FIC: On the Dark Earth
Apr. 27th, 2010 01:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: On the Dark Earth
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: R, gen.
A/N: Uh, yeah, I think I fail forever at fix-it fic. After The End, Castiel has a chance to change things. He does. This starts after 5.04, so warning for future!Castiel and what happens to Dean in that ep. Also spoilers for 5.19.
The End:
"If you could do it over," the woman says, her body pressed to Cas's body, "would you?"
It's been a long day. Past-Dean showing up, Present-Dean betraying them all. Past-Dean leaving, Present-Dean dying. Surviving despite his own best intentions. He's high on something he can't even remember taking, but he didn't try to fall into Dean's grave, which Cas considers something of an accomplishment as far as things go.
He sent the harem away for the night, unable to bear them, but this one lingered until he was too fucked up to bother with her. Only then did she straddle his lap, pushing her hands into his hair, tugging until he looked at her. His body is a haze, and the woman's breath will blow him away from this. From the ever spiraling horror.
He meant so well. He thinks he understands Lucifer now.
"The E?" he asks, and laughs. It tears his lungs. "The dope? The redneck heroin? I'm afraid, oh, you'll have to be clearer--"
"Stop it," she says, a whipcrack in her voice. She's used to being obeyed.
Cas squints at her, her face splintering through his eyelashes. He sees things in the shards; he sees the shadow of her many arms, of the skulls around her neck and her leering bloody smile. She isn't smiling now, and there's no one alive who knew her.
"Oh," he says. "You want to end the world? Get in line."
Kali yanks his hair again until he finally winces, the echo of pain piercing his happy little bubble. "Listen to me, you pathetic thing. Your lover is dead--"
"And so's yours," he bites back, "funny thing--"
"Yes. But you can change it."
Cas stops. His racing mind stops. He thinks even his heart pauses.
"Will you?" Kali asks. "Another chance. Another turn."
His pulse lurches into motion again. Cas swallows and tastes dirt from Dean's shallow grave. Both of them, in fact. "Why? You're no mother goddess."
"No." Kali stands, smoothing her skirts, and steps over him to study his altar: the Buddha, the prayers beads. Her mouth thins. "And you're no Buddhist. But your father has left the building, as they say. I'm what's left."
"I'm no one's son anymore."
Her back to him, Kali murmurs, "You're someone's brother."
Cas feels the distant echo of his own flinch. Rubbing his sternum with his palm, he stares down at his bare, grimy feet. He remembers the broken-bird angle of Dean's neck, and the coldness of his skin. The blood in his mouth.
"I fell," he says heavily. "I'm nothing now."
"You're mortal now." Kali looks at him over her shoulder. Her dress is growing brighter red, like heart's blood. The room is growing dimmer. "Circumstances can be rearranged. All you have to do is die. Which you'd do anyway, after twenty miserable years. What happens to a suicidal angel?"
Cas tilts his head back. Looks at the ceiling. "Why, Kali?"
"Because the world is ending, and I didn't end it." Kali steps away from the altar, carefully, as if over glass. "I'm losing patience, Castiel."
No. He hasn't been Castiel for a very long time.
He looks at her, his brother's goddess. He says nothing, and after a moment, she smiles.
Kali comes to him, and his life is snuffed out beneath her hands. It is the kindest thing she'll ever do.
***
Darkness. Then a spark.
He is made. He is torn is two. He is nameless; he is wrapped in warmth and silence like a tomb. It is comfort, and he doesn't recognize its face.
Silence. Then the distant, humming rhythm of a heartbeat.
He drifts. He rests. He is knitted into life: spine, blood, bones.
Time passes, knots on itself, twines and slows and creates a vast highway in the dark. He is rocked in a cage of flesh and of bone. He cannot move. He does not want to move from this place.
"Sometimes I worry that he's..."
"He's fine, baby. Just quieter. Anyone would be quieter by comparison."
Her laugh. "John, that's no way to talk about your son."
Time passes like mercury, shimmering and slow. He remembers that he is supposed to be somewhere. He remembers--
"Okay, buddy, you got to be gentle. Put your hand here. You feel that?"
-- Dean. Dean's voice, changed, piping and sweet. Insistent whispering just out of the range of hearing. Secrets that he needs to know. He struggles, netted, and hears Dean laugh.
He stills, resenting the space between them. Dean touches the wall that separates them, the pressure of his small hand.
Time passes like heroin withdrawal, an itch under his skin, teeth-gritting, sweats. He kicks and hears her murmur to him. He begins to recognize the cup of her hand framing his head or his back. He begins to know her voice, like he never knew his father's.
He understands.
He waits.
***
The Start:
Birth is pain.
Crushing darkness gives way to light. He doesn't scream; he is a warrior, he is proud, he will not howl like an animal even if his shoulder is crushed against his head and he's naked and it hurts and the nurse is holding him upside down by his feet and it's all terrible.
