Castiel (cas_is_confused) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2010-07-14 19:21:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | castiel, sam winchester |
WHO: Castiel, Sam, etcetera
WHAT: A door opens
WHERE: The panic room of doom
WHEN: Some time after this
There were only two rules in Heaven: first, obey. Second, do not question.
That was, of course, a gross oversimplification, but the essential truth remained undimmed. When an order was given it was not his job to try to reason the need, nor to measure it against previous orders, nor to protest that this was not what he had signed on for. If his superiors were to reason that night should no longer follow day, or that north and south should reverse their positions, it was not his to point out what had gone before.
And so it was with the Winchesters.
The contradiction did not escape him; it was not so very long ago – not long at all, for one who had seen in multiple millennia – that Dean Winchester had been the Righteous Man destined to stop Lilith from breaking the seals and Sam had been an abomination whose blasphemous ways must not be allowed to continue. And now? Now he was to understand that Sam was their only hope, that the detox he’d ordinarily have commended was to be stopped and the creature released to hunt his quarry.
Zachariah’s orders were very specific – it was not to be done immediately, and perhaps that was the worst part, knowing how the younger Winchester suffered, hearing him speak with people who were not there. It repulsed Castiel still, knowing that he’d willingly drunk the blood of demons, and yet it pained him to know that the boy suffered - maybe that was in itself another test, another way for Zachariah to be sure he did not empathise unduly, to be certain he could trust his wayward brother to obey. It was… unpleasant.
There was a human phrase which spoke of desperate times and the measures they called for.
It was not that phrase, though, which he was contemplating. Ruby, when they were still talking, had spoken of how the methods of heaven and hell were not so very different after all. Could there be a much clearer representation of that truth than this, than knowing he released Sam so he could feed on demon blood again, so a demon could lead him to his ultimate destiny, so he could become less than human?
It was a necessary… he would not term it evil; it could not be evil, not when it was Heaven’s plan. He was stopping the Apocalypse, after all. That had to be a good thing. There would be no monuments to Castiel, no odes would talk of his part in saving the world, no thankful throng would give praise on Castiel Day, but that was more than acceptable; he would know what he had done, and the world would continue, and that would be enough.
In the Panic Room in Bobby Singer’s basement locks clicked. Bars slid. A door swung open.
It was such a small thing, really, to be so monumental.