Castiël stood with his back straight and his wings to attention. His commander paced before him. "Castiël, I need for you and part of your garrison to go to Hell." Castiël resisted the temptation to tilt his head quizzically. He was on duty and receiving orders, so to give in would be disrespectfull. "Permission to speak, sir." A curt nod. "Permission granted." "Why not the whole garrison, sir? That would give us more chance of succeeding." Another nod, this one appreciative. "True, Castiël, but we need this to be as covertly as possibly can. You need to go down there and retrieve my true vessel. He is held there and should be brought back to the land of the living as soon as possible. I can give you the approximate location of his soul, but be adviced, it might be difficult to get to it." Castiël saluted. "We will not fail, sir!" Another appreciative nod. Castiël felt daring. "Sir, off the record?" A warm smile. "Yes, Brother?" "Why now, all of a sudden, Michael? He has been born almost three decades ago. Why is it so important to act now?" Michael sat down. "Castiël, this is stricktly need to know. I have it on good authority that Lucifer is planning his Rising. His vessel has been around neigh on twentysix years. At this very moment, a demon is doing it's utmost to corrupt that soul into saying yes, as soon as our brother has risen." Castiël felt a chill. "You can count on me, Brother. I will not fail!" Another, rare, smile. "Thank you, Castiël. I know you won't."
'Oh my Father... There are more coming!' Castiël thought desperately. He had been seperated from the rest of his garrison. Last thing he saw of them, Anna was fighting off five demons and Hannah three more. The others he couldn't see, because the demons were obscuring his vision. Then all of a sudden, he saw a soul, so bright, it seemed to becon him. He'd flown down that pathway, yelling: "Follow me! I have found it!", but apparently the others couldn't follow. He never even noticed it. The glow of that soul tugged at his being, pleading at it to come over. When he turned the corner, he couldn't quite understand what he saw. The bright soul stood next to the rack, and another, more dimmed, was lying across it. There was only one demon in the room at that moment, and it was leaning casually against the wall, as if he was enjoying the scene. Castiël simply swooped in, grabbed the bright soul around the chest with his right arm, wielding his Angelblade with his left, and swooped out again. The demon didn't even have time to stand straight.
The soul under his arm struggled fitfully. "What the hell is going on here?" it asked. "What kind of new torture has Alastair deviced now?" Castiël liked the gruff voice of the soul. It made him think of warm fires and smoke in the autumn air. Which was strange, since he hadn't been on Earth in ages to enjoy these things. "Don't worry. I am no demon. Quite the contrary. I am Castiël. I am an angel of the Lord." The soul made a derissive sound. "Don't be stupid. There's no such thing." Castiël found that disturbing. "I am not being stupid. But, I do not have time to convince you otherwise. I need to start repairing you." The soul stopped struggling. "Sorry? You what?" "Your time down here has damaged you. Besides, your mortal flesh needs to be restructed too. It has been buried all this time." The soul jerked it's head up. "What? It hasn't been salted and burned? Oh, Sammy... Wait... What did he do? Did he trade his own soul for mine?" Castiël sensed some deep sorrow growing in the soul. "I do not know who this Sammy is, but I assure you, no soul has been bartered. Now hold still please. We're almost at the grave site." The soul threw him a look that stated it didn't believe him. Castiël held still in a dark room. It wasn't very spacious, but they could stand. He lowered the soul onto his feet. "There, now please hold still. This might take me a while." The soul looked like it was ready to make a run for it. Castiël placed his right hand on the soul's left upper arm. "It won't hurt, I promise." The soul stared at him. Castiël saw that the shape of the eyes was pretty. He let his gaze wander over the ghostly face of the soul, while he sent his Grace into it's being to start the healing and rebuilding. As a celestial being, Castiel was used to beauty, but the face of this soul showed him a new facet of that word. For starters it was almost symmetrical, then it was masculine, yet soft lashes lined the large eyes and the square jaw was softened by the full lips. On the whole Castiël felt it was aestatically very pleasing to see. The soul obviously felt somewhat uncomfortable. It coughed, even though it needn't. "So... You said your name is Castiël?" "Yes, I did." The ghostly cheeks seemed to darken ever so slightly. "I'm Dean. Dean Winchester." Castiël smiled. These humans and their customs. "Pleased to meet you, Dean. Why are you troubled by my presence?" The cheeks darkened even more, and the energy the soul emitted felt defensive. "Who said I was?" Castiël tilted his head. "There is no-one here but us, Dean." "Shit, Cas. Don't take that litterally. What are you doing anyway? I am feeling more like myself than before."
Castiël increased the flow of his Grace. "Like I said, I'm reconstructing you. Soul now and, later on, body too. I am using my Grace to heal and rebuild you." Dean looked down at his left arm, where Castiël had his hand. "It feels nice. Almost like a good buzz." He redirected his gaze to Castiël's eyes. "I like your eyes. They make me think of the deep blue ocean." Castiël blinked. "Thank you. I am glad you can see them." Dean raised his ghostly eyebrows. "Why wouldn't I?" Cas saw the features and details of Dean's face become sharper, meaning his soul was almost repaired. There were no things that scarred the features and Castiël saw that not only the shape of Dean, the memory reflection of his flesh, was beautiful, but also his soul itself. It was pure and full of love. Even though it seemed to be marred with some issues, it would never enjoy bringing harm on others. "This form, my true form, can burn ones eyes out." Colour was slowly creeping into the soul of Dean. The hair turned a soft, sandy colour, and the eyes... 'Sweet Father in Heaven!' Castiël felt a twitch in his abdomen. 'Those eyes are the most beautiful mirrors of the soul I have ever seen!' He couldn't stop staring in them, and only when Dean looked away, a pink hue on his cheeks, did Castiël realise that he had said that aloud. "I am sorry. Did that make you uncomfortable?" Dean cleared his throat. "Hmhm. Well, yeah, a little. But..." He looked up again. "I think I can say the same for you. Your eyes are extraordinarily beautiful." His cheeks flushed even more. Castiël felt happy. This unique and precious soul thought his eyes were pretty. They stood there, noses almost touching, and just stared at each other, while Castiël's Grace did it's job. "Cas?" Castiël liked the abbreviation of his name. It made him feel as if Dean had given him a new name. A special name which redefined him as the Castiël after meeting Dean Winchester. "Hm? Is something wrong, Dean?"