The room is too quiet, his hearing muffled by fluid in his ears. When he tries to open his eyes, there is only brightness like the sun, and he shuts them again.
"Shit," he hears someone mutter, a scraped-out voice that he knows but doesn't know like hers or Dean's.
And then, a voice he's known forever says, "All right, all right," exasperated. He blinks and is swung upright, into his prodigal brother's arms.
The world pauses. Gabriel looks down at him, cradled and too vulnerable in those unpredictable hands. Then he winks and says, "Bet you didn't see this coming. Breathe. You've got to breathe."
It's a valuable reminder. He breathes, and the body (his body, remade) steadies in its frantic warnings. He hears the man-- the father-- swear again, in relief this time, so much like Dean. So very much.
"There we go," Gabriel says, and swipes his thumb over Cas's head. "One last trick, now, kiddo. Sorry. But you've gotta do this the hard way."
He blinks, alarmed, and only has time for an indignant squawk from this tiny human body before Gabriel's strength rolls over him. His memory, his record of time since there was no time, flickers once and is smothered like a candle.
Castiel forgets everything.
****
"There we go," Gabriel says, but it's only to himself. Castiel is gone, buried under all that human fear and hunger. He grins down at that red little face, and he hopes like hell. It's all he's got now.
John is sitting by his soon-to-be-martryred-wife, wincing a little as she tries to crush his hand. His eyes track every move Gabriel makes, even all soppy stupid with oxytocin. Gabriel steps back, lets the hot-ass nurses (hey, the least he could do for his kid brother) do their thing, and then takes him back. He ought to be the one to hand the kid off, after all this work.
"Hey, so," Gabriel says, giving the last hope to the (stupid, fragile) humans. "It's a boy."
Mary takes Cas like breathing, which is more than he could do after all that pushing and grunting, and cradles him to her breast. Her smile could light up the world. "Hi there," she whispers soppily, and offers her pinky for grabbing. "Hi, my little love. Aren't you just perfect."
It hurts to walk away, but Gabriel does it step by step. He leaves the best of his brothers to be raised by Winchesters, with Winchesters, which is only a little better than being raised by wolves. The one thing Sam and Dean Winchester would trust to guide them, who would let stand between them on their Lucifer-Michael showdown.
In the hallway, door half-closed, Gabriel looks up at the ceiling. "This better not fuck him up," he says under his breath.
God says nothing back.
"John," Mary says, "go get Dean, okay? He should meet his little brother."
Author:
nilchanceRating: R, gen.
A/N: Uh, yeah, I think I fail forever at fix-it fic. After The End, Castiel has a chance to change things. He does. This starts after 5.04, so warning for future!Castiel and what happens to Dean in that ep. Also spoilers for 5.19.
The End:
"If you could do it over," the woman says, her body pressed to Cas's body, "would you?"
It's been a long day. Past-Dean showing up, Present-Dean betraying them all. Past-Dean leaving, Present-Dean dying. Surviving despite his own best intentions. He's high on something he can't even remember taking, but he didn't try to fall into Dean's grave, which Cas considers something of an accomplishment as far as things go.
He sent the harem away for the night, unable to bear them, but this one lingered until he was too fucked up to bother with her. Only then did she straddle his lap, pushing her hands into his hair, tugging until he looked at her. His body is a haze, and the woman's breath will blow him away from this. From the ever spiraling horror.
He meant so well. He thinks he understands Lucifer now.
"The E?" he asks, and laughs. It tears his lungs. "The dope? The redneck heroin? I'm afraid, oh, you'll have to be clearer--"
"Stop it," she says, a whipcrack in her voice. She's used to being obeyed.
Cas squints at her, her face splintering through his eyelashes. He sees things in the shards; he sees the shadow of her many arms, of the skulls around her neck and her leering bloody smile. She isn't smiling now, and there's no one alive who knew her.
"Oh," he says. "You want to end the world? Get in line."
Kali yanks his hair again until he finally winces, the echo of pain piercing his happy little bubble. "Listen to me, you pathetic thing. Your lover is dead--"
"And so's yours," he bites back, "funny thing--"
"Yes. But you can change it."
Cas stops. His racing mind stops. He thinks even his heart pauses.
"Will you?" Kali asks. "Another chance. Another turn."
His pulse lurches into motion again. Cas swallows and tastes dirt from Dean's shallow grave. Both of them, in fact. "Why? You're no mother goddess."
"No." Kali stands, smoothing her skirts, and steps over him to study his altar: the Buddha, the prayers beads. Her mouth thins. "And you're no Buddhist. But your father has left the building, as they say. I'm what's left."
"I'm no one's son anymore."
Her back to him, Kali murmurs, "You're someone's brother."
Cas feels the distant echo of his own flinch. Rubbing his sternum with his palm, he stares down at his bare, grimy feet. He remembers the broken-bird angle of Dean's neck, and the coldness of his skin. The blood in his mouth.
