Title: Amid the Gospel Throng : Chapter 1 - Resolutions
Author: Kira Gage
Disclaimer: All characters (except one) and some concepts belong to Erik Kripke and his production company, no profit is to be made here. If you sue me, I may lose but you won't get anything anyway. I have nothing to give, except my mind (if you want that...take it. I'm not using it anymore.) *Ch. 1 note - There's a line somewhat plagiarized from Cold Mountain. I heard it and it stuck in my head.
Genre: angst, action, romance (eventually)
Pairing/Characters: OC, Dean, Sam, Bobby, Castiel, OC/Castiel, reference to Jo & Ellen
Description: Post-Abandon All Hope; A woman goes to Carthage to retrieve a seemingly unimportant item left behind. (Part 1 of ??...sorry, I know I hate those things.)
Rating: PG-13/R (just to be safe)
Spoilers: Through Abandon All Hope
Word Count: 1189
Author's note: This has been banging around in my head ever since a crack-headed dream I had shortly after Abandon. This is only my second fic, and my first Supernatural fic, so feedback is appreciated. If you're really curious, I got the title from a line from one of William Luce's plays, the title of which can give you a BIG hint about where this whole thing is going.
The once bustling town of Carthage was now a ghost's wasteland. Not a living soul could be found anywhere near; the place had been violated by all the life unwillingly lost there. The crunch and slither of glass underfoot were the only sounds as Muriel slowly walked down the desolate street that had once been Garrison Avenue. Her heart clenched as her firm brown eyes caught sight of a torn and bloody sneaker that wouldn't have fit an adult.
Keep moving, she told herself.
She stopped briefly and bent over to pick up a spent shotgun shell and, bringing it to her lips, tasted the sharp traces of gunpowder and rock salt. Several more shells lay nearby on the ground along with a congealed puddle of blood, and a bloody trail led from the pool to the blasted shell of a hardware store.
Muriel paused only briefly before stepping inside to observe the carnage. The fire had burned away most traces of the two bodies that had breathed their last in this space; all that was left was a melted pendant that could have once been a cross or talisman and the heat-warped blade of an small, old hunting knife. Again sadness grabbed at Muriel's heart, and again she stifled the emotion.
Remember this. Keep it for later. Right now, you have a job to do. Get it done, get out, and mourn these people when you have the time to do it properly.
Kneeling, she gathered what she could of the twisted and charred metal pieces and placed them carefully in her pocket so that she could attempt to repair them later. The artifacts of the recently dead and the power they contained held a special fascination for her, as well as being something she could either pass on to the living or bury to show respect for those who had owned them.
Straightening, she strode quickly from the store, longing to escape the oppressive feeling of doom and the sickly sour smell of death, but there was no respite from it in this place. As she crossed the threshold, the singed and reeking carcass of a Hellhound lay slumped half off the sidewalk. She gave it a sharp kick as she passed, cursing both the hound and the demon who had commanded it.
As she continued from the center of town and towards the great battlefield that now housed an even greater crater and not much else, she kept a careful eye on the many Reapers still gathered on the streets and sidewalks. So many deaths in so little a time and limited a space meant that the Reapers had been busy for several days, tracking down those souls that were not attempting to cling to this world but merely wandered as a result of not having a guide to the afterlife at the moment of their death. Muriel had not seen any of these spirits, but so many lingering Reapers meant that they were there.
When she reached the battlefield, there were so many bodies scattered across it that she had a difficult time reaching the pit that had been dug in the center. Dozens of pairs of empty eyes stared at the bright blue sky. If not for the utter stillness of the bodies, Muriel thought it could have reminded her of a group of people cloud gazing, trying to find shapes in the puffy mist high above. Reaching the center of the pit she was starkly reminded of the truth. The dozens of small hands, covered in blood and reaching up from the earth and begging for salvation spoke more violation than even the empty town.
This time Muriel couldn't stop the sob that escaped her throat as she viewed the human portion of the sacrifice Lucifer had used to bring forth the second Horseman.
This world won't last long, she thought. God won't let it.
Falling tears made it impossible for her to see clearly, and her shaking legs would support her no longer. She sank to the ground, and gave in to the sorrow that coursed through her, and the guilt. She gave herself a few minutes to weep for the innocents before her.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been here, I should have done something.
Her face in her hands, Muriel eventually regained control of her emotions and gathered herself. As she rose to her feet, the regret and grieving that had washed through her was replaced with anger and vengeful fury.
No more. I cannot continue to ignore what is happening to the world. I won't.
Wiping away her tears, she steeled herself to what had to be done and gingerly stepped down into the pit. The hands were so close together she couldn't avoid brushing against them, and the tiny fingers catching on her pant legs ripped at her heart all the more. Kneeling at the center of the pit, she carefully began digging into the dirt, searching for the tiny piece of metal that had been her entire purpose in coming to Carthage. After several minutes, her fingers brushed something cold, hard, and evil. She closed her fingers around it, feeling a tingle like she had just plunged her hand into icy water. Soon though, the tingle turned into a burn as the edges of the ring she now gripped began to sear into her palm. She grit her teeth against the pain and yanked her hand from the earth, still clinging to what now felt like a live coal. The zipper on her pack caught and she cursed herself for not thinking about getting the box ready before she went after the ring. Fumbling the small wooden container from her pack, she scooped up some of the blood-stained dirt then flung the ring into it. Before she closed the box, she packed more dirt on top of the ring; if she didn't insulate it, it would probably burn through the box and catch her pack on fire.
Her task completed, Muriel retraced her steps out of the pit and off the battlefield. The Reapers she had seen in the town were waiting at the edge of the woods, waiting for the ring they surely could sense as easily as the souls they hunted. "Over my dead body," she murmured, then chuckled at her own stupidity. Yes, if they got the ring they would be getting it over her dead body; they were Reapers after all, and she had just confiscated Death's un-necessary symbol of power.
Unlike the other Horsemen who depended on the rings for their supernatural abilities and protection, Death was a creature who had been around since the beginning. It needed no frills to accomplish it's job. Fortunately for humanity, it had been assigned the ring and the accompanying limitations; destruction of the ring meant a re-banishment of Death to the underworld.
Also fortunately, she had a means of escape that didn't include walking or fighting through the gathering crowd of Death's henchmen. With one final glance around to memorialize to the fallen, Muriel sighed and winked out of existence.