Zachariah’s directions might have made sense even as recently as a month ago. More than a little of Castiel wished that they still did. Things had been simpler when obeying had been the only option, compliance his only thought.
It would have been easy to mistake the way Cas hung his head for guilt, the dejected, sulky demeanour of a young child on the receiving end of a lecture. Perhaps there was a little of that – Zach’s words echoing his own doubts as to the wisdom of getting close to a demon – but it was not the reason. He licked his lips.
Perhaps it would be better to say nothing. It was the wiser course of action, certainly. Doubting everything else was one thing, but Castiel knew where his loyalties lay, and so returning to the mission as it had originally been assigned might well have been prudent.
Prudent, assuming his loyalties were to the one in command of said mission. Being sure of that much was another thing he missed, and missing that was why he had to ask.
“Are those His orders, brother?” Castiel raised his head, meeting Zachariah’s scrutiny defiantly. “Or yours?”