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Morgan's Hardware - Monday, 07/13

Morgan stared at his phone.

...he was just about done with Reid's room, the angel had his room, and he knew that Murphy's Law should require that his phone ring since he'd gotten zero sleep last night.

"Yeah, you just try it."

Of course, the lack of a case to fly off on didn't help him with all the reports and paperwork and--crap, he had to call Ino today to let her know he had her design done. Ugh, it was going to be a long day.

Morgan's Hardware and Repair
Home improvement supplies - Plumbing - Electrical Work
Painting - Custom Carpentry - Installation
Now Hiring!
The store was open. [ and ocdless]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He held up a hand.

"Oh. Okay. Wasn't trying to get you in trouble or anything. But... you're not even allowed to have an opinion?"

He leaned on the counter.

"I mean, I'd never question the head of my team" much "but sometimes I think he's off. Not much, because he knows his business, but I think it."

Castiel frowned.

"I have . . . doubts." A lot of big, fat, serious doubts. "But I am merely a soldier."

"He made you too, didn't He?" was a point he figured he could make safely.

"And the Big Guy... you got 'em, He already knows, right? Who's it hurt to talk it out. He--ck," quick save "sometimes it's when I start talking to someone else that the whole thing makes more sense."

He tapped a pencil against the counter.

"I hadn't been to church for years before this one case, man. I kept everything bundled up inside, pissed off for years. Then I couldn't anymore; I talked about it.

"And lucky me, I was in a church the night a friend of mine was under the knife. And they called it a 'miracle' she made it. One centimeter's difference and she wouldn't have made it."

He spread his hands.

"You'd know better than me. But I'm just saying."

"It's been said that my father works in 'mysterious ways'," Castiel acknowledged. "And mankind is free to question those ways, as without question, there is no faith, and without faith. . . ." He trailed off. "My kind is told to have faith without doubt, and obey without question. To do otherwise is . . . dangerous."

"What's faith without doubt?" he asked softly.

"If you don't think about it, it's just orders."

He breathed in and crossed his arms.

"If you're doubting, you're doubting. I never figured God was Big Brother, just waiting for me to whisper it out. Come on, man, what's eating you?"

Castiel gave Morgan a good, long look.

"You are certain you want to know?"

No small question, that. A burden weighing down an angel was one hell of a burden.

Morgan thought about it for a moment before, finally, nodding. Morgan regularly took on burdens that weren't his. He sat with someone who was literally right on top of a bomb, or he took the guilt when he wasn't fast enough, strong enough, a good enough shot. Morgan felt better being under those burdens, because then at least he knew it was lighter for someone else.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm certain."

Castiel nodded, satisfied that Morgan was not requesting this without consideration. "Last summer, I was ordered to raise a man up from Perdition. This man had sacrificed his soul to Hell in order to save his brother, and in doing so, unwittingly placed himself in position to begin the End Times. I was successful, but not before the seal was open -- the first door to the Apocalypse opened. In the months since them, it has . . . come to my attention that it is possible that my father is, in fact. . . ." Castiel hesitated to say it. He took a deep breath. "Absent."

We do not profile the angel. We do not profile the angel.

Dammit.

"Absent?"

"No longer in his proper place. If . . . if He had ever been there in the first place."

He leaned his chin on his hands.

"Now, what makes you say that? 'Proper place'. What's his proper place? I'm not doubting you, man, I'm just asking."

"The angels," Castiel said, "have been working towards the Apocalypse. Under the belief that they would win, with no concern towards the cost to the world and the human kind living on it. That is not something I believe my father would approve of."

"So by 'proper place' you mean at command central? Up there in his throne-type-thing?"

He's trying to figure out how this all works without being too intrusive.

"Overseeing the work of the angels, yes. I'm uncertain of the actual throne. I've not been in His presence."

"You don't know that," he pointed out with a slight frown, "that He's not overseeing. If I remember correctly, He seems to like waiting until the last second to see what's going to happen. Just cause you're not watching from the box seats doesn't mean you're not at the game."

That metaphor went right over Castiel's head.

"When I was sent here, Lucifer was moments from rising, and I was attempting to protect the only man who could prevent it from the wrath of archangels."

If that wasn't last second, he wasn't sure he wanted to see what was.

"Sounds like the last second to me. So," and it was a loaded question, really, "how'd you end up here?"

"I don't know. But I suspect . . . I suspect I must have lost."

Morgan's lips curled up on one side.

"You suspect, but you don't know. Anything funny about this place that you've found?"

"I have not had time to look for the humor of this situation."

Morgan shook his head.

"No, no, no, not funny 'ha ha'. Funny like... might be helpful. Like it's different than someplace else."

"Such as the fact that the man I pulled from Hell is eighteen years old here and has never died?" Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps that I've been informed that squirrels gather the news of the town to be reported each night on the radio. Or that any number of people have now been informed of my true nature and accepted it without even blinking. Yes. Things are quite . . . funny, here."

The man I pulled from Hell is eighteen years old here and has never died.

It was like a hammer between the eyes.

"Do you know what I do, Castiel? Not... not here, I don't mean, but back at home, on my computer, telecommuting. Did I tell you?"

[obviously, I have no idea, but Morgan's running with one ^_^]

"You said you were BAU, FBI." The initials had little to no meaning to Castiel, and it showed.

"That's right. BAU. Behavioral Analysis Unit. What we do is, we use the clues available to us, and our knowledge of the unknown subjects we're looking for on a case, to figure out what they're thinking so we can stop them."

He let that settle for a moment before giving Castiel a faint smile.

"And I can tell you, a lot about a person gets shaped by the way they were brought up. And when they're a teenager, that's when you really get an idea of who they are and what makes them tick."

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