Yup. Me starting ANOTHER fic. But my muse is stubborn, so this is the first of two new fics up hopefully over this week.
Also, anyone who can guess why May 8th is significant, wins virtual cookies and some sort of prize.
I own nothing. Not even Anfiel. She belongs to the awesome night-star-93, and is currently featuring in Fighting for Salvation, Fighting for Redemption. Go, read!
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May 8th, 1944
It is time.
The final confrontation must be now.
The one that could spell the end of the end, or the start of a new one.
They circle each other, each watching the other, unwilling to make the first move.
They know what is at stake here, and neither will risk it.
I only hope he is strong enough.
--
Rain spatters to the ground gently, creating a thin layer of mud that sticks to everything. Hair is flattened to their scalps and foreheads, and in the case of the damned, his eyes. If not for the solemnity of the situation, I might have been tempted to smile. But even from a distance as great as this, I can see hatred in the eyes of one, and hurt and betrayal in the other. Behind me, I hear steps approach. These steps bring with them death and rage, fire and disaster. I turn to face my fallen brother. His short blonde hair is darkened with rain and dirt, but his eyes shine like purest onyx. In a time like this, no one cares about the colour of your eyes. His crisp English accent floats above the sounds of battle, calling out to me.
'Castiel.'
I turn to face him, my violet eyes regarding his youthful visage, unmarked by the harshness of war. My own face bears a thin scar running from my left temple to my scalp, disappearing into my dark hair, which is sticking to my temples and curling wetly at the nape of my neck. A true testament to how much I have given to this war. He barely gives it a passing thought. I gave it my Grace, or near enough. I retained enough of my heaven given abilities, but poured my heart and soul into ensuring victory, into purging the world of evil, allowing humanity to thrive. And it still wasn't enough.
As I watch, my charge falls at the hand of someone he thought of as a friend, no, someone he considered a brother. Family was hard to find in times like these and in war, the bonds you form are not easily broken. Except in this case. As I had many times before, I watched the one born to save the world die, on his own, on a battlefield. I had hoped he was strong enough.
I was wrong.
'Enough.' The word springs from my mouth unbidden. They say angels have no emotions, no method of feeling anything, but I know they are wrong. Because now I cry. I cry for the fallen soldier, born for one purpose, dying at the hand of someone he trusted more than himself. I cry for humanity, their hero defeated again. I even cry for my brother, the fallen angel who cannot see past his own suffering.
'Enough.' I repeat, my voice stronger. 'No more death.'
He laughs, his handsome face contorting. 'I'm afraid that's impossible, brother.' He spits the word out, loathe to remember life in the heavens, loathe to remind himself that we are brothers by blood as well as bond. Behind me, the blood washes away in the rain as we discard our bodies, returning to our true forms.
It's almost ironic, I think to myself as I watch his wings unfold, that falling from grace gave him wings of spun gold, while my faith leaves me with coal black feathers. His hair shines as it tumbles down his back, as black as my wings, and his eyes match his wings, glowing as if lit up from the inside, although I know his heart is black as night. 'And now I'm afraid I must bid you farewell, Castiel,' he says, sweeping a bow. He always did have a flair for the dramatic, in speech as well as actions.
'It will begin again,' I warn him. 'It can never end. They must return and fight.'
'They always do,' he adds, sinking back into the pit slowly. 'Until then, brother...'
Until then...
May 24th, 1978
It is time…
I watch the house, knowing this must be the right place. Why else would I be called here? He is to be born again. I close my eyes and cup the soul in my hands, before willing him into his new life. It is done. In nine months time, he will be introduced into the world again, a helpless infant with so much power. Born to save the world. Such a huge burden for one person. But it must be him.
Why here? This family has already been touched by evil so many times. A demon has touched their lives, infecting them with his sulphurous touch. I can almost hear the seconds ticking away for Mary and her unborn son. I close my eyes in a momentary honouring of the woman so willing to save the man she loves she would give literally anything for him to live. I leave, floating away on the wind. I will return in nine months to watch over the baby, to keep evil safe from him.
January 24th, 1979
At exactly three seventeen am, Dean Winchester is brought into the world. He doesn't cry as he looks around the room, blinking enormous blue eyes at his parents. I lay a hand on his head as he lies in his crib, and he looks up at me. He is so innocent, so pure. When I think what he will have to become…
I cannot.
