Disclaimer; I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters, ideas, concepts, or other materials within.

Warnings for blasphemy and inaccurate biblical accounts; may later be swearing, violence, minor character death, and possibly genocide and/or torture.

Will be much more of other characters in later chapters. Haven't decided yet how long this will be.

We All Fall Down

When Lucifer was released from the Cage, the first thing he did was search for his Brothers.

Not those in Heaven, you must understand. You see, the Fallen angels are those under his domain. Lucifer could sense some of them immediately - a female angel, Anna, who'd willingly given up her Grace but then regained her memory; a male Fallen, anonymous and living a quiet and thoroughly disgusting human life in Philadelphia. Lucifer disdained both of them, and dismissed them from his thoughts.

But the third...

The third was different; still fully angel but currently rebelling - and not just Doubting and leaving Heaven, but full-on disobeying and working against them; in fact, just as Lucifer rose he felt the angel dying, his Grace being snuffed out by Raphael, and the devil's reaction was automatic.

In the space of a second and a flap of galaxy-spanning wings Lucifer was by the young angel's side, and Raphael reared away - too late. A quick thrust of his old blade, and Lucifer smiled with sorrow and triumph mixed as the lesser archangel was erased from existence.

He turned.

The other angel was here, his true brother, a malakhim who had fully defied Heaven and was now watching Lucifer, frozen with some undefinable emotion. Standing right behind the angel was a prophet.

That explains Raphael, Lucifer thought. The mortal stank of alcohol and his soul was flaring bright with fear and panic and horror, and Lucifer didn't spare him another thought. Instead he moved to the panting angel's side. "My Brother - are you well?"

But the angel cringed from his touch, backing away. Lucifer smiled reassuringly, but it only seemed to disconcert his brother further. "I will not harm you," he promised. It took a moment to comprehend that the words were somewhat at odds with the corpse and wingprints splayed next to him. But what was to be done about that? "Truly, Little Brother; the Fallen are mine to protect. Did he hurt you?"

The angel was wide-eyed still, but began shaking his head. "No. No. I am not Fallen."

"You are. I can sense it..." But Lucifer frowned now. The angel's Grace was weak, but there was still the most tenuous of connections to Heaven. Likely they'd been trying to track this poor angel to smite, Lucifer thought, scorning his kin for the cruelty. "Here."

And, before the younger angel could stop him, Lucifer stepped forward and touched two fingers to the vessel's head.

The young angel screamed, the snap and flare of Grace making the room glow for a brief instant in the darkness. And as the devil smiled, he watched the shaken angel slowly uncurl his posture, shock radiating outward with the Grace-ripples of his newfound strength.

"What is your name, Brother?"

The angel didn't seem to hear him. "What did you do?" he asked, hoarsely. The vessel's blue eyes stared at Lucifer with something like horror.

"Healed you. You are Fallen now; you share the powers given to me."

The angel turned away.

"Your name, Little Brother?"

"...Castiel. I am... Castiel."

And Lucifer stared.

Castiel had always been Lucifer's favorite Brother.

Well, no; that wasn't quite true. First there had been Michael, the glorious archangel closest to him in power. In the earliest days of Creation they had winged through Heaven and the Void seeing to Father's work together. The archangels were all close, but their comraderie had been something special. As the angelic Host swelled it became accepted that one would not be seen without the other winging close behind.

But before Father created humans, he created something stronger and more fearsome; Leviathon, huge, fearsome creatures of shadow and ravenous hunger. They were an experiment gone wrong, it was said. They ravaged the virgin Earth, snuffing out the lives of the earliest and most beautiful of Father's creatures. The glory of creation was marred by their existence, and forestalled, so Father ordered the angels - his soldiers - to collect them all so he could banish them from Earth and Heaven alike.

The fight was bloody and terrible, each side committing cruel and sadistic acts; the Leviathon from hunger and spite, the angels in angry vengeance, furious that any of Father's children should turn from his purpose and design. In this great conflict many angels were wounded or stricken from existence, but one in particular caught his eye.

This angel was one of the newest - so new and fantastically innocent that, despite having killed and seen terrible carnage, his arching wings were still the shade of purest white that usually only blessed new angels at the very instant of their creation; within seconds an angel's great Knowledge would taint their Grace, so that all wings were eggshell white at best.

