, was what defined Castiel in his current situation. 

I mean, Chuck had fixed it so many times he'd lost count, but on this particular occasion, it was different. All his memories were intact, he remembered his last moments of life perfectly. That apocalyptic world, Kelly Kline and her moments before giving birth, Sam, Dean and Mary arriving to help, Lucifer arriving and ruining absolutely everything, and of course, Crowley. 

He remembered so well that it hurt, it hurt every time her mind was blanketed in a haze at the memory of him, fitting Angel's sword into her chest, falling to the ground, not even saying goodbye to him. 

Him would go over his last words "Goodbye boys", Crowley, the King of crossroads, demon high on the demonic chain and King of Hell. He gave his life for the boys who tried to murder him indefinite times, he gave his life to put away the person he hated the most, but was it really worth it? But his relationship with the brothers was far beyond simple hatred, "casual companionship" it could be called. Meanwhile he just watched from outside the portal, waiting for his moment to come out and fight alongside the three of them.

But even he didn't imagine his action, he knew how twisted he was with the idea of living, and didn't hesitate to run away when things got complicated. You could say that was why, when he saw him fall to the ground, his grace exploded in anger making his legs move on their own. Gripping her dagger tightly, and moving towards Lucifer quickly, without hesitation, he stabbed him. The next thing he remembers was his grace burning as well as his wings. Still, without saying goodbye. 

The last thing he felt was relief. He was dying, killed in the back by that Archangel, but that didn't matter to him. The last thing he thought of was the demon king. He preferred death to living with that memory that made him feel sick, even if he didn't know why. for the rest of his existence. However, not everything turns out well for our favorite Angel. 

His relief didn't come to much, before again, he opened his eyes. He felt his grace back, his wings intact as well as his memories and feelings.

He woke up in a cabin, away from everything, having a nice view of an unknown lake, much like the cabin where it all happened.  

He tried to keep going, he knew Chuck had given him another chance, and even though he didn't think so, he would keep going, he must.

Or those were his first ideals at the beginning. 

As he set his mind to it, he tried to move on, to seek out the Winchesters and the Nephilim in his care, Jack, he would only be a baby and he needed a father, he needed him. 

Every step he took, however, was like a low blow. He couldn't think of them without remembering Crowley, making him recoil. Even he couldn't give him an explanation for that. Of course, the most he ever considered him was as a companion, he never considered him as a friend, hardly as an ally, he felt nothing more for him, so why did he feel that way remembering him? 

Over time, that doubt began to eat him alive, all his attention was on her, reflecting on all his moments with Crowley. From mortal enemies to allies, relentlessly trying to murder each other, making each other's lives miserable, but in the end working towards the same goal. Thinking about all that didn't help him, the only thing he gained was giving much more attention to the question than he already had. 

Soon thanks to that, his daily activities slowed down, he stopped looking for information on some strange clue that would lead him to Jack. He stopped questioning whether going back to Sam and Dean would be a good idea. He doesn't need to sleep, but he makes no effort to get out of his bed. His only movement comes from his eyes, examining the ceiling, dreaming what he's living his short moments with Crowley. 

Doubts no longer fit in his mind, he felt anxious, confused, but, above all, hurt. He saw his moments with him, all of them, the "Happy" ones, the sad ones, the desperate ones, feeling that he really lived them, that he saw him again, but they all ended in the same way, his lifeless body lying on the sand of the other world. 

All that filled him, day, night, every hour, minute and second, was helplessness and sadness, he still felt confusion, but he couldn't even pay attention to that anymore. 

Castiel felt so distressed that his only way out was to think of it without due importance. He was sick of it all. Sick of his grace leaping at the memory of close moments with his opposite. Sick of his headaches, of his nausea, of course, of his helplessness for not having done something to avoid that end. All he wanted was a little peace. 

He slid his Angel dagger from his trench coat, took it in both hands, aiming it at his throat, just did his grace. Five, four, three. The inches were running out. His hands were shaking, his face was still expressionless, but inside, he was eager to achieve peace by leaving absolutely everything behind. 

Although, as I said before, not everything goes well for him. 

Before the blade touched his skin, he felt a familiar presence, stunned, he lowered the dagger a little and turned. 

"You." 

"Hello son, long time."

God himself made presence before him. He was too surprised, but, still, he did not lower the weapon from his hands. 

"G- Chuck, what are you doing here?" 

"I think it's kind of obvious."

He pointed to the dagger, still held tightly by Castiel. 

"You're thinking of killing yourself, why?"

"With much respect, but why do you care?"

"I care about you, Castiel."

"Is that so? If you really did, you'd stop reviving me and give me some peace."

Chuck sighed, he could be right after all, he couldn't let him die, he would revive him as many times as necessary, no matter what he did.  

"It's not what you want, believe me."

"Sure, you're God and you know everything, but I think you're wrong now."

"Please don't make this any harder than it already is."

"Sorry, then you kill me, it'll be quicker go ahead, please"

Castiel gave him a defiant look but received no response, only a stare. He did not hesitate and raised again the dagger to his throat. Ready for his grace to burn him. But with a snap of his fingers he froze, looking back at Chuck. 

"Why...?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to do it this way, take care"

His sight was no longer on that man. Now he saw only darkness, trash and smoke, plus his soaked trench coat, it was pouring down rain on him, but he didn't flinch. Chuck sent him to another unknown place, but it was no problem, he wouldn't give up, he tried to pull the gun again, but, nothing. 

"Bastard..."

He had taken away all his weapons, at least the ones that could kill him, besides he didn't feel any dangerous presence anywhere, no enemy that could kill him, nothing. 

It is impossible for an Angel to die of hypothermia, but he did not like the idea of staying in that alley until dawn. He walked for a long time, asking the few people who passed by where he was, everyone ignored him, perhaps thinking he was a homeless person or a thief. Even he has his limit. He sat down on a bench near the road, it was a bus stop, hopefully it had a roof. 

Next to him there was an old woman who seemed friendly, he thought about talking to her, but denied it, thinking he might scare her too. About five minutes passed in silence until the bus arrived. Before leaving, the old woman offered him a dollar. Castiel didn't understand, but accepted it anyway. He had learned that refusing things was bad manners for humans. When she left, Castiel only looked at the dollar for a couple of minutes thinking about what to do with it. 

He didn't really need it, he didn't feel cold, warmth, hungry, among other things common to humans. But he saw a restaurant nearby, humans usually spent in such places. He got up and made his way to the establishment. 

When he entered he didn't see upstairs at all, seeing the floor helped him think clearly. He sat down at the bar and ordered a coffee, it didn't really affect him, but he knew it was the only thing he could buy with a dollar. 

As they brewed his coffee, he kept thinking about everything that had happened, and mainly, what did Chuck mean about "Not wanting to do it this way"? At first he thought it would take away his grace or imprison him, but all it did was teleport him to another place. At this point he was used to surviving in places he didn't know, so it wouldn't be anything new, he would just find his way back to the cabin, or just walk until he encountered danger, to finally give up his life. 

He was immersed in his head, but he noticed when his coffee was served, when he paid, he looked up extending the bill, but his hand froze when he saw it, as well as his heart. He couldn't believe it. Even feeling his throat closing up, he could say it. 

"Crowley...?"