Supernatural Constellations

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form.

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Stars; Bright shining orbs hung with a kind of haphazard care in the inky, looming canvas that served as the night sky. He had always been partial to the existence of stars. How hotly they burned, glowing brightest the very moment before they went out, leaving a vast vacant spot in their wake. He remembers how clear the sky had been before his Father's creation of man. How crystalline and fragile it looked as it wrapped itself around his being, a cool and welcome embrace to an angel such as he whose intense heat rivaled that of a hundred stars even at 'birth'. His brothers, which ones exactly he no longer cares to remember, had shown him a star up close for the first time in all of his existence mere moments after he came to being. He was awed by its unstable color and perplexed at how something so small and numerous could burn far hotter than he. A part of him wished that he could capture this thing and keep it in his grasp for all the days to come, but he had learned the hard way that this could not be so. His hand had been swatted away when he had come so close to touching it, the brother in question warning him that should he touch the star, the resulting affects would not be desirable. His other brother merely shrugged and with a brief tap of his finger, the star glowed ever brighter, its color transitioning from a bright white to an almost neon blue and then quickly - so very quickly - dissolving into a deep red before finally it was gone, its resting place empty and its lone partner left to search for another lone star to attach itself to. Their trek back to his other siblings had been a silent one.

In his time among his heavenly family, he had come to learn that the creation of an angel is in many ways similar to the creation of a star. In the case of a star, elements of various amounts are brought together and through pressure, are forced into a reaction that ultimately leads to its creation. An angel on the other hand is not created using varying elements, but of a pure, hotly burning substance known as Grace. It is a small piece of the heavenly Father himself, molded and fashioned until the desired form is produced, then with nimble fingers and strong hands, the Grace is all, but crushed so that its power can run freely, bringing life to the once lifeless angel. This process, though seldom known outside of the heavenly host, has become a breeding ground for rumors and myths. There are those, namely humans, who believe that when an angel is created they are done so with the knowledge of everything and of everyone; informed of what has passed, what is in occurrence, and what lies ahead. It is folklore, legend, really nothing more than a misunderstanding as far as he is concerned. When an angel is 'born' they come into existence knowing all that has been done before them and slight, subtle, glimmers of that which shall be thrust into their path, obstacles and hardships that they shall someday face. But these glimmers are forever changing like the colors of an evening sky, sculpted and shaped continuously through their actions (_failures to act_), spoken words (_unspoken words_), bonds formed (_trusts shattered_) and, as a result, these glittering fragments of future proved to be nothing more than pretty bits of glass added to make such a **_beautiful_** thing hold some sort of **_ugliness_**.

Legends, folklore, the art of storytelling, were not lost among the angels though. Many a time he remembers being gathered with his brothers and sisters by one of the elders among them after a long day spent in training to become their Father's army and the chaos that ensued, fledglings tripping over other fledglings - a mass of feathers and squirming forms -in their effort to sit at the very front so as to hear the words woven by the story teller of that night. Great, uplifting stories of creation and destruction, of happiness and depression, of anger and contentment. Stories meant to teach the angels that of right and wrong, the art of leadership, the need to follow the word of the Lord. Gabriel's stories always proved to be the best among those told, save for when the Morning Star filled the Messenger's absence. Both weaved words like that night. Often he wonders if this was why Gabriel and Lucifer proved so very capable and well-suited for their roles as the Silver-tongued 'God' and the Ruler of Hell.

Lucifer, fulfilling his name of the Morning Star never failed to incorporate that of the sun and the moons and all the other anomalies that their Father had sent forth to roam the skies. One in particular that has never seemed to seep out of his mind was what Lucifer called _And Once There Was_. He began the story with the title, much in the same respect Sam usually began those intriguing little things called tales of fairies or something like that, he can never really be sure. It told the story of how God had created the heavens and themselves not out of boredom or some unfulfilled desire to bestow His unending love upon something lower than Him, but merely out of yearning. A yearning to love and be loved, a yearning to know that something, somewhere out in the vast and overwhelming expanse of what could only be called nothing, was able to be called upon for companionship. And thus He created the sky, but the sky was dark, almost as dark as what had come before it and so He created a star. And with it He lit the darkness and created its opposite, light. Of course the tale did not end there, but one can read the rest of it in any Holy Scripture regarding His creation of the world. It was simple and rather childlike in its telling, but the message behind it was strong and far more complex than a fledgling such as himself, could have ever hoped to comprehend at that moment in time. Michael, to say the least, had been unpleased by the fabrication. This was to be the beginning of his brother's undoing, rebelling at first against Michael and then against the Garrison before finally turning away from their Father.

