Chapter Text
Prompt:
‘I give myself to you. I will be yours to command, and I will die for you. I bind myself to you. Do you accept?’ ‘Yes’ - Angel Binding Ceremony
In order to ensure a smooth chain of command in heaven angels perform a ritual called binding when entering a garrison. They accept the rule of the captain while the captain accepts the needs/minds of his soldiers. The captain then has access to the power of the angels' grace, and the angels have access to the mindset of the captain. Heaven is powered by angels’ grace, but that power is disseminated from the leaders. Castiel says it is like the grace of their leaders stand in the river of power from all the graces of Heaven.
Chapter 1: To Hell and Back
“Castiel, you will take your garrison and raise Dean Winchester from Perdition. You will follow this order if it means the death of you and your garrison. You are bound. Do you accept?”
The request was clear as it flooded through his being. It held the righteousness of heaven that Castiel could not deny. Castiel’s faith was strong despite the consideration that ran through him stronger than most angels. That care had him worrying about his garrison deep within himself. He was their leader. Any of their deaths would reflect on his leadership and the bond that they paid him. It was a tiny nagging that he had to ignore. He had been chastised for that kindness too many times; and, during the last binding he had offered, he had re-committed to excising this weakness. Castiel replied, “I accept this order.”
The charge whipped through his bond, familiar but powerful. He felt the loss of his will even as he pulled on the bindings of his garrison. They were his power, and they were bound equally by his task. As the information he would need about Dean Winchester was fed to him, they appeared before him rank upon rank. No words were shared as the charge continued its path along the bindings of each. Once it had reached the final wave, they flew as one. A mighty host of angelic wrath borrowing toward the darkness and the Pit. The resistance was immediate and inordinately strong. Time has no meaning for angels, and Castiel did not place a length on the battle. It was endless yet just initiated, but time started to mean something when his garrison started losing members. It felt like too much of it had passed when Castiel finally received an update.
“They are using Dean Winchester to break the first Seal of the Cage. Speed is required. You must reach the righteous man before he breaks!”
Castiel allowed the update to flow along his bindings, and the garrison moved as one with reckless intent. It was brutal, full of pain as more and more brothers’ and sisters’ graces burst apart in a place they had no business being in. As the bindings tore, the nagging doubt and worry grew within Castiel. What cause is worth the death of so many holy beings? It was not the loss of the bindings being torn but the pain of their final thoughts that made him question. He had heard whispers of Dean Winchester and his cursed brother Sam, whispers of the importance of their births, but he had not yet reached the rank that was rewarded with knowledge of high plans.
As the death toll continued to climb, he threw himself blindly toward the soul of the righteous man. His anger made him deadly. The waves of righteous wrath pouring from him burned hundreds of demons. Then quite suddenly he was at the location of the soul. He felt the struggle from the few bindings left as the remains of his garrison raced to reach him, but it was reduced to a dull ache around his edges when compared to the mass of despair that flowed through his entire being now. They were too late. The creature before him was not human. Dean Winchester was a demon, cold and bloody. Yet, it was relief he saw on the creature when it looked upon him.
“Is it over? Will you end me?”
It held the shape it remembered as its body, and the words fell from its soft lips in a deep, monotone voice. It did not believe. This demon had no faith; not even with Castiel’s blinding grace filling the endless room. The tiny glimpse of human soul that had shown itself when Castiel had arrived was swallowed by the wretched, twisted demon scum as Castiel continued to stare, frozen in place. It was a wrath to match the power Castiel had lost at his words. The human soul on the table beside Dean screamed long and piercing before being ripped apart from the force of that rage. Then the demon moved toward Castiel.
They fought. Castiel’s despair had unsettled him, and Dean’s words had confused him. This creature could not be raised, but they weren’t supposed to be fighting. Castiel struggled against the pull to kill this creature remembering the charge still roiling through his bond. He desperately tried to recenter himself in his righteous path and the order’s burn. But his mind kept scattering every time his grace made contact with the raging demon. It shouldn’t be this strong; it shouldn’t feel this sad. Why do I feel sad? Sorrow is not of the host! This demon was the perfect opposite to him. Emotions swirled unbridled through its being, the force of its will was all encompassing, and the darkness it possessed was deep and unmovable. But its words still echoed in Castiel’s mind. It still wanted to leave. It still wanted the darkness to end, but not for its own sake.
