Title: all that we might have done
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for season 5; some takes place in Hell
Pairings: implied Dean/Castiel
Rating: PGish
Wordcount:
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 760
Prompt: Meg, The lifetimes it took to get out, the minutes it took to be sent back
Hell has no timescale. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, decades, eons... all mean nothing, for all are the same.
The old ones, the true ancients, know how long has passed, but only them.
Her father tells her about then, about Lucifer and Lilith and what was before, what will be again, what they, her father and her, will create anew.
He takes her by the hand and leads her from Hell the first time. On the surface, while she flinches from the sun before steeling herself to its brightness, he shows her how to track Lucifer's Vessel, the beacon that glows in his blood. Across all realities, now, she will be able to find him.
Twice she stood in the Vessel's presence and failed to grasp him beyond a fleeting touch. And once, a horrible terrible once, a failure that will mock her forever, the Vessel's brother, Michael's burning Sword, sent her back to the Pit with a snarl.
The next time they met, she took great pleasure in forcing her way into the Vessel (a betrayal her father may never forgive, and she prays Lucifer never learns about) and then tormenting Michael's Sword.
Of all beings she's met, in and out of Hell, the one she loathes is Dean Winchester.
And yet again, he defeats her. Sends her back to Hell, to her siblings' jeers and Alistair's razor. Lilith is disappointed, and her father is still Above, so there is no one to protect her.
No one who would, maybe, since she forsook her father's plan for vengeance and still fell to the Sword. To Dean. A man.
And then her father is dead. And then Dean Winchester is on the rack, writing beneath Alistair's razor, and a few times, Alistair even lets her carve into his flesh and muscle, all the way down to his soul.
Soon, though, she thinks, an angel comes for Dean Winchester and everything is finally in motion, because Michael's Sword broke the First Seal. And one of Lilith's own favored is at the Vessel's side, so he will break the Last.
After Lucifer rises, she grovels at his feet. He smiles upon her and asks, Did you like my vessel, child?
He is not her father. He was an angel, and Heaven's stink still clings to him-he is obsessed, madly in love with Michael, and it shows. But his gentleness only covers his cruelty, and he has earned his throne as Lord of Hell.
Yes, milord, she says, on her knees.
Before he accepts her, she screams more than she ever did for Alistair.
The Vessel is still marked with her father's brand in his blood, so he is easy to find. And the Sword has tarnished. He is no longer so strong, so vibrant. He is weary. He barely fights. She could kill him now, but Lucifer would not forgive tampering with the plan, so she leaves.
And she meets them again, this time with their own pet angel, the Vessel and the Sword and Castiel.
Lucifer places Castiel in her charge. She has never been so close to a yet-unfallen angel; if he had not abandoned Heaven to be with the Winchesters, she knows his Grace would burn her like the sun, that first time Above. But his Grace is barely there, spluttering like a candle. It will not be long before he falls.
Castiel escapes, of course. He's an honorary Winchester. Dean's stench is all over him.
And Lucifer, her father's beloved and her own lord, he is most displeased. She is grateful that Alistair's already been killed by Sam.
You, child, Lucifer says gently, stroking her true form through their meatsuits, you fail again and again. Tell me, why should I let you remain, leeching off me, when you've yet to succeed at all?
The sun is burning in the sky. Death stands at Lucifer's side, shackled to the Lord of Hell's will.
Sam is beautiful from the inside, she says. The plan was never hers. And Castiel was right, of course Castiel was right, because he's with the Winchesters and they always ruin everything. And you'll know, Lucifer, she hisses, tired and angry, and if this is her last moment, then she will finally make a mark. You'll know until the end that I got there first.
Lucifer's smile is as gentle as his touch, and as sharp as Alistair's razor.
Child, he says. Petulant, insolent child. I see nothing in you that Azazel spoke of, your brilliance and your strength.
Death flicks a hand and there is-
Silence.