AFTERMATH (Narritive or open)
It wasn't the first battle Castiel had fought. It wasn't the hundredth. It wasn't the thousandth. Still, it was the one that, when he thought back on them all, his cut him the most sharply. Was it because he'd been human? Was it because he'd changed? Was it because he understood, finally, what it meant to have brothers only to lose them. The ones who had transformed his existence were gone and he'd never been infected by a more rancid silence.
It wasn't only them either. His new friends, friends of friends, sucked into the pit for only standing their ground. He hadn't wanted them to risk themselves but he could no longer deny their right, even now.
His thoughts were on them, on what Lucifer and Michael were doing to them. Castiel had been to Hell, he'd seen what happened there, what had been done to Dean the first time. He knew they had to be retrieved as quickly as possible before they were broken too badly. Broken down like-
Castiel hurt and he was glad he hurt. It was something to focus on, order his mind. He couldn't let himself focus on the pain of those he was aiming to save, on how much there was left to do. He focused on the next moment, the next minute. He wiped his blade against the leg of his pants and shoved it into his pocket. He'd need it later.
He knew there were others, weakened, frightened, hurting. They were struggling with the same loss. He didn't know what comfort he could offer but, in the next minutes, he could carry them home.
He walked away from the patch of grass that had swallowed his family and went to do what he knew they want him to.