Oh, look, I wrote another fic. Due to being drowned in finale feels, I wanted to write out a confrontation between Naomi and Cas following the fall, and this happened. My personal head canon is that angels that were in the same parts of Heaven when they fell, fell in the same general area. Naomi was in her office, and Metatron took Cas’ Grace in the office, so I’m going with that.
Anyway, it’s nothing fantastic, but I tried. (Also, I have no idea how to use the “read more break", and this aggravates me endlessly.)
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They meet in dusty little diner, utterly by chance, the day after the fall. She’s exhausted when she arrives; her feet ache, and her head throbs. She hasn’t seen her appearance, but doubts it’s appealing, considering she’s been hiking through the woods and down highways a good part of the day.
In the diner, she sees him him: the dirty trench coat draped over his slumped shoulders, messy hair and tired eyes, nursing a cup of black coffee in the back of the room. Wavering between hesitance and relief, she approaches him, taking a seat in the booth opposite. She rests her folded arms on the old wooden table.
“Castiel.”
He stares at her, his expression unreadable. She sees little flickers of emotion - confusion, anger, apprehension - cross his face.
“You were dead.”
“No. Paralyzed, but not dead.”
He watched her silently, eyes dark.
“I assumed Metatron would kill you,” she commented, her tone unconcerned.
He shook his head. “He insisted I experience humanity. I think that any personal hatred he had was aimed toward you.”
“Yes. And toward the archangels.”
They sat in silence, scrutinizing each other.
“You… weren’t lying,” he mutters after a moment, voice gruff.
Naomi laughed bitterly. “No, I suppose I wasn’t. And, had you listened, the one time it mattered, we wouldn’t be in this mess, now would we?”
He narrowed his eyes “And had you done your job properly, you wouldn’t have let him get loose in Heaven and overpower you,” he growled.
Naomi’s shoulders tensed, and she sat up straighter, nails digging into her palms. “I didn’t know he could erase the sigils on the chair,” she replied coldly.
Castiel snorted, shaking his head.
Naomi drew in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, lacing her fingers together.
“Despite our… differences, in the past, I think that if we work together we might be able to reverse this.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Let’s go talk outside.”
“Fine.”
They rose and crossed the room, stepping out through the stiff-hinged, smudged glass doors into the breezy spring day.
Not looking at Castiel, Naomi went to speak, but found herself being shoved backward, back hitting the brick wall of the building with an audible thud. She should have expected this of Castiel, really. She had been foolish not to. Her hand automatically fumbled for her blade, only to find it missing. Metatron must have taken it, she realized. Of course.
“I was hoping this could be civil,” she growled, fisting her hands in the lapels of his trench coat, hoping to gain some control of the situation.
“You honestly expect me to trust you?” he demanded. “After everything you’ve done?”
“I never expected you to trust me,” she snapped. “And what I did, every single thing, was to protect our home. Our home, Castiel, and our family.”
“You’ve tortured our siblings, you’ve killed innocents needlessly, and you’re justifying that as protecting our family?” he snarled, pressing her further back against the wall, forearm against her chest.
She gritted her teeth and pressed her knuckles into his chest.
“First of all,” she hissed, “I was not torturing. I was trying to correct those who went astray.”
“That’s what you call it? Brainwashing is correction?”
“Heaven has been falling apart, thanks to you, Castiel. Do you even realize what you did? How many died? At least I wasn’t slaughtering them. I’ve only killed when absolutely necessary.”
“Samandriel’s death was necessary?”
“I couldn’t have him breaking you free of Heaven’s control. You’ve always been unstable, and I couldn’t risk you becoming unhinged. Not again.”
Castiel snarled. “You think that justifies killing our brother?”
Naomi pulled roughly on his coat, pulling his face closer to hers. “No more than your explanation justifies your massacre, which was nothing more than terrorism.”
Castiel shook his head. “And what about Dean Winchester, and the innocents in Biggersons?”
“Dean Winchester was tying you to humanity, and was a distraction. He was a disadvantage to you, without even considering the fact that he was continuously encouraging you to rebel. Had you killed him, he would have gone to Heaven and finally been at peace, like the humans in the restaurant. Would that really have been so horrible, Castiel?”
“We weren’t meant to decide when they died,” he said uncertainly, eyes darting away.
“Desperate times, desperate measures,” she replied flatly. “Now, let go of me.”
He met her gaze, and she returned it unrelentingly. After a moment, his grip loosened, and he stepped back. Naomi pushed away from the wall, eyeing him warily.
“Fine, but this doesn’t mean I forgive you,” he warned.
“Nor I you. However, I was quite serious about fixing this. Will you help me, or won’t you?”
“I’ll do it, for our family.”
“Of course.”
She offered him her hand, and he shook it firmly, holding her gaze.
This would be interesting.
