A/N: Here we are, at the epilogue of what has been a fantastic journey for (I hope) all of us. I'd like to thank EVERYONE for your reviews; for pointing out my mistakes and what I could improve upon as well as the uplifting encouragement. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, but these versions of Gabriel, Belial, and Ramiel belong to me

Several months later

When the Great Oppressor appeared before the Lord in His court, he who is called the Father of all lies and Satan the Adversary of all prompted the Almighty to test a servant faithful and blameless, upright and loyal in all his ways. God agreed, and thus allowed Lucifer to do as he wished, so long as he spared the life of his servant Job; later this story would become a lesson of morality and patience for the generations, encouragement for the everyday man and woman undergoing trials and tribulations of the mind, body, and soul. What was there to fear with the God of Heaven and Earth there to intercede upon our behalf? All things were possible, no pain too great to bear, no burden too great to shoulder with a Heavenly Father there to guide and protect, to comfort and save.

Except when He wasn't.

"Lucifer."

"So I take it you're here with the Winchesters."

"…I came alone."

Job spoke into a storm and a whirlwind, calling out to He who sat upon the Throne of Judgment, and demanded an explanation for the ills impressed upon him without just cause. He had called, raged, questioned, and in the end, received an answer and many blessings for his loyalty and faith.

"Loyalty. Such a nice quality in this day and age."

But he never stood in a circle of holy oil and gazed fearfully upon the face of his tormentor – never mind that this was not Lucifer's true face; Castiel had seen the face of the Morning Star in all his terrible and great beauty, all the glorious light that was now shrouded behind a layer of peeling and decaying epidermal cells that couldn't possibly contain the unholy flames of smoldering grace. In the halls of Heaven, the fledgling had only seen this particular glorious older brother's visage from afar, sometimes shielding himself with his own wings because the face of the brightest and most beautiful of the Host had always appeared surprisingly cold to the lesser angel, powerful yet colorless eyes and cool, multi-faceted grace tightening his soul in fear before Castiel even knew of the emotion or the word.

"Come now, Castiel. I'm not here to harm you." Lucifer spread his hands genially, stepping out of the darkness of the shadowed corner. "I just want to talk."

"Castiel?" The gentle and familiar tendrils of grace reached out to the lesser angel who stood wrapped in his own wings, shaking as the halls of the Lord still shook with the ferocity of the latest disagreement between Michael and Lucifer. The voices of both archangels thundered through the firmament without restraint but upon hearing his own name among the controlled chaos (for nothing ever truly amounted to pandemonium in Paradise), the fledgling's grace loosened from its tightly curled knot of tension. He practically launched himself at his brother, gripping tightly to Gabriel's billowing robes with trembling fingers as he sought out the other's warm affection and solid, sure protection against the harshness of brotherly discord.

There was a sigh, and the Herald drew his little brother close, letting Castiel shiver in his strong embrace, still such a small, new soul who understood not the complex dynamics between the Morning Star and the Prince of the Host. "Oh, young one," Gabriel murmured quietly, a whisper of comfort meant for his fledgling alone. "Be not afraid of thy brothers." The archangel lightly rested a wing against his little brother's back, holding him securely. "Lucifer means thou no harm."

Gabriel was the intermediary between the members of the Host, the voice of reason and harmony alongside being the messenger of the Lord, a genuine harbinger of peace in the Heavens as well as upon Earth. Upon those occasions before the Fall, it always fell upon the Herald to go forth in attempts to pacify the dispute between his brothers – after spiriting his fledgling away from the clash, first. Well respected and a figure of quiet authority, the one who sat at the left hand of the Throne settled disagreements with words of wisdom and reconciliation, standing as a pillar of strength to restore order and balance.

Or…rather, used to be.

"I have not fallen to your temptations, Lucifer." Castiel surprised himself by keeping his vessel's vocal chords from vibrating together and refraining from letting the tongue slip in outward shows of fear. He stood taller, shoulders squaring and making sure to keep in the center of the ring of sanctified flame. "And I won't believe your lies now."

