Do Over

A Supernatural/Dark Angel Crossover

Part Six of Six - Castiel

A human once said: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The statement is one of many that litter his vessel's mind, and Castiel ponders the truth of it as he stands atop the Seattle Space Needle watching God's creations mill about below. Not many would consider the current era one of beauty. Not with the ruined buildings, and the checkpoints, the smog and the paranoia. He thinks it is, though.

When the pulse hit, some thought it was the Apocalypse, but it wasn't.

Just the opposite, really.

The door on the tower swings open with surprising smoothness, a testament to how often the girl comes here, and she pauses at the sight of him. "Oh, uh, didn't know anyone else was up here."

In an abstract way, Castiel thinks they make quite the pair. His vessel dressed in Sunday best, rumpled from two decades of use, and her in dark denim and leather. Her mind is... strange. She's a soldier trying not to be, scoffing at humanities attempt to enforce order, then getting upset at the idea of others thinking of her as inhuman. Flickers of memory and animalistic wants float around her mind with regrets that she would do again and again if given the choice.

All of his Father's creations are so very strange, and yet so very unique and beautiful. Works of Art.

"He's not gone, you know." His own voice comes out gravely from disuse. Angels don't have to vocalize in order to communicate to one another.

"Who are you talking about?" Her eyes narrow while she moves to the side, ready to go for him, or the door, whichever makes the most sense when the time comes.

"Ben."

She freezes, shock giving way to suspicion and anger. "Are you Manticore? Did that Bitch send you?" She steps closer, poised to strike, and her voice drops a few decibels while carrying threat. "Did you assholes do to Ben what you did to Zack?"

Castiel tilts his head back, observing her. The loyalty she displays to her family is commendable. Worthy of Heaven's best. For a moment he thinks she really would pounce on him, despite how dangerous such a battle -one sided as it would be, though she doesn't know that- would be, and his vessel's lips twitch. "I am not Manticore."

She's now in his face, dark eyes staring up into his blue eyes with challenge. "Then who the fuck are you? How do you know about Ben?"

He doesn't intend to answer her. He didn't come to the Needle for a confrontation, but then he feels the slightest flicker of Grace and knows he isn't alone.

Castiel moves forward, heat in his eyes, and Max quickly backtracks before scowling at the fact she just gave ground. Then her eyes go wide as Castiel releases his own Grace the tiniest bit, and he can see the shadows of his wings reflected in her eyes.

"Y-You're an-" She trails off, then gets so angry tears prick at the corner of her eyes. Castiel can feel his brother's amusement. "What the hell have you been doing? Why didn't you help us... help him..."

She takes a swing, and Castiel has spent the last ten years acquainting himself with human culture even if he doesn't understand it. He catches her fist in his palm, eyes hard. She can't understand the whys, she couldn't even begin to get the full picture, but he's so tired of the expectations, "I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. Read the Old Testament. I'm a soldier."

As you should be, goes unsaid.

She stumbles back, jaw set, and with a flutter of wings Castiel wills himself to the space-between. Max whirls around, looking for him, but he doesn't register on any of her enhanced senses.

Uriel steps up to him, arms crossed over his chest, sardonic smile in place. "Brother, sometimes I just don't understand you."

"Nor I you, Uriel." Castiel replies as they watch the girl turn her eyes skyward. "The younger Winchester?" Who would have thought that Uriel's sense of humor would cause him to nudge the genetics just enough to make Sam Winchester's new body female?

"Still happily settled into womanhood. The crisis with White passed, and she's carrying the next vessels." Castiel nods, and Uriel frowns. "This monitoring of the bloodline is too troublesome. Let the Righteous Man go, it will happen sooner or later, and I for one am tired of waiting."

Castiel whirls around, his Grace shining around him, and he glares. Uriel averts his eyes. "And when it does, it will be a time of our choosing. Not the demons. Ours."

"And when will this be?"

Castiel shrugs, a human affectation he's picked up, and Uriel rolls his eyes. They can keep up the reincarnation for as long as it takes. Decades. Centuries. Millennia.

Azazel should have thought of that before starting his little game.

Fin.