Chapter Text
His brother was so wonderful, so beautiful! He loved him with all his being and hung on to his every word. Wherever Lucifer went, Seraphiel followed without question. When Lucifer was cast from Heaven, Seraphiel followed, lost and uncertain.
After the Rebellion, Seraphiel had followed Lucifer to Hell, but his brother pushed him out. Kept him away with a legion of freshly made demons wearing the faces of their fallen brothers and sisters. With nowhere to go, he tried to return to Heaven, but the other angels punished him and marked him as a traitor by destroying his beautiful wings. Once white and shining with the light of the Morning Star, now they were stained red by the death he had gladly dealt against his brothers and sisters.
He could not understand. Why did his Father make him this way? He was so completely devoted to his brother. Of course he would support him. Were his fellow angels that blind? Was he the one at fault for being made like this? For being capable of so much love and devotion? No matter how much he screamed and begged, his Father would not answer.
The years wore on. At first, he was angry and spiteful. He led the virtuous astray in an attempt to get a reaction from his Father. He started wars between peaceful peoples; a rumor here or a stolen treasure there was all it took to manipulate humans. When he found out that the demons were changing...recruiting humans into their ranks, he learned from them and shared his newfound knowledge with humans of just how easy it was to summon a crossroads demon. The demons became so overwhelmed, they had to reorganize.
But it was all for naught. His Father remained silent.
He brought wars and plagues down upon his Father's favorite creations. His corruption tainted his very being. He no longer needed to ask his vessels for permission. He simply took who he wanted. He destroyed God's flock from within. A silent, creeping wolf who infected those around him. His anger became legend, and his vengeance against perceived slights, moreso. His acts were lauded by the wicked. And still, his Father remained silent.
There was nothing. No divine retribution from Heaven. No word from Heaven of what to do with him. It was slow, but Heaven abandoned the old routes of communication. At first, Seraphiel had thought it was a sign. They would finally do something to stop him. He found the new lines, and with them, a change in Enochian. The words were new, but the message was the same. The same prayers. The same guidance to give aid. Nothing about his deeds. Nothing about tracking him down and stopping him.
Heaven no longer cared. His Father no longer cared.
He realized he was truly abandoned and alone. The broken toy. Thrown out to never be loved again.
Seraphiel sulked for hundreds of years. He gave up on destroying human lives and chose to live among them. They were a single stitch on the gaping wound that was his heart. He liked them well enough, but there was no true attachment. No reason to really care when they needed help. A select few managed to earn his love and devotion, but it was always temporary. Each time a life ended, old pains would flare up, and he would swear to never care for another human again.
Through his demonic contacts, he heard the whispers. Events were lining up. The right bloodlines were being brought together. Any generation now, two brothers would be born. The mixed bloodlines that would allow Michael and Lucifer's true vessels to form and continue through the generations, making them ready for when the apocalypse came.
Mary Winchester's first born would have been Michael's first true vessel, had there been no complications during childbirth. Seraphiel had been curiously watching, wondering why there was no angelic guard to ensure a safe birth. With no witnesses, he seized his chance, taking the now empty vessel. His corruption ensured his ability to take the small corpse, and he was close enough to Lucifer to hitch a ride on the bloodline with no ill-effect. In silence, Seraphiel slipped in and became Dean Winchester. John and Mary Winchester's miracle baby.
He would have destroyed them all, but Mary's love saved them. Mary saved Seraphiel. Only in Heaven had he felt so much love and affection. This human that became his mother gave him a new purpose. He had planned to end the bloodline and ruin Michael and Lucifer's showdown. Curse them beyond resurrection. But now, he wanted nothing more than to make Mary happy. He became her perfect little boy. When Samuel was born, he promised to protect his little brother and keep him safe.
Then Azazel took Mary from him. And it was on that day, as he felt the taint of demon blood flowing through his baby brother, that Dean Winchester knew he had to keep Sam on the right track.
As John Winchester learned more of the supernatural, Dean had to become more careful. He had to control the rate in which he healed. He had to sleep now. He used to get away with staying up all night reading, but now John would awaken at the slightest hint of noise. But it didn't matter. He could adjust. He had a family. He had people to protect. He was happy.