(Lucifer's himself were black as pitch, but no one really questioned this too much back then).

So looking at those brilliant wings, Lucifer was irrationally dismayed when the angel was wounded, plummeting to the ground of Earth while Grace fled his Being. On a whim Lucifer leapt forward, gathered up the spilling form of his Brother, and fled.

He went to Heaven, but Raphael was tending to the wounded form of Gabriel and scorned disruptions. To Lucifer's shock, he watched two malakhim - lesser order angels like the one he brought - flare and die while they waited for assistance. Anxious, he could not bear to stay, so again he gathered up the angel and flew, flew, flew to a far corner of Heaven that was empty and untainted, so each wingbeat rippled into a silent void.

Lucifer was no healer. He had in the past watched Raphael work with the Grace of other angels, taking their lifeforce and spreading it thinly to cover the wounded parts and fill in old injuries, urging it to replenish and heal that mysterious force that gave power to God's immortal children. Lucifer tried to use that method, clumsily, but Grace wept from the Brother before him unchecked, and he began to panic. So he tried something new.

He reached inside, touching the mighty store of Grace within himself, and ripped out a piece. The pain was immense, blinding, and a screeching, sour chord struck the still silence about them - a sound angry and dismayed and wrong. The act screamed of perversion, but Lucifer could not allow this bright Brother to die, and so he thrust that piece of himself into the Brother.

And then they were both screaming, with ringing voices that made the hollow places of Heaven throb, but it didn't matter; Lucifer stretched the bit of his Grace in this angel to cover the wounds, and suddenly he was healed, and looking at Lucifer with something like awe.

Lucifer could think of nothing to say, except, "Who are you, Brother?"

"...I am Castiel."

And he was. And Lucifer looked again, and saw that the angel's pure white wings were now a sooty, speckled gray - darker than any in Heaven save Lucifer's own.

To Lucifer, they were still the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

Lucifer stared at his Brother, and opened his eyes to Castiel's true form. He breathed in, sharply.

Castiel had changed greatly over the millenia - how could he have not? - but his wings were the most extraordinary. At their first meeting Castiel's wings had been the snowy white of human lore; then Lucifer's own assistance had turned them gray. And now they were dark, scorched things, burnt with Hellfire, and they were exactly the shade of Lucifer's own.

From the day of his healing Castiel became Lucifer's new shadow, and when black wings were seen in Heaven gray could be expected to follow. Their brethren remarked on this strange favor, and Castiel's new form, and so Castiel was given sudden respect - for was not the regard of the first archangel a sign of something great?

Lucifer himself was dotingly fond of the younger angel, whom he found had been created just several Earth-days prior to the Leviathon attack. Though all angels had certain inherent knowledge they did not know everything, and Lucifer decided he would be the most appropriate mentor for this one. As an archangel his word was law, and so instead of being assigned to a normal unit it was understood that he was to join the company Lucifer commanded. Instead, however, Lucifer trained him privately, and Castiel became the first angel's protege.

It must be understood that while Lucifer had much love for his Father in those days, the situation in which he found Castiel was ever fresh in his mind. Some days he would look at Castiel with fondness and thank Father for giving him the chance to save this small treasure; other days he was troubled. Many angels had died during the same battle; and yet, God had created the Leviathon. God had created the Leviathon, flawed creatures who had needed to be collected and locked away - yet, was not God Ineffable? So how could his design ever be flawed? Lucifer tried to reconcile the two ideas - and could not.

That was Lucifer's first Doubt.

Castiel had Fallen.

And he had done it... without Lucifer.

My protege, indeed, Lucifer thought ludicrously. "My Castiel," he managed, at last. "It is... good to see you well."

Then, recalling how he had found the malakhim, Lucifer glanced down at Raphael's corpse with cold eyes. "Explain to me - everything."

Castiel's wings twitched. "I - I cannot - "

"Were you helping the demons free me? That was dangerous, Little Brother; I would not have had you risk yourself." Despite himself, Lucifer's vessel was smiling. "But - I am glad you did. I have - missed you."

An understatement.

