Excerpt: Light Up the Sky for Me

“Lampyridae,” Sam said.

Hands behind his head in the grass, Dean rolled his eyes to the left. “Lampy what?”

“Lampyridae,” Sam repeated. “It’s ‘firefly’ in Latin. I dunno, meteors just remind me of them.”

“Bugs,” Dean said, looking back at the midnight sky overhead. “Shooting stars remind you of bugs.”

“You remind me of a bug,” Sam muttered.

“You’re speaking in tongues,” Dean told the night. “Get a hobby.”

“Languages are a hobby!”

“A good hobby,” Dean said. “Preferably something involving weapons or women.”

“Yeah, I tried that,” Sam said dryly. “Look where it got us.”

Weird, Dean thought. Here at the end of days, watching heaven rain down over an empty prairie, that was almost funny.

Castiel was suddenly standing behind them. Dean could point to him without looking, so he didn’t bother to turn his head. “They remind you of anything, Cas?”

Next to him in the grass, he felt Sam move. Not startled, not this time. Just checking to see what Dean already knew.

“They remind me of interplanetary debris burning up in the atmosphere,” Castiel said. “The flash of light is characteristic of incineration.”

“I don’t think it counts as something you’re reminded of if that’s what it actually is,” Sam remarked, shifting a little as he settled back down.

“Meteors are not interplanetary debris,” Castiel said. “They are the burst of light that results from interplanetary debris meeting the atmosphere. And you did not specify the parameters within which I was to answer.”

“Hey,” Dean said, since Castiel sounded pissy about something and that almost never went well for them. “Isn’t that a little space age for you? Meteors and space trash and whatever?”

“God did not create the earth in a vacuum, Dean.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, smiling up at the sky when Castiel added, “Well, he did. But he did not make it alone in the void.”

“So where does all that stuff fit in?” Sam asked. “You know, to Genesis. God created heaven and earth, and then he spent all his time on earth. When did he have time to make the other planets?”

“I have never understood why humans trust their own account of a time no human was present to witness,” Castiel said.

“Uh, maybe because you told us about it?”

“We did not,” Castiel said.

Dean didn’t really care. He didn’t think angels were any more trustworthy than humans, so who cared who said what? It was just the way Cas answered that made him challenge it: so certain, so unthinking.

“What, none of you?” Dean said. “No angel ever said anything to any human about creation?”

“I did,” Castiel replied. “Just now.

“Yeah, thanks for your insight,” Sam said dryly.

“Of course.” He made it sound like it was a gift.

“You guys have plenty to say about destruction,” Dean said. “In fact, I seem to recall someone listing for me in great detail exactly what the apocalypse would involve. You don’t think you should balance that out a little? Make some kind of deposit in the karma bank?”

Castiel didn’t sigh, not out loud, but Dean heard it anyway. “What would you have me do, Dean?”

“Answer Sam’s question.” It couldn’t be that hard. He was a freakin’ angel; what he didn’t know about creation probably wasn’t worth knowing. All Sam wanted to hear was what made earth so special.

“God spent an equivalent amount of time on all his creations,” Castiel said. “The emphasis on earth is no doubt a reflection of the writer’s bias. And possibly divine favoritism of humanity.”

“Funny,” Dean said.

“Is it?” Castiel must have tipped his head to one side. Dean just knew. “It certainly inspired envy and jealousy among the angels, perhaps prompting them on the path they’ve followed to this day. In that sense, I suppose there is a certain irony that God’s own creations might destroy each other in his name.”

Dean smirked up at the stars. “God doesn’t love us more, Cas.”

“This is your problem, Dean.” Some of the pissiness had faded, leaving what sounded almost like humor in the angel’s voice. “You have no faith.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He craned his neck for the first time, trying to catch a glimpse of the figure standing behind them. “You said.”

Castiel glowed against the dark sky. The light around him didn’t cast shadows, didn’t light up the grass or them or anything. It wouldn’t reflect off of his watch, or his keys, or his eyes. He wasn’t really seeing it, after all.

“Does he?” Sam asked. “I mean, is that really why Lucifer fell? Because he wouldn’t... you know. Bow to humanity?”

“Lucifer fell because he disobeyed,” Castiel replied.

Dean snorted, arranging himself more comfortably in the grass. Nothing to see here. “Join the club, right?”

There was a moment of silence before Castiel said, “Indeed.”