"I fell," he says heavily. "I'm nothing now."
"You're mortal now." Kali looks at him over her shoulder. Her dress is growing brighter red, like heart's blood. The room is growing dimmer. "Circumstances can be rearranged. All you have to do is die. Which you'd do anyway, after twenty miserable years. What happens to a suicidal angel?"
Cas tilts his head back. Looks at the ceiling. "Why, Kali?"
"Because the world is ending, and I didn't end it." Kali steps away from the altar, carefully, as if over glass. "I'm losing patience, Castiel."
No. He hasn't been Castiel for a very long time.
He looks at her, his brother's goddess. He says nothing, and after a moment, she smiles.
Kali comes to him, and his life is snuffed out beneath her hands. It is the kindest thing she'll ever do.
***
Darkness. Then a spark.
He is made. He is torn is two. He is nameless; he is wrapped in warmth and silence like a tomb. It is comfort, and he doesn't recognize its face.
Silence. Then the distant, humming rhythm of a heartbeat.
He drifts. He rests. He is knitted into life: spine, blood, bones.
Time passes, knots on itself, twines and slows and creates a vast highway in the dark. He is rocked in a cage of flesh and of bone. He cannot move. He does not want to move from this place.
"Sometimes I worry that he's..."
"He's fine, baby. Just quieter. Anyone would be quieter by comparison."
Her laugh. "John, that's no way to talk about your son."
Time passes like mercury, shimmering and slow. He remembers that he is supposed to be somewhere. He remembers--
"Okay, buddy, you got to be gentle. Put your hand here. You feel that?"
-- Dean. Dean's voice, changed, piping and sweet. Insistent whispering just out of the range of hearing. Secrets that he needs to know. He struggles, netted, and hears Dean laugh.
He stills, resenting the space between them. Dean touches the wall that separates them, the pressure of his small hand.
Time passes like heroin withdrawal, an itch under his skin, teeth-gritting, sweats. He kicks and hears her murmur to him. He begins to recognize the cup of her hand framing his head or his back. He begins to know her voice, like he never knew his father's.
He understands.
He waits.
***
The Start:
Birth is pain.
Crushing darkness gives way to light. He doesn't scream; he is a warrior, he is proud, he will not howl like an animal even if his shoulder is crushed against his head and he's naked and it hurts and the nurse is holding him upside down by his feet and it's all terrible.
The room is too quiet, his hearing muffled by fluid in his ears. When he tries to open his eyes, there is only brightness like the sun, and he shuts them again.
"Shit," he hears someone mutter, a scraped-out voice that he knows but doesn't know like hers or Dean's.
And then, a voice he's known forever says, "All right, all right," exasperated. He blinks and is swung upright, into his prodigal brother's arms.
The world pauses. Gabriel looks down at him, cradled and too vulnerable in those unpredictable hands. Then he winks and says, "Bet you didn't see this coming. Breathe. You've got to breathe."
It's a valuable reminder. He breathes, and the body (his body, remade) steadies in its frantic warnings. He hears the man-- the father-- swear again, in relief this time, so much like Dean. So very much.
"There we go," Gabriel says, and swipes his thumb over Cas's head. "One last trick, now, kiddo. Sorry. But you've gotta do this the hard way."
He blinks, alarmed, and only has time for an indignant squawk from this tiny human body before Gabriel's strength rolls over him. His memory, his record of time since there was no time, flickers once and is smothered like a candle.
Castiel forgets everything.
****
"There we go," Gabriel says, but it's only to himself. Castiel is gone, buried under all that human fear and hunger. He grins down at that red little face, and he hopes like hell. It's all he's got now.
John is sitting by his soon-to-be-martryred-wife, wincing a little as she tries to crush his hand. His eyes track every move Gabriel makes, even all soppy stupid with oxytocin. Gabriel steps back, lets the hot-ass nurses (hey, the least he could do for his kid brother) do their thing, and then takes him back. He ought to be the one to hand the kid off, after all this work.
"Hey, so," Gabriel says, giving the last hope to the (stupid, fragile) humans. "It's a boy."
Mary takes Cas like breathing, which is more than he could do after all that pushing and grunting, and cradles him to her breast. Her smile could light up the world. "Hi there," she whispers soppily, and offers her pinky for grabbing. "Hi, my little love. Aren't you just perfect."
It hurts to walk away, but Gabriel does it step by step. He leaves the best of his brothers to be raised by Winchesters, with Winchesters, which is only a little better than being raised by wolves. The one thing Sam and Dean Winchester would trust to guide them, who would let stand between them on their Lucifer-Michael showdown.
In the hallway, door half-closed, Gabriel looks up at the ceiling. "This better not fuck him up," he says under his breath.
God says nothing back.
"John," Mary says, "go get Dean, okay? He should meet his little brother."