I. I am a wave of celestial intent. An angel. I ground my thoughts to focus on I. Not Heaven, not Hell, not the Earth, not even my mission. I. I am aware that angels should not allow this kind of thinking in themselves, that transitioning from wave to vessel ought to be fluid, but I am not like my brethren. I am Castiel. My garrison no longer surrounds me. Of the few that survived our mission, the remainder have already returned to Heaven. I must remain on Earth, for I still have orders to follow.
Jimmy Novak is quiet. Other angels have warned me that in the beginning of the transition, the original soul of the vessel is somewhat confused. They might question the angel, the Lord, themselves… But Jimmy Novak is quiet. I take no issue with the matter. The silence is helpful. I have already been to this world, watched over it, always in silence; I have never taken a vessel.
It is odd. This stasis. I can “feel” Jimmy’s feet on the ground as my own. His overcoat draped over his shoulders. The other angels have also warned me that I might feel this way. This distance between myself and the vessel’s physical body, but that for practice, I ought to refer to “Jimmy” as myself. I also ought to cease this thinking completely and follow my orders, but I indulge in these few moments to settle myself.
In any case, Dean Winchester is not going anywhere. He is confused, I suppose a human would be after returning from Hell, but he is not going anywhere. I have been warned he may be troubling, my superiors have been watching his behaviors and actions, which tend to follow a rebellious pattern. I am not a rebellious angel. I hope not. Hope? That is new. I have also been warned that once in a vessel, some of my thought patterns may intertwine with the vessel’s, which results in “feeling”. It is odd.
I look over “my” shoulder and see a small girl. For the first time since the transition, I hear Jimmy. “Claire…” he says. His voice is filled with “longing” and “sadness”. I almost allow my intertwined thoughts to “pity” Jimmy, but I am an angel and that would be irrational, perhaps even rebellious. I must not allow myself these thoughts. I have already ignored my orders for long enough. The girl, Claire, whispers, “Daddy?” She seems confused, but I am not. I may be in Jimmy Novak’s vessel, but I must not allow myself to become him. I am Castiel. “I am not your father,” I say. I turn around and I finally understand the other angel’s warnings. He screams and sobs and his soul is utterly filled with “pain” and as distracting as it is for an angel, I allow myself to rebel a little. I pity Jimmy. I pity what he is going through. I have observed humans for so long, their behaviors seems almost rational to me. I should not allow myself to understand them, I should only observe, and yet I have. Jimmy has just lost his daughter, and I have seen many fathers lose their daughters before, unable to do anything to soothe them. I do now. I can now. No one need know. I allow Jimmy some peace from my grace and tuck him away in the corners of my mind, so he need not be reminded of the situation at hand. I almost feel pride in myself for taking action, but I do not. I cannot rebel that much. I am an angel.
Dean Winchester is my mission. Find him and tell him we have work for him. That is my mission. Dean who I raised from perdition. Dean who I rebuilt in Hell, and he was so broken. Such a heavy soul, but not in the literal sense, of course, all souls weigh nothing, but his carried so much sadness and guilt, so much undeserved guilt. If only I could… Stop.
I will follow my orders. I will no longer meddle in the affairs of humans, be it Jimmy or the Winchester. I will be an obedient angel, as I have tried for all these millennia. Maybe this once, I will succeed.
I have already walked enough from Jimmy's home I will not be confronted by his daughter, or any other acquaintances, but I still require traveling to Dean Winchester's location. I sense for him but there is not much need. I can feel him summoning me. He has found a summoning spell. Without needing for it to take me, I go to it.
I can hear voices underneath the ceiling of the shed I landed on. Dean Winchester is not alone. I sense the other soul besides him... Robert Singer. They seem startled. As if the incantation would not work. I descend the ceiling and walk to the doors. I can see the lights flicker and some explode over my head, I must be exuding too much grace. I walk inside and notice all the walls have been covered in warding for all sorts of creatures, but not angels. Dean Winchester and Robert Singer have no idea of what I am. They are quite lucky the summoning was strong enough to even locate an angel. I can also feel they are continuously shooting my vessel. I am unhurt and I almost feel thankful I hid Jimmy away lest he be screaming in this crucial moment, but I am not supposed to feel thankful. I walk on, and I can see Dean and Robert feel confused as to why I am not dead like any other monster they are used to hunting. Finally they stop shooting.
I see Dean take a knife from near, and I cannot help feeling contemptuous. It is not an angle blade, I do not believe the Winchester even knows I am an angel, even less how to kill one.