Something had changed in Castiel at the sound of those words, and every echo made the change grow. Castiel had always liked humans, and now he knew this was why. The truth was confirmed at every brush of the furious demon’s essence so full of individual will. He liked them not because God charged him to love them, but because of their persistence. The way they still got back up. The way they still chose even when every choice was bad. They were a kaleidoscope that never stopped changing.
He was bound to accomplish this task, yet it was not that binding that convinced him to do the blasphemy he now decided to perform. This blasphemy was the only way to save Dean Winchester, and its wrongness shook Castiel to his core. But the change he had suddenly undergone was still strong as it thrummed through his being. This IS a worthy cause. Castiel stopped fighting and felt the wrath of the demon Dean Winchester bite deep. He broke his binding to Zachariah using the filth of the demon's contact as justification. Then he focused on the creature. It had chosen a man’s form, so Castiel formed a human hand of his grace and laid that hand on its shoulder.
Dean Winchester, I give myself to you. I will be yours to command, and I will die for you. I bind myself to you. Do you accept?
The bond was already forming as the mental statement thrust itself into the demon to that tiny bit of human soul buried deep within. His grace flowed along the bond purifying the rest of the creature’s spiritual essence, reminding it of the light and the good and the holy. The darkness was ripped away, and the demon soul screamed in shock before it blazed back to what it had been before it was defiled. What remained was so different and yet shockingly similar to what it had been a moment before. At first, he was overwhelmed with the soul’s memories. They were so much stronger than the record Heaven had given him. Then Castiel felt Dean acknowledge the bond tying them. He felt Dean’s thoughts return. They rang pure yet so afraid.
You saw what I became. I cannot be trusted with power. I can’t accept your power.
It was the wording of that answer that was to be their undoing. It was too late for Castiel to explain what he needed as the last of his garrison finally joined them. They moved as one again, rising toward the Earthly plane, but Castiel’s grace-formed hand never moved from the soul. He was bound to Dean with a half bond. His shame was complete, yet he could not regret it. It had been his choice. Even without the full bond he was now different from the brothers and sisters surrounding them. Already he could feel hints of human emotions from the stream of Dean’s human soul corrupting the single-minded intent that was typical for an Angel of the Lord. His garrison’s power was almost the only thing tying him to Heaven now, and Castiel could not help but be grateful that at least they were not hurt by the impulsive decision he had made. Dean’s refusal kept them clear of the human soul’s taint.
The battle out was suspiciously paltry, and the power from Dean’s soul lent them strength. Once they had passed the gates of Hell, Castiel ordered the remains of his garrison home. He needed to do this next task himself. He was bound, and they could not know. It would have meant immediate retrieval to heaven and extreme punishment. They left without question and no small amount of relief. Castiel moved Dean’s soul to the place his physical being lay, rotten and putrid. Heaven gifted him with the power to regrow the cells, encourage the DNA to remember what it had once created, and breathe life back into the body.
He turned his attention to the soul once the body was whole. It burned with the light of a million suns. It shone vitality and purity in the most alluring way. This was a quintessential human soul. Now that the two of them had left the spiritual realm there were no lips with which to speak. The bond did not afford him the human soul’s thoughts for it was not complete. So Castiel gently pressed it back into the recreated body until his grace-formed hand rested against the solid human shoulder.
Castiel knew it would burn, and part of him hoped it would remind Dean of the bond that had saved him, remind him of the sacrifice that had been Castiel’s first autonomous choice inspired by the truth he had seen in Hell. The Earth shook and the sky rained death in a wide circle that was centered around the now revived body of Dean Winchester. Castiel backed up to watch, a wavelength of celestial intent once again.
This was the consequence of his choice: he would watch over this being until the end of its time with no confidence in its care. He had begun his fall. He was bound.