"Castiel." The Devil tutted, shaking his head in disapproval, and somehow managing to stretch out and distort the other's very name, the name that had once been stolen from him and replaced with the basest of cruelties: the name of an angel exchanged for that of a demon's. Leonard of the nocturnal orgies. Pretty boy angel. Little soiled dove. Slowly, languidly, Lucifer began to walk a slow circle around the path marked by a circular stream of holy oil, connecting and binding and imprisoning. "I don't understand why you're fighting me, of all the angels."

Castiel started; perhaps from shock or from being caught off guard in annoyance. "You really have to ask?" The unspoken words hung heavy in the air between them, mingling with the aromatic blend of spices and oil that blazed as the Bush once flamed without being scorched, as the lamps in Solomon's majestic Temple stayed lit for twelve days and twelve nights, as the screams and rancid stench of blood mingled together in the burning of Jerusalem. You captured and tormented me, tempted me and nearly ended my existence. You are the Son of Perdition and the Deceiver of All, the Prince of Darkness – and I will not submit to you.

Lucifer heard these words well enough. Dear Castiel, he might have seemed as stoic and emotionless to the limited perceptions of humans (those oblivious creatures of dirt), but he could read the lesser angel's soul like an open book, so they said. And as of right now, the pages of the other's novel were stained red with affliction and had been tattered and torn, symbols and characters worn away with lack of care and abuse. It would be wise to start off easy, lest the fragile binding fall to pieces to soon.

"Everything I did was to help train you, brother," he began softly. "To help you see the truth." At Castiel's signature head-tilt of confusion, the lines between his eyebrows deepening in proportion with his growing confusion, Lucifer had to bite back a chuckle, although he allowed himself a dignified smile of pity mingled with persuasion. Had young Castiel always been this much like a lost little sheep, with no shepherd to guide him Home. "You don't belong with them, Castiel. You know that. Deep down inside, you've always known that. We are not so different, you and I."

He lies. Castiel could feel his vessel's pulse hammering double-time, skeletal muscles contracting as the body's endocrine system unleashed a flood of hormones demanding a fight or flight response, neither of which he was able to perform at the moment. His wings, both wholly restored by the powerful healing touch of an archangel, were held in close to his grace that was rapidly expanding and turning in upon itself in the presence of such unrighteousness.

The eyes of Lucifer's vessel were pale blue, but they gleamed yellow in the firelight, a feral and primal grace evident in the way he moved around the ring of fire, a predator stalking his prey. "I rebelled, I was cast out; you rebelled you were cast out. Almost all of Heaven wants to see me dead and if they succeed, guess what?" His voice dropped, low and serious and one of calm coercion. "You're their new public enemy number one."

Public enemy number one. He didn't understand the idiomatic allusion, but Lucifer's meaning was clear, and Castiel's throat tightened; his gaze strayed to the floor at the truth.

"Brother?" The archangel glanced down at the small bundle of grey feathers and sapphire blue eyes and beautiful hope-faith-love tugging gently at the end of one silver wing. Ramiel stood a short distance away, her grace glowing with encouragement, and Castiel glanced upwards hopefully, ever the curious little soul. Usually he always went to his sister with questions, but this time, the angel of joy had suggested asking the Herald, for surely he would know. "Gabriel?"

"Yes, little one?" And suddenly he was all bashful silence, tongue-tied in shyness, but he wished to know the answer to the question so very much. Gabriel's soul glimmered with gentle amusement and affection though, as the illustrious archangel actually lowered himself to the level of the fledgling, reaching out with one pinion feather to brush away a wayward wisp of cloud from the lesser angel's earnest gaze. "Thou may speak freely, Castiel."

"Am I…" the lesser angel hesitated. "Am I important to Heaven?"

