Author's Note: I'm not sure if this issue has been addressed in canon, but in my headcanon, Castiel has been watching over Dean for awhile before the events of 04x01. I also wanted to address the doubts and questions that Castiel confesses to Dean at the end of 04x07, which seemed a long time in the making. Finally, this takes place during 03x11, "Mystery Spot." Happy reading!

Castiel had been a soldier for a long time, and he was a good one. He followed orders, never questioning, always obeying. It was simply the way things were done. But not all of his brothers saw the value in the system. Gabriel was becoming more of a thorn than a rose. The apocalypse was imminent, and Gabriel was messing around on Earth with things he shouldn't be. The Lord had commanded Castiel long ago to watch over the Righteous Man, though the time had not yet come for him to reveal himself. However, it came to pass that Gabriel overstepped his bounds and Castiel was ordered to intervene.

In a flurry of wings, Castiel appeared in the alley beside a diner in Broward County, Florida. It was 7:30am on a Tuesday. Castiel looked around. The bell overhead jingled as he entered the diner and took a seat at the counter.

"What can I get for you, sweetheart?" A plump waitress asked. Her name tag read Doris.

Castiel froze and glanced at the man sitting beside him, who sighed and rolled his eyes. "He'll take coffee."

"Yes. Coffee. Thank you, Doris," Castiel said awkwardly.

"Taking your vessel out for a test drive?" Gabriel said archly.

"I don't know what that means."

"What are you doing here, Castiel?" asked Gabriel as he drenched his pancakes in syrup.

"You know why I'm here."

"I've been away a long time, brother," Gabriel said with a decidedly forced smile. "I don't exactly subscribe to the morning angel post anymore."

Doris set a cup of black coffee down before the trench-coated man. Castiel took a sip. Bitter, dark, and warm, though not unpleasant; it would seem his vessel enjoyed the taste of coffee. "The prophecy of the Righteous Man has been written for millenia, Gabriel," he said. "Our Father is not pleased with your . . . diversions."

"Oh please," Gabriel snorted, cutting his pancakes into bite-sized pieces. "I'll return him in one piece. Both of them. I promise. I'm just having a little fun. Besides, no one's even sure that Dean is the Righteous Man."

"Our Father orders you to stop."

The bell jangled and a scruffy-looking man came in. Castiel glanced over his shoulder.

"Not to worry," Gabriel said cheerfully through a mouthful of pancakes. "The Winchesters won't be in today. Wittle Sammy thinks he can keep Dean alive if they don't leave their motel room." Gabriel winked and dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Spoiler alert: he's wrong."

Gabriel wiped his sticky hands on a napkin. "Look, Castiel. The apocalypse is coming. It's doubtful we'll survive it anyway. Why not let loose, be free? Enjoy the pleasures that God's creation has to offer." He held up his fork and raised his eyebrows. "Seriously. Pancakes!"

"That is not our way."

Gabriel frowned at him. "You've always been a real stick in the mud, you know that?"

Castiel sighed. "Gabriel –"

"Ugh, you're no fun," Gabriel pouted. "Alright. Fine." His fork clattered down on his empty plate. "I'll stop. But you'll thank me, once you get ahold of them. I'm teaching them a valuable lesson."

"It's not your place," Castiel said vehemently, setting down his coffee cup with more force than was necessary.

Gabriel smirked. "I'm just setting the stage, dear brother. The real show is about to begin."

With a rustle, Castiel was gone. Gabriel heard his departure like he had slammed the door behind him and rolled his eyes again. His little brother could be so dramatic. And he had stuck Gabriel with paying for his coffee. For a moment, Gabriel allowed himself to empathize with Dean Winchester: being an older brother was a tough gig.

And so it came to pass that Castiel found himself observing the first Wednesday of Gabriel's production. The scruffy young man from the diner shooting the Righteous Man in the parking lot. Castiel felt something he had never experienced before, something burning white-hot inside him and flooding his mind and body with thunder.

Castiel recognized it as anger. Holy wrath. Righteous fury. It seemed there was a learning curve to sharing a body with a human soul: so prone it was to human emotion, Castiel could not control the amplifying effect it had on divine emotion.

He watched the murderer take off running. How could this fool, this insect not realize the significance of the Righteous Man? How could he take his life without even a thought? For a split second he considered following the murderer and giving him a small taste of the Lord's ire, but thought better of it. No. That was not his mission. He knew the murderer was not to blame; he was merely a puppet in Gabriel's production. Castiel would deal with Gabriel later. For now, he approached Dean Winchester, still unseen, as Sam raced down the stairs to cradle him in his arms.

