Personal God
by Mayushii
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A/N: Clandestinely watching Supernatural on my computer is getting to be difficult, so I only got to watch the newest episode tonight. Tomorrow night's episode will probably prove all my theories wrong, but it's nice to think about. Because I really, really don't want Cas to be a villain.
Personal God
I think that I meant to say it.
At the time, I thought that it was just a careless mistake. I loathed myself for uttering those words. "Superman gone to the dark side…" I'm sure that I knew what I was saying. It wasn't a phrase that my own mind would generate (I'm still not entirely clear on who Superman is), so I must have known that saying it would give me away. I must have known.
I said it anyway.
Why? I wondered later, as I stood in that ring of holy fire. Why did I say it? I should have known better. I had known better. I wasn't that careless.
Deep down, in the place where a human's soul would be, I think… I think that I wanted them to know. I wanted Him to know.
In the Tuesday afternoon that I have chosen as my borrowed heaven, I do something that I have never done before. I fall backward, lying on my back in the grass with my arms spread out to my sides, and stare up at the perfect blue sky. A kite skims through my line of vision, and I watch it with blank eyes.
I feel hurt.
I feel alone.
I feel disgraced.
I feel.
A shudder runs through me at that thought. I feel, and it scares me. Somehow, these feelings that I shouldn't have are making me do things that I can't control. Things that I don't even think about. Saving Dean, Sam and Bobby from the demons even though I should have known (I did know) that it would raise their suspicions. Repeating the very same words that Bobby had said even though I should have known (I did know) that it would reveal my spying. Looking at it objectively, it was foolish. But I know that I haven't done anything that I didn't secretly want to do.
I wanted them to know. I wanted Him to know.
I think that I know why I did it, too. It's because it's all too much for me. It's hard to be in control all the time. It's hard to be a leader, expected to be strong, smart, perfect, infallible in every way. To bear the weight of the world on my shoulders… I had told Dean once, the day after the raising of Samhain and barely a month after our first encounter, that I could not bear such a thing. I had made that prediction a long time ago, and it has since been proven true. I can't bear it. It's too much—so much…
I wanted Him to take some of the burden.
I turn onto my side in the sun-warmed grass, tucking a hand under my cheek and curling slightly inward like a human infant. Selfish, I scold myself harshly. Angels were created to serve God and humanity, and I tried to pass that burden off on another. I don't deserve wings.
Maybe I haven't become as self-sufficient as I'd thought. Maybe I haven't learned to think for myself at all. I obeyed what I thought to be God's will for so long, and when I discovered it wasn't God's will, I didn't follow anymore. But…
I curl up tighter in the grass, feeling a strange tautness in my chest and a curious stinging in my eyes.
I didn't suddenly start thinking for myself. No. Angels who have obeyed since the beginning of their existence cannot instantly develop a sense of self. I know that; I saw it in my brothers and sisters when Michael and Lucifer were cast into perdition. They didn't know what to do with their freedom, so they sought out new leaders. It is hubris to think that I am different from them.
I did not really find my independence. I simply found another God to follow. My personal God.
A God who I would give anything to please, yet I still tried to hide my sins from Him. My new God is neither omnipotent nor omniscient, so there is no way for Him to know everything that I do. At first I reveled in my privacy, my new freedom to do as I liked without fear that my God would punish me for it. But soon, I began to understand the price of personal freedom: personal accountability. There was no release, no comfort. My sins just compounded, and I felt worse and worse. I didn't count on that when I began to follow Him. I needed a God who knew what I did, who would guide me, tell me what to do, and forgive me.
So I confessed.
And my God did not forgive me.
My body could twist itself into the most grisly contortions, break and bend in every way imaginable, and it still wouldn't match my feelings now. God hadn't forgiven me.
But then, I think with a whimpering laugh as I grip my head tightly with my hands, tight enough for the fingernails to break skin and leave streaks of blood down my temples—I don't think that I wanted Him to. I don't want to be forgiven for what I have done, because I can't forgive myself for it. I want Him to punish me, and this is perhaps the most effective punishment I have ever known. I want to be devastated, because it feels right to hurt—I deserve it.
I don't want Him to forgive me.
I want Him to save me.
I want Him to tell me what I am doing, tell me if it is right or wrong. I want His guidance, His patience. His faith is not enough, and I feel selfish for asking more than that, but I need more. I need to know what to do. I thought that I could make these decisions on my own, but it is too much for me. I need Him to tell me what to do. Just this once, I need Him again.
And so I make an offering of angel's blood and pray to my God:
Please… Just tell me what to do…
End fic.
Sorry if it was ridiculously out of character or just flat-out badly written. This is only my second fic in the Supernatural fandom and I actually missed the entire first half of the sixth season (I managed to watch most of the second half on CW's site though). Anyway, please leave a review and tell me what you think!