Castiel's domain resembles a sprawling park, not unlike a botanical garden. The central area is a map of carefully cultivated, vibrant nature, clearly cared for by humans (or some species with hands and a knack for gardening). The area's enclosed by a dense wall of tall trees packed tightly together, that part to arch over a low canopied tunnel protecting a dirt path. Anyone with the intention of finding the domain will immediately happen upon the entrance, regardless of what side they approach from.
A small lake, dotted with lily pads and occupied by all manner of fish, winds through the area, a dock, gazebo, and a bridge crossing it in places. Astonishingly lifelike statues of angels can be found throughout the area, some stationed out in the open, some nearly overgrown with vines and plant life. In the widest area of flat grass, a man in a bright red cardigan flies a colorful kite, though you can't catch his attention and he doesn't speak, enthralled with the wonders of physics. This central park, this picturesque patch of organized natural splendor, is the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drown in a bathtub in 1953 — Castiel's preferred Heaven.
As one ventures outward from the main clearing of the park, some secluded areas can be found. The further from the center you go, following narrow stone paths surrounded by colorful hedges and flower beds, the more it resembles wilderness rather than a human-tended garden. Seating areas are tucked beneath the concealing umbrella of willow trees, and draped wisteria. A boat is shored against the grassy slope above the lake, near a wooden swing that sways out over the water. A small, fenced garden of brilliantly colored flowers is dotted with bee hive boxes, many decorated like small houses, a miniature village for Castiel's favorite insects.
At the very edges of the domain, even further through the wilderness, if one's willing to duck through some branches and step over tangled roots, they'll find a small waterfall above a shallow, clear pool, the perfect depth for a swim or bath (occasionally, this becomes a hot spring for Cas and Jo to enjoy). Following the lake's path through the underbrush, eventually one happens on a compact, old, stone chapel, edges of the rock chipped and eroded, glass windows foggy and smudged, but the doors are open for anyone to rest or take a nap on the few, short wooden pews that fit snugly in the interior. Some animals roam the whole of the domain; fish, birds, Castiel's bees, and the occasional chicken or cat.
Above anything else, there's a deeply peaceful, serene silence that engulfs the entire place. All you'll hear is wind, rustling leaves and creaking branches, water lapping at the shore, and the occasion buzzing of bees.
Unfortunately, Cas isn't always feeling peaceful and serene. Happening on his domain on a particularly bad day will find the perfectly manicured lawn now scorched with the wide, overlapping figures of wings, each spanning twenty feet or more. Hundreds of them pattern the park floor, snuffing out the healthy green, seared into the grass, embers still burning at the edges. No bodies, just the smoldering imprints that remain.
These days, you won't find Castiel in the park with the man flying his kite, or on the lake, the bee neighborhood, or any of the secluded seating areas. He'll be deep in the wilderness, hidden in the aged and worn chapel, seated on the center pew with his head bowed into open palms.
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