It was this story that had found its way out of his subconscious and began a dull and deliberate scraping of the inside of his skull on a day like any other. He wasn't quite sure what exactly it was that triggered it. He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary, well what had become ordinary for him anyways. He had his dealings with Crowley over the recovery of Purgatory, and he had answered several of the Winchester duo's calls for aid. The only real thing that had been quite different in the normal scheme of things had been his fight with Rachel. She had accused him of misleading the Heavenly Host in their war against Raphael, and in a fit of already tense nerves and the fact that the whole entire Garrison that was currently on his side relied on him and him alone to lead them into what was ultimately seen as an impractical and fatal rebellion. She died by **_his_** hand, her 'blood' was on his conscience, mingling with whatever else had decided to make a home of his already deteriorating mind. Wounded and already beyond what his own grace could hope to repair without the aid of another angel, he used Bobby Singer's soul as a kind of catalyst and gripped his charges from the depths of time. He was successful, but not without adverse side effects, the kind of side effects that cause one to crumple to the floor in a heap of exhausted limbs and growing injury.

It had been harrowing and Bobby had forced him to "keep your ass in the goddamned bed you idjit! I don't need a wounded angel bleeding all over the place and knocking shit over just because he doesn't know what the term sleep means!"

The cracks in the ceiling overhead served as entertainment until he found that it had taken him all of about five minutes to count and recount every single one. It was after that realization (combined with the noisy thump that he had made in an effort to standup and examine a bookcase that was in the room he occupied) that Sam Winchester had taken it upon himself to provide a bit of relief from the inadvertent boredom and anxiousness he felt with every fleeting 'what if?' that passed through his mind as he caught glimpses of what could be in the near future.

/

"Castiel?" Sam questioned, the creak of the door alerting the angel to the younger brother's entry into the room.

He, Castiel, lie sprawled on the hardwood floor, blood blossoming on his exposed bandages like the blooming of a rose. The young Winchester was quick to act, hoisting him up and placing him back onto the bed, making sure to fluff up the angel's pillows a bit and ask if he was comfortable. Castiel nodded in reply, before fixing the other with a stare.

A smile came and went on the young man's face before he uttered a confused "What?", clearly not enjoying the look that was coming from the grounded angel.

"Constellations."

"Cas…are you sure you didn't suffer any head injuries as well? Maybe I should call Dean up to take a look at you…." Sam turned to leave, but was halted when Castiel calmly repeated the word.

A sigh left his lips, much like one a parent would emit when dealing with a particularly stubborn child.

"What about constellations?" He asked, most of him figuring he wouldn't receive a reply while a small bit of him hoped that he would.

"There is a book of constellations on that shelf that I would like to read….."

The silence took over once more and Sam took the opportunity to retrieve the desired book. It was rather small in size and looked relatively old and battered. Dust clung to its cover and its pages and Sam used his hand to swipe off what he could. Gold lettering shown out on and read only the word _Constellations_, the name of the author having been rubbed off from frequent use long, long ago.

"Never thought I would see this again," Sam smiled softly, his eyes seemed to stare off at something in the distance as he stood before Castiel and the bed, book in hand.

" Bobby used to take Dean and me out on clear nights and he would teach us every constellation we could see. I looked forward to those nights as a kid. Hell of a lot better than life at home. In fact there was this one time where Dea-I'm rambling aren't I?" Sam asked, Castiel's gaze feeling strong enough to burn holes through his skull.

The taller of the two looked down, slightly embarrassed before placing the book in the angel's lap. With an awkward cough, Sam turned once more to leave and just as before Castiel's words halted him in his tracks.