Castiel stood over Dean and looked into his eyes, and they were empty. The void in them stilled his grace, made his throat feel thick, and sent chills up his spine. He knew this was merely a show, but this vision of what could be could not be allowed to transpire. He was gone in a gust of wind that ruffled Sam's hair as he called out Dean's name, over and over.

"Gabriel!"

They were inside a strange building. The furniture was off-kilter and some of it had been nailed to the ceiling and walls, which were painted in a disconcerting spiral of neon green and black. He strode up to the archangel and slammed him against the wall by his lapels.

"I warned you what would happen if you did not cease and desist," Castiel hissed, his face inches away from Gabriel's. "You may be an archangel, but even that cannot protect you from God's wrath. You should know better than anyone what happens if you disobey."

Gabriel looked amused. "You know, you look like a demented kitten when you're mad. I can't decide if it's just your vessel or . . . nope, that's all you, isn't it?" Castiel shook him, exhaling sharply through his nose. Gabriel rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Relax, Castiel. This is all part of the show. You're just in time to see the thrilling conclusion of act two."

"Stop this. Stop it now."

Gabriel's eyes hardened into two chips of flint. "Release me, brother."

Castiel stared him down, his fists still bunched in the fabric of Gabriel's coat. Then, slowly, he dropped his hands to his sides.

"It's time for a costume and set change," Gabriel said, though not as cheerfully as before. He clapped his hands together and his vessel melted to take the form of a short stocky fellow dressed in plaid flannel and a billed cap. The makings of a summoning ritual materialized on the floor. "Now, now, Castiel; I can't have you distracting the actors. You can watch if you're quiet," Gabriel said pointedly. Castiel gave him a dark look but melted into the shadows, and not a moment too soon. Sam Winchester strode in, his face stony.

Gabriel stood to embrace him. "It's good to see you, boy. It's been nigh on six months, hasn't it?"

"What are we doing here, Bobby?" Obviously Gabriel had assumed the form of someone close to him.

Castiel studied Sam as the two conversed in low voices. He resembled the form of the Righteous Man, but with none of the brightness. This man was all darkness, rotten to the core, though the surface of his soul was polished to a shine. Like precious stones were made smooth by rubbing against each other, so the Righteous Man's soul had burnished this one, slowing the decay.

He was abruptly pulled back to the matter at hand when Sam drove a blood-soaked spike through Gabriel's heart. Castiel started and nearly revealed himself, but hesitated. It was not an angel-blade; it could hardly kill an archangel of the Lord. The most Gabriel might feel was a tickle. Interesting, Castiel thought. Either he does not know Gabriel's true nature, or he does not know how to kill an angel.

Still, Gabriel did not change out of the form of "Bobby." Sam started to panic. Castiel realized this was exactly Gabriel's intention: to make him think he had killed an innocent rather than a monster. Castiel frowned; perhaps Sam's soul was not as dark as it appeared.

Castiel took his leave. He would hear later that the Winchesters had skipped town. Gabriel would have to find other amusements.

Surprisingly enough, it was Gabriel that sought out Castiel not so long after that. He found him on the coast, sitting on a rocky cliff, watching the waves crash below him. The spray in the wind was cool against the skin of his vessel. Gabriel scarcely thought of his body as a vessel anymore; he had inhabited it for thousands of years. The soul he had once shared it with had long ago departed.

Castiel was the first to speak. "You were right about one thing," he said. "God's Creation . . . it is magnificent. And human beings, they are . . . fragile, flawed, yet in their own way – beautiful."

Gabriel nodded. "When you were created, Castiel, I had already been around for an age," he said. "I am tired. I grew tired of the orders and the monotony long ago. I could continue to carry out our Father's will, but for what? What has it done for me? For humanity?"

"Be careful," Castiel said sharply. "You have not yet lost God's favor."

"Even Lucifer has not lost God's favor," snorted Gabriel. "The prodigal son. His disobedience merely made our Father sad."

"We are angels," Castiel said, but his voice lacked conviction. "We were created to serve without question."

"No," said Gabriel, and his grey eyes were fathoms deep with sorrow. He smiled wistfully. "Nevermind. One day you'll understand why I am the way I am and why I chose the path I chose. Then we'll talk. We're more alike than you think, Castiel." He draped his arm over Castiel's shoulders.

Castiel looked over at Gabriel, puzzled, then turned his gaze back out to the sea.