John would go hunting on his own, slipping out and leaving his boys with little more than a note. Sometimes, they would be left with another hunter. Dean knew what he was hunting for. Information, leads, anything on the Yellow-Eyed Demon. On Azazel. How easy would it be for him to tell John everything he knew? At the very least, a name. But he couldn't. He was in it for the long haul. He had to be a good son. A good brother. Unlike before. He couldn't betray his new family like that. He was happy enough.
Then Sam left. He should have seen it coming. The arguments. The silent glares and doing the bare minimum to get the job done safely. Dean would have followed, but Sam seemed happy on his own. He had friends. He had a life. Dean was happy for him.
He heard the rumors from some of his demon contacts. His Grace was far too contaminated for them to recognize him for what he truly was, and a few well-learned tricks over the years had ensured any new encounters saw him as human. Any who refused to speak with Dean Winchester could be convinced to speak with whomever he happened to bodysnatch.
Azazel was going to make a move on Sam. Damage and corrupt him. Manipulate him into the perfect start for Lucifer's true line of vessels. Bitter and hateful… From Dean's lifetimes of experience, it rarely took much.
Azazel's plot centered on Sam's girlfriend. The date was coming up. How could he protect Sam? It would be suspicious if he suddenly popped up and killed off every demon on campus. It would draw too much attention from the demons. And if the demons were readying to make their move, then the angels wouldn't be far behind.
When John found a lead, Dean called in a couple favors to get the lead to go further and keep John occupied but safe enough that he wouldn't have to worry too much. It was then that he went to his brother. If he could get Sam away long enough, if he could time it just right, then Sam would think the love of his life had died in a simple, accidental fire. No demons, just human error. It was the perfect plan.
But he was too late. Or rather, too early. Maybe he should have tried saving Jess, instead of focusing on Sam. But Sam was with him now. He could keep an eye on his brother. Keep him on the right path. Make certain that he made the right choices in the end. It did not help that Sam was a constant reminder of the brother he once knew. Lucifer, brave and beautiful, so loving, and always questioning Father.
A small part of Dean wanted to let things run their course. If the apocalypse was going to begin any time soon, then having Lucifer's bloodline and vessel ready would be necessary. They could team up against Heaven. Claim Earth and Hell as theirs. Hold off the angels with an army of demons and pagan gods.
But, no. He had promised Mary. He had promised his mother he would keep Sam safe.
Things happened. Mistakes were made. Dean couldn't keep up without giving himself away, so he made a Deal. And he paid dearly.
Alastair was so eager to get his hands on Seraphiel, the broken angel stuck in a human vessel. Alastair, whose real face was a broken mirror's imitation of one of the angels who sided with Lucifer and died during the rebellion. He claimed to love his wayward brother as he sliced into Seraphiel.
Seraphiel had been forced to retain his human form in Hell—only his wings showing as a reminder of what he truly was. Not once did Alastair cut into Seraphiel's wings. Seraphiel wished he would. He wished his torturer would rip them clean out, remove the reminder of how far he'd fallen and how he could never make up for it. The attentions he bore under the thing that wore his brother's face eventually broke him. He'd already fallen so far. What was wrong with going a little further? He gave in and took up the knife. The praise he received may not have been anything like what the real Alastair would have given, but it was a soothing balm nonetheless.
Surprisingly, torturing souls came easily. He had a natural talent, as Alastair was quick to point out. After the first few souls that looked at him in hope of being rescued by an angel, then in such anguish and betrayal when he started on their flesh, he couldn't take it. So, he took to hiding his wings by default. Kept them safely tucked away with his Grace. The constant throb served as a reminder of his sins, but no one else would learn of his true nature. He would just be another wayward soul on the path to becoming a demon. No hope for the hopeless.
Seraphiel wasn't expecting it when it happened. A no account angel swooped in and grabbed him. Why was he being dragged from Hell? Did they find out? Would he face an even worse punishment? Had his Father finally looked upon him and decided enough was enough? Why now? Did He find out Seraphiel was interfering with "The Plan?" He struggled hard, but the lowly angel held tight.
And then he was back. In the body he had claimed. He was once again Dean Winchester.
He was in a coffin. He was in a coffin, buried under six feet of dirt that made him wish he was back in Hell as he dug his way out. He was so exhausted from fighting against that stupid angel that he couldn't simply fly out. Then that pesky angel tried to speak to him, but with his Grace so corrupted from his recent stint in Hell and his deep exhaustion, he could only hear through human ears. What should have been a serene note of wondrous love, came to him as an ear piercing ring. It was an awful reminder of the love and beauty he would never again see nor feel.
