I would like to apologize to... Yeah, I'd basically like to apologize to everyone for this. I like rewriting movies as fics, as it turns out, and attempting to rewrite Tangled got so cracky, that I just couldn't go on, SO WHY NOT REWRITE THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME? Yeah, this fic is going to be extremely dark, twisted, and fucked up, so I'm warning you now. If you want to know who characters are, as compared to the movie, Castiel is Quasi, Dean is Esmeralda, Sam is Phoebus, Michael is Frollo, and the gargoyles are probably going to be Gabe, Balthazar, and either Anna, Luci, or Crowley. Idk, if anyone reviews this, how about you tell me? Pairings that will be present will be Destiel, Wincest (though, they aren't brothers in this. Sorry.), and Dean/Michael. It's Castiel and Destiel centric, for the most part. Or will be, I guess. Oh, and I guess I'll put in a disclaimer. I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters. I'd also like to beg the Mouse not to attack me for this. I don't own Hunchback of Notre Dame, I swear. Please don't kill me.
Every morning, the people of Paris wake to the bells of Notre Dame. They go about their day to the thunderous toll of the bells. Some say that the soul of the city resides in the bells. But not everyone considers that they don't ring all by themselves.
High up in the bell tower lives the mysterious bell ringer.
Who is this creature? And how did he come to be there?
I will tell you the tale. It is a tale of a monster, and a man.
It was a dark night when I story began. Four frightened gypsies slid silently across the water in a small boat, while the woman desperately tried to quiet her newborn child. They sighed in relief as they saw their guide waiting for them at the docks. They hastily, yet carefully, recounted the payment for passage into Paris.
But a trap had been laid for the gypsies, and they looked up in terror at the figure of Judge John Michael.
Judge Michael envisioned himself the guardian of Paris, determined to purge the world of vice and sin. He looked at the world, and all he saw was corruption, and he saw it everywhere. Everywhere by in himself.
He ordered the guards to bring the gypsies to the Palace of Justice, and then one guard got curious.
"You there!" he called to the woman as he approached, gazing at the bundle held in her arms. "What do you have there? What are you hiding?"
"Stolen goods, no doubt," Michael announced, voice dripping with hatred and malice. "Take them from her."
She had no choice. The gypsy ran, ran for her life, and for one infinitely more precious. Up the stairs she fled, Michael in close pursuit on horseback. She reached the cathedral, the colossal Notre Dame, and pounded on the doors with all of her might, crying, "Sanctuary! Please, I beg of you, give us sanctuary!" But no response came, and Michael, still astride his massive black horse, was almost upon her.
She ran from the door, down the steps, when he finally caught her, pulling the bundle from her arms. The sudden change in balance as Michael leaned forward alarmed the horse and he reared up, hooves coming down on the gypsy woman. She fell beneath the horse, and soon, a pool of blood was forming beneath her crushed skull.
Michael was alarmed to feel the bundle squirming, and became aware of the sound of a sobbing infant, coming from the bundle. "A baby?" he exclaimed, incredulous. He pulled back a layer of the rough fabric, eyes widening as he covered the foul beast. "A monster!"
Looking around wildly, Michael made a beeline for the well, holding the baby over the dark hole and preparing to release, when the voice of the archdeacon rang out with a cry of, "Stop!"
Michael paused, looking over at the short man, who hurried over as quickly as he could, kneeling beside the woman and taking her in his arms with tears in his eyes. "This is an unholy demon!" he declared. "I am sending it back to hell."
The archdeacon glared up at him. "See here, this blood you've spilled on the very steps of the cathedral! This woman was innocent!"
"I am guiltless," Michael replied without a care. "She ran, I simply pursued."
The archdeacon was continuing, though. "And now you would add the poor child's blood to your guilt?"
"My conscience is clear!" Michael insisted, voice hardening now. It was obvious that the archdeacon's words were getting to him now.
"Michael, you can lie to yourself and your minions," the archdeacon went on. "And oh, you can claim that you haven't a qualm, but I can guarantee that you can't run or hide your evil deeds from the very eyes of Notre Dame." He thrust one arm out, towards the cathedral, for emphasis. "The statues, they will watch and pursue you wherever you go. This I guarantee you, Your Honor." He spit the judge's title disdainfully.
Michael gazed up at the cathedral in alarm and lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating every facet of the cathedral, and the statues; the faces, both grotesque and beautiful, all glaring judgement down upon him, ready to seize him and drag him into the pit at a moment's notice.
And for the first time in his life, Michael felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul.
He turned back to the archdeacon, begging him, "What must I do?"
"Care for the child," the archdeacon replied. "Raise it as your own."
"What?" exclaimed the judge. "I'm to be saddled with this misshapen-" He paused, thinking. "Very well. Let him live with you, in your church."
"Live here?" the archdeacon exclaimed. "Where?"
"Anywhere," Michael insisted. "Just so he is kept locked away, where no one else can see. The bell tower, perhaps. Who knows, our Lord works in mysterious ways." Even this foul creature may one day prove to be of use to me, the judge thought.
He named the child Castiel, after the angel, but he did not do it out of love or caring. He named the creature thus so that he would always be reminded of the terrible nature of him. The comparison to angels just served to better emphasize his deformity.
Now here is the riddle. Guess, if you please. Who is the monster?
And who is the man?