It was a foolish question indeed, Castiel decided not a moment later when his elder brother swept him up in a whirlwind of silver wings and endearment. Who needed to be the focus of the Host when one already had the love of his brother?

Lucifer smiled, the frightening sight of a spider's elegance before it descended to wrap the unsuspecting fly in its webbing, the flash of a serpent's fangs before it struck. "We're on the same side, like it or not." His head tilted in contemplation and his shoulders came up in a half-shrug of nonchalance. "So why not just serve your own best interest, which, in this case happen to be mine…"

He left the end of the sentence hanging, an intentional flaw in the otherwise carefully prepared speech. Castiel looked up steadfastly, his gaze sharpening and glinting with both strength and determination. He drew his resolve from the light of his Father's Creation all around him, from the spark of Ellen's protectiveness and Jo's carefree smile that reminded him so much of his sister Ramiel, from the earnest words of the forgiven younger Winchester who stayed at his bedside and comforted him in the language of the angels, from the words of the Righteous Man for whom he relinquished everything, this is worth dying for – "I'll die first."

"…I suppose you will." The fallen archangel tilted his head, eyes narrowed as if inspecting a particularly fascinating and perplexing specimen underneath a microscope. "What a peculiar thing you are."

Castiel's wings jerked sharply in an abortive movement to flee the heaviness of the scrutiny of the Angel of the Bottomless Pit; he pulled them closer within his vessel upon instinct, for once thankful that he had learned at least one human mannerism from the Winchester brothers: the fine art of changing the subject when the conversation (or interrogation, actually, in this case) had gone askew. "What's wrong with your vessel?" His voice was quiet and unsure, just another crack-pop-hiss in the flames.

The other's eyebrows arched, either surprised that the straight-shooting little soldier had actually made an attempt to divert the conversation, or in the way someone usually reacted when reminded of something they would much rather forget. "Yes…Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid." Lucifer's mouth quirked upward slightly, knowingly, as if sharing a private joke. "He can't contain me forever."

The insinuation was well understood, but apparently not the part about it being a joke because then Castiel's anger blazed. "You-" he spat out, a rush of emotion connected with the remembrance of a large calloused hand, unusually gentle as it settled upon his injured shoulder or replaced a cool towel across the back of his neck, mind flooding with the image of a wide-eyed Sam – so different from the dangerous boy with the demon blood who had destroyed Alastair – and the sound of a voice stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables of Enochian, but comforting all the same. You will not harm him, for he is a good man. He is my friend.

Lucifer seemed amused as he watched Castiel halt abruptly, remembering not one moment too late the impenetrable barrier laid down between fallen archangel and nearly fallen little brother. "You are not taking Sam Winchester," He growled, low in the back of his throat. "I won't let you."

It sounded dangerously like a promise.

"Such fortitude." Lucifer clicked his tongue. "I admire that in you, Castiel." He waved his hand, in the manner of someone trying to recall a particularly interesting yet useless fact. "Of course, it seems you learned that from Gabriel as well."

"Do not speak of my brother." Each word was tightly clipped and measured, bitten off with an odd little rhythm with pauses allotted for breath and the inevitable hard swallow, as if deviating from this pre-recorded chant would result in a loss of nerve, in a breakdown.

"Why not?" Lucifer stepped closer, a hint of something dark and ugly lighting up his features in a smile. "Don't you want to hear of why he wouldn't heed your cries for help?"

"Stop."

"Your brother made a deal, Castiel. With me. He authorized and permitted your torment."

"Stop this."