When the angel finally left—which only left him with more questions—he made his plans to get back into the game. If he was back, and apparently not on God's immediate shit list, he should check on Sam.
He found Sam. With a demon. Sam was smart, but Sam was an idiot. Dean could see manipulation like what Ruby was pulling a mile away. He should know, he'd done it plenty himself. He declared it as his teenage rebellious years. According to humans, it was normal. His Father would surely forgive him for it.
If He ever deemed him worthy of attention.
Dean desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were. Just hunt and kill and keep Sam out of trouble. He wanted to pretend nothing had happened. That nothing was happening. But everyone else seemed so interested in knowing how and why Dean was suddenly back. He knew how he was back, but he couldn't say a single word of it. He had to act like he was interested, too.
He was filled with carefully hidden trepidation during Pamela's little seance. Stupid whiny angels and stupid stubborn psychics. Why couldn't anyone just leave well enough alone? The poor woman lost her eyes because Dean was too much of a coward to stop it. But he wasn't the only one to blame.
So why shouldn't he summon Castiel? Sure, he had no way of killing him at that moment, but he could certainly hurt him. A little. Not very much. He needed to take his aggression out on someone, and the low ranking angel that marked him would do nicely. And wasn't that a kicker? An angel that actually flaunted the pride they felt about their work.
And, like clockwork, Castiel showed with flashing lights and fully extended wings.
Prideful and a showoff.
Dean's breath caught at the sight. Castiel's wings had been singed and damaged from the journey to and from Hell. They were the color of the night sky and shimmered with hints of deep violet and green. They certainly seemed to be healing quickly.
Dean felt an overwhelming sense of self-consciousness for his own tattered wings that would never heal sweep over him. How did a lowly soldier end up with such beautiful wings? It made him so angry and jealous. He lashed out the only way he could. He lashed out like a human. Bullets did nothing, but he didn't care. He wasn't thinking straight.
He said the first thing that came to mind. "Who are you?"
"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition," was Castiel's almost smug answer.
It only made Dean angrier. "Yeah? Thanks for that," he replied as his hand tightened around the knife he had hidden behind his back. He stabbed Castiel, hoping at least a little pain would get through. Castiel didn't even blink, and Dean's heart sank. He was Seraphiel. He used to be the highest ranking of the Seraphim. He used to curl up at the foot of his Father's throne, singing sweet songs of adoration. He used to be beautiful and loved. Now, he was no match for the low ranking soldier that stood before him.
He looked at Bobby, stricken and hoping Bobby wouldn't make any stupid moves. He was grateful that Castiel had a cooler head than he did as Bobby fell to the ground, unconscious.
"We need to talk, Dean," said Castiel. "Alone."
Dean stared at him a good while before choosing to ignore him in favor of Bobby. Once he was certain of Bobby's wellbeing, he turned his attention on Castiel.
"Your friend's alive," Castiel said.
It was as if he had no idea who Dean was. Was Heaven still out of the loop? "Who are you?" he asked again.
"Castiel."
Dean's irritation flared. "I know who you are. I mean, why you? Why were you sent to drag my sorry ass outta Hell?"
Castiel tilted his head in confusion. "I'm an angel of the Lord," he replied.
Dean glared at him. "Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes." He really had no place to be criticizing Castiel, and he knew it. He had done far worse.
"I warned her not to spy on my true form," Castiel said, almost defensively. "I can be...overwhelming to humans. And so can my real voice, but you already knew that."
Dean licked his lips. It appeared that Castiel really didn't know. How should he go about this? Play the dumb human? Boast of what he used to be? No, he had one question that needed answering, and he needed it now. "Why? Why did you rescue me from Hell?"
"Good things do happen, Dean."
Dean recalled all the events leading up to his present situation. "Not in my experience," he said bitterly.
"What's the matter?" asked Castiel, truly confused.
Dean felt Castiel's Grace lightly probe what he projected as his soul. He readied himself for the recoil Castiel was sure to have at seeing the self-loathing Dean harbored as both angel and human. All he got was a sad stare.
"You don't think you deserve to be saved."
Dean hated that he couldn't keep this lowly angel out of his head. Had he really become this powerless? This...human that he was so easy to read? "Why'd you do it?"
"Because God commanded it," replied Castiel. "Because we have work for you."
And then, Dean snapped.