With a final blessing, I am gone again, but watching from a distance. He will never again be alone in the world.
Over the next four years, I watch him grow from a helpless baby to an inquisitive toddler. His eyes darken to jade and his hair grows blonde and fluffy. I am there when he takes his first steps, says his first word. I am there when Mary teaches him to read, John to throw a football. I am there when his world collapses down around him.
Six months previously, Mary had given birth to another baby, Samuel. I watched Dean handle him with kid gloves. He loves his baby brother so much already. I watch him carrying baby Sammy out of the house on his father's command, as Mary dies in his nursery. I watch the innocence in his eyes disappear, never to return.
After the fire, John takes the boys to his colleague's house and leaves them, going to a bar. He sits there and drowns in his sorrows, ordering beer after beer, night after night. I can feel the pain radiating from him, the hurt, the loss, the anger. The blood of hunters may run through Mary's veins, but John was born to hunt. I see it in his eyes, hear it in his soul. A week passes, and I can stand it no longer. I call the one angel I trust more than anyone else to watch over Dean as he sleeps, Sam in his arms, and travel as light to the bar where John sits, so ready to give up, his sons the one thing tying him to this life. My current vessel enters the bar and orders a water as I flood into him. He has prayed for this, and God has listened.
'Rough night?' I ask, turning to face John Winchester. He takes another gulp of his beer before answering.
'The worst.'
I sip at my water as my heart aches for him. 'Want to talk about it?'
'You wouldn't believe me.'
'I believe a lot of things.'
'Do you believe in heaven?'
'Maybe,' I answer carefully. 'If you define heaven as the abode of God, somewhere for pure souls to go when they pass on.'
He ignore me, continuing his questions. 'Then you must believe in angels?'
'I suppose so. But they aren't the halo wearing, harp playing type.'
He looks at me, and I continue. 'In the bible, angels are depicted as warriors, soldiers of God.' Certainly true for the angel that watches over Dean, my closest confidante, Anfiel. Her violet wings may give the appearance of innocence, but neither angel not demon will cross her when she is angry and armed.
If you believe in heaven, and angels, then you must believe in demons, and in hell as well,' he said, draining the last of his beer.
'You cannot have good without evil,' I agree. 'You have encountered a demon.'
He nods, before getting up and leaving, walking steadily, if slowly, towards the wooden door. I follow him, ignoring the shouts of the bartender that I have not paid for my drink. 'Just put it on my tab, Mark,' a rough voice growls from a corner, and a grizzled old man emerges, with an empty glass, dumping it on the counter. 'Night, all,' he adds, before placing his ball cap on his head and heading for the exit. He stumps past us with a nod, before climbing into his pickup truck and driving off in the dark. John makes to do the same, but I put a hand on his arm.
'You have encountered a demon,' I repeat, looking into his eyes.
It is then he breaks down, tears leaking from his eyes, and I resist drawing him into my arms and embracing him. Times are different now; we are virtual strangers in his eyes. 'It killed my wife.'
I am unsure what to say, so I say nothing.
'What do your soldiers of God say about that?' he spat in anger, wrenching his arm away.
'They say everything happens for a reason. But that reason is not always a good one. You have to stay strong John. Strong for your sons. And especially for Dean. Dean is,' I paused, unsure how to phrase it, while talking about a four year old boy. 'Special.'
It was then I told him of his son's destiny. To his credit, he listened all the way through, not interrupting once. When I had finished, he looked at me curiously, evidently deciding whether I was to be believed. 'What are you?' he asked, showing how much he had grown in the last week alone.
Castiel,' I answered simply, before walking away, bleeding into the shadows, returning to my original form. I can only hope, and have faith in John Winchester's ability to raise his son.
--
I will watch you fight the sky, you make them run and hide, you wait for it to die now, I will watch you fight the sky, you make them run and hide, I'll watch you fight the sky now...
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Well, something a little different from me. Hope you like.
Quick pimping for the following authors.
Night-star-93-
Wanted Dead Or Alive
Fighting For Salvation, Fighting For Redemption
Lover-Fighter-Writer-
Alone, Patient and Supernatural
ElzBelz01-
Ambriel
Bee Winchester David-
There'll Be Peace When You Are Done