"Do you know why, though?" The toes of his vessel's boots were lined up with the furthermost edge of the ring of holy oil now, in preparation for leaping in for the kill. "It was to save you." Here, Castiel's eyes narrowed, searching out the blunt statement for any shred of falsehood. "But Gabriel loved his fledging so very much that he couldn't bear to see you suffer so he broke the pact, offering himself in your stead." Goodness though, was it a mirage of the heat, or were those tears? Lucifer paused, considering. Perhaps the other was still too fragile from his previous period of torment. It surely wouldn't do to break Castiel even before he could be of use. "Now the mighty Herald sits not at the left hand of the Throne, but engulfed in the flames of Perdition-"

"Enough." There was a crackle of the fire and singing of the edge of a dark tan trench coat before Lucifer raised a hand, effortlessly knocking Castiel back into the center of the ring and away from the flames, away from where the lesser angel had leapt forward heedlessly, his voice shaking with rage. "That is enough."

"Tell me something, Castiel. How have these past few months been without your loving brother here to protect you?" Lucifer examined something on his vessel's hand, distastefully flicking at another patch of stretched-thin, peeling skin. "Heaven has mourned the loss of its Herald. Have you?"

Crackle-hiss-pop, went the flames in the sudden silence. "Do you really think our Father would have allowed for this?"

From the end of the corridor came the clipping of high-heeled boots against the floor and the demon girl Meg entered, a pleased smile upon her face as she approached her lord and father – and within the circle of holy, sanctified flame, the imprisoned angel hid his sorrow and inwardly wept for his loss.

"Have faith. The Lord shat always guide thee, Castiel. Nothing shalt ever distance ye from the grace of our Father, nor from my love, my little brother."

Castiel was different now.

Not that he hadn't always been different before; in fact if one looked up the dictionary's definition of "odd" or any variation of such including but not limited to "unusual", "weird", "socially awkward with no conception of humor or personal space", one would probably see synonyms: Castiel, angel of the Lord. And really though, how many times could you almost die and come back unchanged?

It wasn't just a physical or notable change, both Winchester brothers realized. Sure, their friend was up on his feet and back to being the badass angel of the Lord he'd always been – but there was a haggard look he'd worn since the three of them plus the Imapala landed some x miles away from the epicenter of where an archangel had touched down to heal his little brother, a weary expression tinged with such loneliness that it would've melted a heart of stone. It was there when he wasn't too busy being a silent, steadfast soldier gone for longer and longer periods of time, relentlessly resuming his search for his Father as if to make up for the time and a brother lost.

All three of them had seen the explosion: Sam still swallowing down tears, Dean stoic-faced and speechless because he understood the sacrifice, Castiel clinging to both hunters on wobbly knees, his first sight after being called back from the jaws of Death yet again and after his vision restored being his elder brother's death. Sometimes the elder Winchester would even dream (have nightmares) about the sight-

A hapless vessel jerked up into midair as shafts of innumerable light surrounded and shot through his form; the man's head thrown back and from his throat-eyes-nose exploding energy as his arms were jerked up in a crude imitation of Christ on the cross: lay down one's life for one's brother; believe me you will be with me in Paradise…

-and then he would wake up in yet another random motel room, push away the scratchy sheets and sit up to find Castiel in the corner of the room. There would be no what were you dreaming about this time, because the angel knew. Cas always knew.

And although the angel had made known his gratefulness for Sam and Dean, the both of them knew that it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. They would never be able to erase the hunted look on their friend's features, the countenance that looked like someone had ripped all the steel out of him and replaced it with imitation strength, sparking dangerously and fraying at the ends, just waiting to unravel and crumble and break.

A/N: Wow. You guys, I can't believe it. It's finally done. Thank you once again, ALL OF YOU (I wish I could name names, but that would take forever and an age) for your continued support. I believe this has been the longest fic I've ever attempted, and I hope it's been as wonderful for you guys as it has been for me. As for what's going to come next? I believe I'm going to take one reviewer's advice and wait to see how the end of the season is going to play out before drafting a sequel (which may or may not be the last installment in the 'Six Dawns' series). In the meantime, I think I might take a break for a week or two, before coming back with a one-shot or two. We'll see what happens, so pitch me a few ideas (as many as you want, really) and I might decide to work with yours!

Happy Easter!