One day, Castiel tried to teach poetry to fish.

It made Lucifer laugh to watch - the mountainous true form of his Brother, leaning over tiny fish and holding them in place with Grace as he tried in vain to make them speak, taking care to avoid stepping on the minute things - and not always succeeding. Lucifer wasn't sure where he'd gotten the idea - probably Gabriel - but Castiel seemed increasingly perplexed at his failure, though never upset. Finally, when the novelty began to wear off (that is, after several years), Lucifer went up to him.

"They cannot learn poetry, Castiel. It is not in their making to be capable of speech or thought. Poetry is the province of angels only."

"Why?"

"Because that is how God created us. Each creature has its own purpose, and to fish poetry is irrelevant."

"How can fish fashion poems to praise the Lord, then?"

"They do not need to."

"They don't?"

"No." Lucifer looked at the poor fish as it struggled to flee from the angel. "Some creatures were not made to worship, Little Brother - and Father doesn't expect them to."

Lucifer's hand reached out to touch Castiel's arm - and met only air.

Castiel had fluttered to the back of the room, eyes wide. "No, Lucifer," he croaked.

Lucifer hand stilled, fell. He appraised the young angel in front of him. His eyes flickered, pointedly, to the corpse on the ground. "What are you denying, Brother?" The devil asked sadly.

Castiel's wings fluttered, now as though in anxiety. "Lucifer... I can not allow this."

"This?"

"The apocalypse. The fight between you and Michael." Castiel's eyes implored him. "Please, Brother, stop the apocalypse."

And Lucifer started to laugh.

There were many things he'd expected upon leaving the Cage; being asked to quit the apocalypse had never quite occurred to him.

Lucifer didn't think the request even dignified a response. "Please, my Castiel, join me. We can rule the new world together. Father is gone; there is nothing to hold you here..." he paused, considering. "...Is there?"

"To the angels I am a traitor," Castiel said, very quietly, and Lucifer felt strangely relieved. "But there are... humans."

"Humanity?"

"Yes. And... two in particular, whom I have befriended."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, and considered this. "That is - beneath you, Castiel, really. But, if you're fond of your pets, I could allow you to keep them." That seemed a generous offer, wasn't it?

"One is your perfect vessel. The other is Michael's."

"...Ah." Well. "I don't suppose I could convince you to just bring me to them?"

"No."

"You realize this vessel will not hold me long?"

The vessel he'd seized for this excursion was a lonely man the demons had been harassing for awhile; a few words from the Cage and the man had been willing and waiting for Lucifer's arrival. But even now the vessel's skin itched. Something burned and writhed under him, in him, and every flare of Grace stripped away a little more flesh, a little more vitality. Any large demonstrations of power would destroy the vessel entirely, and even were Lucifer to entirely forsake his powers his mere presence would sear away the meat-suit. He needed his Perfect Vessel for the final battle.

And now Castiel - beloved Castiel, the little angel he'd saved and befriended, the Fallen angel who caught himself half-way - was trying to stop him.

"I thought you, of all the Host, might understand," said Lucifer. "...To find that you do not..."

He didn't know precisely what he meant to say, but with a flutter of wings Castiel had fled; and he was silent.

You, of all the Host...

Michael was busy with management of Earth and the search for the last of the Leviathon, so Lucifer was left more and more to Castiel. Sometimes when the young angel was trying to train Lucifer would appear, and with nothing more than "Come, Brother!" would be dragging the dutiful malakhim to some far corner of creation. Castiel, after all, couldn't deny his idol anything.

So Lucifer would take him to some far nebula, and say, "Look how brief and beautiful this is, Brother," and they would watch and admire the sight in patience for a few millenia. Then Lucifer would tug his Brother's wings again, with an eager childishness, and together they would flit to watch the formation of a star, a galaxy, a world.

"Father's creations are all so different," Castiel said once.

"But all unique and beautiful," Lucifer told him, and Castiel could not argue.

Once Lucifer brought Castiel to Earth, at the edge of a very normal beach. While all of Father's creations had a certain innate beauty, the site was nothing so extraordinary as Lucifer usually bothered sharing, and Castiel was puzzled. Lucifer urged him to look closer.

