I am an Angel of the Lord

It takes a while for Castiel to make his way to the small cabin at the end of the dirt trail. The crutches slow him down, as does the large bag he’s carrying. But it’s a warm night, the moon is bright enough to light the way, and he, for a change, has pleasant thoughts to accompany him.

Milliways. Meg. X. Elle. Even Edward. He had never thought he’d see any of them again.

He had considered staying. Seriously considered it. Just forget that the door even existed. Stay in Milliways with his friends. No Croats, no demons, no camp full of refugees, no Lucifer, no dying world.

He could have stayed. Hell, maybe he should have stayed.

But even an all-but-powerless, drug-addicted, ex-angel has responsibilities.

The biggest of which lives in this cabin.

Castiel scales the steps to the porch, and bangs on the door with the end of one crutch.

He knows Dean is home. Whether he’s alone or not is always a question, but Castiel knows he’s home.

There are a lot of things Castiel misses about being an angel.

As a rule he doesn’t dwell on them. Because, really, what’s the point? But there are things he misses. The certainty of his mission. The ability to smite down Evil. Being able to step through time and space with a thought.

The company of his own kind. That’s the worst. And the one that Castiel has developed a myriad of ways to distract himself from. Mostly by finding new and exciting ways to combine chemicals.

But right now, the thing he misses the most is the ability to heal himself.

Castiel curses as he misjudges a turn (again) and bumps his bad foot against the table leg. The cast that Jordan, the camp’s resident medic, had jury-rigged for him out of an old ski boot works well enough for keeping the bones immobile, but it’s also heavy and clumsy and seems to have a fondness for hard stationary objects.

Next time, Chuck Shirley can find someone else to help him move that tool chest. Someone who possesses a pair of steel-toed boots.

Castiel fumbles his crutchs under his arms and stumps his way over to the broken-down sofa under the cabin’s largest window. Alyssa had thoughtfully duct-taped a small child’s backpack to the right crutch so that he has a means of carrying things. Dean had quirked an eyebrow at it, no doubt because it is pink with a stylized white cat on the front. Castiel doesn’t care. It’s servicable, and it’s not like he has much dignity left to lose these days anyway.

He eases himself down on the sofa, props his foot up on the trunk that serves as a table, and digs through the backpack for his pain meds. He has to pull out several bottles and bags before he finds the right one. Castiel tosses back two pills. Thinks. Opens up a different bottle and tosses back two more pills. Grins at the thought of Jordan’s face turning purple from an impending apopleptic fit. Closes his eyes, and lets his head loll back on the back of the sofa.

The pain in his foot begins to dull and his head begins to lighten. A warm breeze blows through the open window, carring sounds of the camp going about its evening routine. It all feels almost pleasant.

Castiel’s mind begins to drift.

Cast and crutches….cast and crutches. Why should that thought occupy him? A ripple crosses through his memory. Meg. Of course. The first time he had met Meg Ford, she had been on crutches.

He wonders how Meg is.

Castiel hasn’t been to Milliways in…..how long has it been? Drugs and math don’t mix well, but it seems as if it has been a very long time. Was it before Detroit? Or after? Somewhere along the way, he had become cut off from that, too; the door disappearing just like the Garrison had.

The breeze blows a little stronger for a moment, fluttering the threadbare curtains, and there is a noise from the small porch outfront. A branch, or maybe a small animal, by the sound of it.

It’s still out there somewhere. Milliways. Of that he is certain. Just like the Garrison. Just like Heaven. Just like God. There, but unreachable. Castiel doesn’t know if that’s better or worse than the thought that they are gone entirely, or never existed to begin with.

The noise comes again, louder this time, and Castiel cracks his eyes open. A visitor, perhaps. Not Dean. The noise is too faint, and Dean has a tendency to march these days, unless a mission calls for stealth. Chuck, maybe. Come to check on him out of guilt. Or Alyssa. She had offered to bring him dinner so that he wouldn’t have to limp his way over to the mess hall.

Castiel grips his crutches, levers himself upright, makes his way over to the door, and opens it.

What he finds on the other side is enough to make him wonder if some things aren’t still within reach after all.

The ball field is complete.

Crisp white lines of lime. Neatly trimmed grass. A sturdy metal backstop behind home plate. Bleachers that still smell of new wood, and two long benches for the teams.

Deserted this evening.

For the moment.

And in the next, two figures are standing on the pitcher’s mound. A dark haired man in a rumpled trench coat. And a young woman with red hair.

“We are here,” Castiel says, removing his hand from Meg’s forehead. “You can open your eyes now.”

Castiel, and many others, have worked hard on this field. And found companionship in doing so. It is a source of pride in more ways than one.

In the end, there was nothing left but a void. Like one of the deep wells that not even light can escape.

He had parted ways with Anna at dawn, when the child had awoken asking for breakfast.

If he had known then what she planned to do……what, looking back, she must have been planning for some time…..

He does not know what he would have done.

Everyone knew when it happened. Angels’ memories are long, and even after eons, there is no mistaking a Fall.

And it is Castiel who is called to account for it. Summoned by his superiors’ superiors to explain.

You saw her but moments ago. You confide in one another. Did she tell you?

And the thing is, she had. Not in so many words, but looking back she had. For a century, she had been telling him. Small moments of discontent and anger. Times when she stood aside and left a decision to him that ordinarily she would have made. Right up until the very end, she had told him.

For all they found this unendurable…..they will all recover.

He understands now.

In the end.

It is not a door in the way most beings understand the concept.

Nonetheless, that is what it is. In a place where no such thing has been before.

Castiel looks a question at the messenger who has brought him here.

"And what am I to do?"

"To come and go as it finds you," the messenger tells him. "To learn from what you find on the other side. A vessel has been chosen for you so that you may journey there safely."

Castiel frowns. A vessel. The only reason to inhabit a vessel is to walk among mortals.

Castiel has not walked among mortals for thousands of years. No angel has.

"Why?" he asks.

There have been rumblings. Rumors. Even Heaven has a gossip mill. And no one is ignorant as to what is unfolding on Earth. Has it progressed this far? Far enough that a centuries old ban on direct interference is going to be lifted?

Castiel offers up a prayer that things haven't gotten that bad.

The messenger gives him a tolerant look. Castiel has something of a reputation for curiosity.

"Because God has commanded it. Because there may be work for you to do, very soon."

Castiel nods. That answer brooks no further question or debate.

He will go. He will learn.

And he will begin immediately.