"….I am listening Sam Winchester. Please continue in your 'rambling'…"

Sam smiled, turning around to face Castiel and Castiel found that he couldn't help, but return the gesture.

/

That had been weeks ago, the brothers as well as Bobby having long since found out about his dealings with Crowley. Dean had been furious and when they had last spoken, the elder brother's fury enough to send Castiel far, far away.

As of right now that far, far away place was somewhere in Alaska, the moon had risen high within the sky, stars twinkling like little lights hung about it. Jimmy Novak's soul lay buried deep within his vessel, content to sleep and bask within the warmth that radiated from the angel's grace while Castiel remained awake, lying in the snow and softly shrouded by the moon's illuminating glow. The angel found himself trying to reach out to his vessel to speak with the man, only for the Jimmy's soul to turn over as a means of saying 'Try talking to me a couple hours from now, I'm still sleeping'.

"Well, well, well. What is it that we've got here?" A familiar voice rang through the once comfortable silence and Castiel simply gave up on the idea of conversing with Jimmy Novak.

"Balthazar." He greeted, eyes remaining locked on the celestial beings above him.

The snow gave way a bit with a soft crunch as Balthazar came to sit by his side, legs crossed in what he had heard Dean term 'Indian Style'.

"Just what has our leader taking nightly trips to stargaze?" The other angel questioned, his tone merry and ever curious.

"It is….relaxing. You are always telling me I need some 'relaxation time' so as not to lose any more of my feathers than I already have. Is this not what you meant by it?" Castiel turned his head to gaze at his brother whose fair hair had begun to get covered with a light layer of snow.

"I certainly never had this in mind, but whatever floats your boat I guess."

In lieu of a reply, Castiel merely averted his line of site back to the sky above. Silence had resumed and for the moment both seemed content with just sitting there enjoying what little beauty was left a world of nothing, but the damned. Castiel let his eyes slip close, allowing himself to succumb to the calming effects of the silence that enveloped them, reveling in the inner peace it brought to his tumult of inner turmoil.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Balthazar asked, a small smirk gracing his lips as he tried to read his brother's thoughts without actually reading his brother's thoughts.

Castiel cracked an eye open, gazing at his brother with piercing blue eyes in slight annoyance that his revelry was disturbed by the other's constant need for some sort of background noise or attention so as not to become one with the silence. He closed his eyes once more in an effort to regain some of the inner peace he had felt just moments ago, but his brother continued to fidget in the snow where he was seated and Castiel knew that the effort had become completely futile, so with a sigh much like that of Sam's who had let it loose mere weeks before, Castiel replied.

"Many things Balthazar, I think of many things, some more troubling than the rest."

Balthazar, ever attentive to details, did not fail to notice Castiel's hand tighten around something hidden in his trench coat.

"What is it that you've got there brother? Might I see?"

Instead of waiting for a reply, Balthazar merely grabbed whatever was in the other's grasp, lifting it closer to his eyes in order to see what it was. Castiel reached out to grab it, but after realizing it would never work anyway, he let his hand rest on his chest instead.

"Constellations? Really brother? Why would you trouble yourself with such things as this?"

"Orion, Sirius, Hercules, Bellatrix, Andromeda…"

"Yes dear brother, those are the names given to several constellations by Father's children over time. I fail to see how it is slightly relevant to your current idea that freezing your vessel's toes off is the ideal in terms of relaxation."

"All have a place within the sky Father created, all bear some significance….."

When Castiel stopped speaking, Balthazar gave him a pointed look as if to say 'Go on….'.

With great reluctance Castiel adhered to his Balthazar's wished and continued, "I would like…..I would like to be one…."

Balthazar remained silent and Castiel did not know whether it was because somehow and in some way he understood or if his brother merely did not want to let loose a scathing comment, nonetheless Castiel retrieved the book from his brother, fingers tracing the word _Constellations_ on the cover before safely tucking it away within one of the many pockets on his person and transfixing his bright eyes upon the lighted darkness above their heads, a single star making its lone trek across the sky.

"I would like to become a star, Balthazar."

He felt a light touch on his shoulder, and turned in time to see Balthazar smile in a soft, reassuring way.

"Then become a star you shall little brother. Become a star you shall."


End file.