"I can find nothing of great note," said Castiel. "What do you want me to see?"

"Look - there, coming from the water."

Castiel watched, brow furrowed. "It is a fish."

"Yes." Lucifer said. The tiny thing heaved itself onto land, laboriously - pushed itself onto a land largely devoid of any animal life.

"Like any other fish," Castiel continued.

"No - Not at all. It's special. Don't step on that fish, Castiel; God has big plans for that fish."

So they watched that fish, and its descendents, and were both awed by the majesty of Father's plan as the land was slowly populated.

Lucifer loved the world, and he loved the space and the stars and all of Heaven, from where the angels flew to the far quiet corners that God had not yet given a purpose. He loved Castiel, and he loved the rest of his brethren and the Lord his Father. But somehow it was not enough.

Lucifer and Castiel both found great pleasure on their excursions, and in the beauty of all things, so the archangel tried to be content; but he was not.

Lucifer decided to see how the world had changed, so he began the official start of the apocalypse with a little tour. And he was, in short, horrified.

Many of the creatures that had populated the Earth had been wiped out long ago - and a startling number had been obliterated at the hands of the human parasites. Others were caged for human amusement or dwindling for human convenience. The air was polluted and grotesque, the waters murky and poisoned, the land covered in waste and trash - that of it which had not been pounded flat by Man and bedecked with wood, metal, or plastic facilities of some sort. The natural majesty of Father's greatest creation was in ruin, and no one seemed to care.

If he paused to strike down a few CEOs of particularly dirty companies, well, he was the devil, now wasn't he?

Despite Lucifer's worry, he still ultimately had faith in his father. He did his best to allow his underlings to know this, and kept any sign of seditious thought carefully hidden from Castiel.

"See what Father has wrought!" Lucifer once told him, and he took Castiel down to Earth to view the eruption of the first volcano.

The great fires and explosion of lava made Castiel wonderous; but then the angel looked about, and asked, "But what of the other creatures? Look."

A deer had become panicked, surrounded by molten earth on every side as more rushed down the mountain slope. In seconds the poor creature was forced to try to bound over the deadly stream, and fell to its death-throes as a screeching ball of flame.

"That looked painful," was all Castiel said.

Lucifer spoke immediately, confidently. "The beauty of Father's work is in its self-sufficiency. The matter that makes up that dead creature will return to the Earth, and in time will feed new plants; and those plants will feed new animals, which will again return to the Earth. Mortal life is fleeting, but never without meaning."

And Castiel nodded, accepting this with the easy faith of a true and good angel. But Lucifer himself did not forget that day, and his mind was long troubled with images of flame and pain and death.

Lucifer might, in time, have been able to forgive and forget the matter of the Leviathon. He might have reconciled himself with the pain of the lesser creatures on Earth and the apparent callous hand of his Father. He might have moved on from the pain of the Host that followed when his Brothers died, and he might have developed a love and deep-rooted faith in his Father that would never again be swayed. This might have happened, but did not, because before Lucifer could recover from his troubling thoughts Father gathered the four archangels and told them of a new creation; a species that would be able to think and speak and know, similar but lesser to their own fashion; and they would be mortal, but Father... Father commanded his angels to bow to them.

Lucifer was mortified. Here was Father, asking them to submit to an unknown race lesser than themselves - not even giving time for the angels to end their mourning for those lost to the ill-fated Leviathon, Father's last 'experiment'. He would not, could not, comply; he knew this down to his core, an indisputable thing, just I cannot obey.

He tried to be reasonable, really. He looked at Father, and he said, "No."

The other archangels gaped at him, frozen. Father was silent a moment. "This is a command, my son," he spoke at last.

Lucifer found himself mute with terror, terror incited by his own unheard-of blasphemy, by the mutiny that set the precedent for every rebellion in history.

But all he could say was, "No."

In later years Lucifer would be known as the whisperer of sin, protrayed as a dark, sly, eloquent creature who could seduce others to darkness with twisting words and half-promises and damning logic. Yet at the Beginning he was the first to Rebel, and he was afraid, and all he could say was "No."

