The Doctor's Angel

Prologue:

In the quiet, infinite halls of Heaven, where the landscape shifted like memory and dreams, Merandria stood at the precipice of her realm, her black wings folded tight against her back. The air hummed with the quiet command of Heaven, orders that felt like instincts, like an undeniable pull woven into her very being. But this mission—it was different. This wasn't rebellion. This was Heaven's will: to protect the Doctor.

Merandria had never questioned the commands given to her. She wasn't like Castiel, her brother who defied Heaven to side with the humans. No, she believed in the order, in the purpose that bound angels together. Defiance wasn't in her nature. But standing there, her gaze piercing through the layers of reality, down to the fragile world below, she felt the weight of this new task. The Doctor—one man who carried the weight of worlds, who had slipped through death's grasp more times than any being should. And now, he was a key piece in Heaven's plan.

"Why me?" she whispered into the stillness of Heaven, knowing the answer but feeling the burden all the same. The Doctor's path was steeped in danger, chaos, and sacrifice, and she had been chosen to make sure he lived through it, no matter what. He had to survive—there was no other way.

Her thoughts flickered to Castiel. He had broken the rules, turned his back on Heaven to protect his human charges. But Merandria's orders were clear. This wasn't rebellion; it was the job she had been assigned. And Heaven wasn't asking her to save the Doctor out of love for humanity. No, this was part of something much bigger, something cosmic. The apocalypse was creeping closer, and the Doctor—he was critical to what came next.

But to protect him, she couldn't do it as she was. Angels needed vessels to walk on Earth, to interact, to intervene. She reached out, her senses searching for a soul who could carry her—someone whose time was ending, someone willing. She found her: a woman, sick and slipping away, her spirit dimming as death drew near.

Merandria's voice brushed against the woman's mind, soft but clear. "Your time here is almost over," she said, her tone gentle but urgent. "But there's more you can do. Let me use your body, and together we can save countless lives. Your spirit will move on, but your body will serve a higher purpose."

The woman, barely conscious, felt the offer. In the depths of her weariness, she understood. "Yes," came the faint reply, a flicker of acceptance in her fading strength.

Without hesitation, Merandria merged with her, folding herself into mortal flesh, feeling the weight of human frailty around her. Her wings vanished, her celestial form condensed into something smaller, more vulnerable. But her purpose was clear, her mission unchanged. This wasn't about defiance. It was about survival—his survival.

The Doctor had to live. Heaven demanded it, and she would make sure it happened.