“Who are you?” he asks. He seems brave and confident, but I can sense his fear.
“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” I answer.
“Yeah. Thanks for that,” he says, almost sneering. Does he not appreciate being released from Alastair and Hell? He should; humans often are rarely humble enough to appreciate what is done to them.
The attacks do not end. When I was warned Dean was troubling, I did not take it as that he was near impossible to deal with. Dean comes forward and stabs over my heart with the blade capable of killing demons, but not angels. I pull it out and allow Jimmy's emotions to show contempt. I must seem a figure to be feared if I am to represent Heaven. We have work for Dean Winchester and I am the messenger. I must represent the power that Heaven is. Dean steps back and, almost immediately, Robert attacks me. Swiftly, I swing him around and put him to sleep. Dean seems more troubled by that than my seeming invincibility and rushes over to the other man. I step back. It had been many years, but eventually I had realized, that humans appreciate space. I still had some difficulties with that custom, however.
“We need to talk Dean. Alone.” I explain.
Dean checks for Robert's pulse. He believes he is dead. He is obviously not, I am not to hurt or kill any humans unless strictly necessary. Dean looks to me and glares. Why is he irritated? I have not hurt his friend and I have explained my reasoning for putting him to sleep. I have spent millennia watching humans, and yet they are still so inexplicably complicated.
"Your friend's alive," I reaffirm.
"Who are you?" Dean asks again. I imagine my prior answer was not satisfactory, by his repeated question.
"Castiel," I answer shortly.
"Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?"
"I'm an angel of the Lord," I say.
"Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."
Was my answer not clear enough? Does he require more information or is this simply his denial via lack of belief? I assume the latter as I can feel him not wanting to believe this, which I have seen before as meaning he knows it to be true.
"This is your problem Dean. You have no faith." I seek to reprimand him but I do not wish to be overly harsh, and I have seen humans respond better to demonstrations. With this is mind, I allow Dean to see the shadow of my wings. It is just enough that he does not glimpse my true form, but lighting crackles above in the night sky, and Dean's soul exudes surprise. After a moment, Dean collects himself.
"Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes." Dean says. He is obviously terrified but he seems to take that fear and transform it into anger, as though that makes him fearless.
I still feel ashamed of my actions. The woman, Pamela, I believe it was, had good intent in summoning for an image of my true form. But she ignored my warnings to cease, and her eyes... Human eyes are such precious organs, without them, they are rendered almost incapable of autonomic function. I did not mean to cause any of that to her.
"I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that."
Dean seems bewildered.
"You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking? Buddy, next time, lower the volume."
Dean has made a "joke". I know humans find these amusing, but I do not perceive the humor. In any case, it seemed only natural that as Michael's vessel, Dean would be able to understand my true voice. My assumption was not an absurd one. However, it made Dean fearful of me, and those I represent. Angels are not generally supposed to apologize to humans, but I have broken enough rules in my experience, and in today alone, that I find it justified to do so to him. He has been through quite some in one day.
"That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."
"And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?"
I know Dean has made another of the "jokes" but once more I do not perceive the humor. It is reassuring, however, that his tone has lightened considerably.
"This? This is... a vessel."
"You're possessing some poor bastard?"
It is interesting to notice how quickly Dean returns to his original fighter pose simply for hearing my statement. Human emotions are quite interesting, I always found. He must imagine angels can simply possess any vessel, like the demons he has encountered; he does not know of the process, the explanation, and the final "yes" required. Dean is quite the protector of humanity. I remember the heavy "weight" of his soul. How would it worsen when I was to tell him the future of Earth would soon rest on his shoulders? Could I even do so? I had to. I could not ignore my orders so completely. I could not rebel like that. I have, however, lost track of the conversation. Dean still awaits an answer.
"He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this." I explain.
"Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"
I frown. Dean seems unconvinced of my answer in regards to angel vessels, so he has returned to his original quest of disbelieving my identity. I had not realized how tiring engaging with humans could actually be. Watching over them was calm, enjoyable almost, but simply speaking with one is turning to be quite the affair.
"I told you." I say plainly.
"Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?" he asks. He emphasizes on "me", almost as if he believes he is not worthy. What a man.
"Good things do happen, Dean."
"Not in my experience."
"What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?"
Dean seems not to wish to answer that. Likely, my earlier theory was correct, he does not find himself deserving of rescue, but admitting so would be weakening, and ifs anything, Dean Winchester must appear strong at all times.
"Why'd you do it?" he asks. Ignoring my question, as I thought he would.
"Because God commanded it." I answer, "Because we have work for you."