And Father was silent again. Sometimes, decades and centuries and millenia after, Lucifer would wonder if he might have swayed Father with a better argument; but then he would think, the Ineffable do not need to be told of flaws in their plans, so would he not still be fallible? So he would dismiss the thought, and for a time push back the chasm of guilt and all-consuming regret for just a while longer.

But that was later, and now was still the Beginning, so when God and the three angels kept staring he just said "NO."

The other three archangels were banished from their company, thrust away rudely by God back into the main places of Heaven. And God, full of wrath, considered his terrified first-child, and finally, mercifully; "I know what will make you see reason. I will send you to my mortal children, and you will watch them and understand their purpose.

"You may return when you have learned all there is to know of them."

So Lucifer was forced to Eden, a beautiful Paradise. And what he saw did not change his mind in the least.

Here were dumb, foolish creatures who did not even respect the honor that Father afforded them. They did not comprehend their own gifts, and that angered him. These were imperfect beings too - not as savage as the Leviathon, not yet, but he could not bow to them. But how to make Father see?

Father had given them but one command; do not eat the apple from the Tree of Knowledge.

And was not the ease with which he deceived Eve enough to prove their unworthiness? So feeling to have learned all he could Lucifer returned to Heaven, and he called together his own garrison.

He was never quite sure why... But Lucifer did not call forth Castiel.

And this, you see, was where his reputation came from. Lucifer spoke to the most loyal Brothers of his thoughts, urging them to understand that his stance was not for anarchy but made from love - love for them, for their other Brothers, for God himself. Father was not perfect, was not omnipotent, and while he was great and wonderful and deserving of love and loyalty he was also flawed and must be made to see this.

They listened, his loyal garrison, because he had commanded it; but there was horror in the faces of many, shock in all. But he wove Grace and Music and the power of Belief in his voice, and before his eyes he saw off-white wings wilt and darken to gray as agreement began to form. Before long over half his people were thus tainted, and Lucifer was content, for was this not a force large enough to prove his thoughts well-founded? Surely Father must listen to reason now.

And just as Lucifer decided it was time to confront Father, he felt it.

A terrible force sucked his Grace, replacing it with something so similar but tainted, disconnected - and Lucifer looked at those angels in his ranks with whitish wings, and to his shock found that they were now strangers to him. He heard as if from a great distance the words of his Father, and knew somehow that he was not hearing God by the angelic connection, but because Father was simply allowing him to hear.

"The Star of the Morning has turned against me," Father thundered, "And he has seduced others to rebellion; all troops are to expel them from the kingdom of Heaven, and cast them down to the dark place beneath the Earth that I have fashioned as their prison."

And there was War.

The demons called out to him in ecstasy from across the world, more knowleadgeble satanic witches offering sacrifices and invocations. Their voices reverberated in his mind and ears as he flew, an ugly cacophony of sounds that gave him no joy. But the words fueled his power, so he did nothing to stop them, though his hate grew.

Heaven was in chaos, the lesser-demons came and told him, in glee. Raphael had been the undisputed leader in Heaven. Now, Raphael was dead; Gabriel was dead; Michael could not be found. The angel's hierarchy had been thrown into chaos.

Lucifer hadn't been aware of Gabriel's death, or Michael's long absence. He had waited for years for the apocalypse to occur, as fated, but somehow this whole matter lacked the glory and triumph he had anticipated.

They fell from Heaven like a thousand great stars, streaking down in burning paths of Light and Grace and Grief. Lucifer's followers allowed themselves to be struck down, dismayed and bewildered by their new status, and though they were Fallen they were still accustomed to following Orders. But Lucifer would not meekly submit. He fought his fellow angels, in a way no angel had ever fought except against the Leviathon, and his enemies were shocked. Lucifer slew them, his once-siblings, and cries rippled throughout all of creation as angels were snuffed from existence. Dozens fell before the Host began to truly fight back, and in his unfaltering strength Lucifer cast down hundreds more. When the numbers grew too great he took a brief reprieve, and in that time he chained Death, and for good measure he fashioned beings of War and Famine and Pestilence to tend to the humans whilst he fought off the Host.

Then, finally, Michael could stand the slaughter no longer. He took up his flaming sword with much grief and drove Lucifer down, down, down, into the new Pit at the center of the Earth. Lucifer himself was the last of his kin to Fall, locked away from his stricken Fallen brethren in a tiny Cage, forced to whisper and sooth those bewildered followers from a far-off place. The world was a burning darkness, and this new place - this Hell - tainted their Grace and Being and drove them to madness. They became something new, something terrible, and when Lucifer thought he could no longer bear their agony he further influenced the change, until his followers were all but immune to pain and agony, were pleased by it, lusted for it. Those were the first demons, and as each new lord of Hell was created, the newly named devil retreated to a far corner of his Cage and wept, because he knew he could never teach himself to forget. For the first time since Creation, Lucifer was truly alone.

"Where are my lords of Hell?" Lucifer demanded finally, tired by the quabbling of the lesser demons, the demons who had been warped from human souls. The Detroit factory housed dozens of demons eager to speak with him. "Why have they not greeted me?" The lords had been long silent, and had stopped even trying to speak to him in the Cage centuries ago.

There was an awkard pause. "My father," one demon approached, timidly. "They are all long dead - slain by the archangels Raphael and Gabriel."

Lucifer killed the messenger, and the other demons fled from his wrath. But Lucifer was just tired, and he slumped in his seat. Strangely, the loss of his perverted, agonized once-brethren was not on his mind; instead his thoughts went to Castiel.

Castiel could not return to Heaven, but he flew about the Earth, watching the milling people below and wondering.

The apocalypse had officially begun; surely now it could not be stopped? But even Chuck had admitted that Castiel and the Winchesters had abandoned the expected path - and didn't that imply that the end was not inevitable?

Mutiny, a voice whispered. Sedition and rebellion.

But then, why did it still bother him to go against Heaven? He was, after all, Fallen.

The thought made his wings jerk; snapping them back, he plummeted down, only to flare out his feathers to halt in Europe.

He entered the Sistine Chapel invisibly, watching the human tourists - some pious, some very much not. Castiel sighed.

Castiel looked up at the famous muraled ceiling, at the crude, human depiction of Heaven. Most images were of humans, but his mighty brethren were there too, depicted as half-baby figures with harps and lyres, smiling demurely upon clouds. If Raphael had ever bothered to look at this place he would have likely struck it down in fury.

Raphael.

Castiel clenched his eyes shut. Dead, dead, dead - all because of him. Now only Michael and Lucifer* remained of the archangels. Michael was gone, hidden, grieving, and Lucifer... Lucifer was back. Lucifer wanted Castiel to join him.

Castiel stared up at the depiction of God - here shown in human form, though only the archangels had ever seen God, and supposedly he was entirely indescribable in mortal terms. Dozens of inaccurate drawings of much-twisted biblical stories adorned the walls.

"Isn't it wonderful, what the artist made in respect to God?" Castiel heard a pious woman ask her child cheerfully. Castiel knew for a fact that Michelangelo had been a drunk and an atheist and was rotting somewhere in Hell, and he couldn't bear the hypocrisy any longer. He turned and flew away, far away, but he could not escape his own thoughts.

After Lucifer Fell, Castiel became a pariah.

Everyone knew that Castiel had been special in the devil's eyes - and everyone knew that Castiel retained a part of the Morninstar's Grace. His wings were the darkest in Heaven now, and some wondered if Castiel would not take much the same path as the elder of the two.

But to all accounts Castiel was the picture of piety. He prayed and sang and gave every due obeisance to Father, strictly, without exception. He joined a new unit and was the perfect soldier, following orders to the letter - never questioning, never doubting. Those who worked with him praised his diligence and committment to duty, and could find no fault. Over the centuries, slowly, suspicion waned, and eventually the close relationship between a certain malakhim and the Prince of Air was largely forgotten.

Castiel never forgot.

Castiel wondered many things. He wondered what had spurred Lucifer's rebellion, what he had been thinking; he wondered how Lucifer could stomach killing their brethren, he who had loved so fiercely; he wondered how Lucifer thought for an instant that he could succeed defying Father.

Sometimes, and especially in the early days, Castiel would flit to the devoid places of Heaven that Lucifer had so loved and just fly, and he would wonder why Lucifer hadn't even tried to convert him, too.

*Remember that Castiel isn't aware yet that Gabriel is alive.