FIC: Slipped a River of Pity
Title Slipped a River of Pity
Characters Dean, OC - well, sort of...
Warnings Unbetaed; spoilers through 5.14
Length Approximately 300 words
Author's Notes A coda to 5.14, this stems from my dissatisfaction with certain aspects of the way the show's mythology is unfolding. ETA: Additional notes follow the ficlet. Meta.
Summary Dean's prayer is answered.
Slipped a River of Pity
The air was cold.
By the Impala, Dean looked at his bottle. It wasn't enough.
To the sky, he said, "Please... I can't... I need some help. Please."
In little time, the sky gave answer.
A woman appeared, smiling gently. Plump, her dark hair pulled back loosely, she wore a full red dress and a light blue scarf. As she approached, he saw that she wasn't much older than he was.
"I've come to help," she said.
Hope and disbelief battered against the walls of his ribcage. "Are you an angel?" he asked.
"No," she said with a soft laugh.
"What, a demon?"
"No," she said again.
Dean had little battle left in him. "Just tell me what you are."
For a divine creature, or a supernatural one at least, she seemed oddly alive: robust, bright and emanating heat. Dean was struck with the impression that even her skin was fecund, that her gaze could impregnate stone.
She looked like life.
She smiled, a little sadly, and said, "I'm just an old soul."
"I don't understand," Dean replied. Already, her presence had sent sweet waves of peace washing over him, but he needed more.
"Your cry woke me from a long slumber." She glanced around then, her smile faltering. "If only I'd woken sooner--" She caught herself, shook her head and looked back at Dean. "Going backwards is pointless."
It wasn't enough. "Did... Did God send you?"
She huffed a laugh. "No one sent me, Dean. I just came." She took a step toward him and continued, "You don't need God anyway. You just need me."
Smiling brightly now, she offered him her hand. "I'll take care of you, sunshine, you and your Sammy."
Dean took her hand, and they began the walk back to Bobby's house.
Her hand was warm.
*
Additional Notes
The title was drawn from lines of Anne Carson's poem, "The Book of Isaiah", from Glass, Irony and God. The poem is too long to share here in its entirety, but the relevant lines are near the end:
Still some nights through his dreams slipped a river of milk.
A river of silver, a river of pity.
In the poem, Isaiah and God have a powerful but difficult relationship, a bizarre contract. In one part, Isaiah's nation is on fire. God exhorts him to save it.
Okay, said Isaiah, I save the nation. What do you do?
God exhaled roughly.
I save the fire, said God.
*
I wanted to leave the woman character's identity open to interpretation, and I invite readers to make of her what they wish. However, now I want to share the roots of her creation in this wee fic:
I'm having a lot of trouble with aspects of the newer elements of the show's mythology. If it's all entirely and specifically predestined, then is God just a fucking bastard? So, there's a God who made this brutal and detailed plan for the unfolding of time and all the beings in it - then disappeared? Or is he moving his chess pieces cruelly still? - angels who are hateful, violent and manipulative, a devil, and a bunch of demons.
Where are the women? I love this show, but its use of women characters has often been troubling. And what do we have now? Only one female angel - who was so freaking drippy from the start - who turned out to be a foe to be slain.
If this is the mythology we have, then I want the Mother of God to sweep in and clean up this fucking mess. And I want her to be pissed. Not the Patriarch's ethereal virgin doe, lying passive while awaiting instruction, but the Great Mother, the Intercessor who pleads with Heaven and aids those whom God has forsaken, Our Lady of Sorrows, of Mercy, the human soul with an Immaculate Heart, who prays for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
Women can have power without it being evil, Show.
Characters Dean, OC - well, sort of...
Warnings Unbetaed; spoilers through 5.14
Length Approximately 300 words
Author's Notes A coda to 5.14, this stems from my dissatisfaction with certain aspects of the way the show's mythology is unfolding. ETA: Additional notes follow the ficlet. Meta.
Summary Dean's prayer is answered.
Slipped a River of Pity
The air was cold.
By the Impala, Dean looked at his bottle. It wasn't enough.
To the sky, he said, "Please... I can't... I need some help. Please."
In little time, the sky gave answer.
A woman appeared, smiling gently. Plump, her dark hair pulled back loosely, she wore a full red dress and a light blue scarf. As she approached, he saw that she wasn't much older than he was.
"I've come to help," she said.
Hope and disbelief battered against the walls of his ribcage. "Are you an angel?" he asked.
"No," she said with a soft laugh.
"What, a demon?"
"No," she said again.
Dean had little battle left in him. "Just tell me what you are."
For a divine creature, or a supernatural one at least, she seemed oddly alive: robust, bright and emanating heat. Dean was struck with the impression that even her skin was fecund, that her gaze could impregnate stone.
She looked like life.
She smiled, a little sadly, and said, "I'm just an old soul."
"I don't understand," Dean replied. Already, her presence had sent sweet waves of peace washing over him, but he needed more.
"Your cry woke me from a long slumber." She glanced around then, her smile faltering. "If only I'd woken sooner--" She caught herself, shook her head and looked back at Dean. "Going backwards is pointless."
It wasn't enough. "Did... Did God send you?"
She huffed a laugh. "No one sent me, Dean. I just came." She took a step toward him and continued, "You don't need God anyway. You just need me."
Smiling brightly now, she offered him her hand. "I'll take care of you, sunshine, you and your Sammy."
Dean took her hand, and they began the walk back to Bobby's house.
Her hand was warm.
*
Additional Notes
The title was drawn from lines of Anne Carson's poem, "The Book of Isaiah", from Glass, Irony and God. The poem is too long to share here in its entirety, but the relevant lines are near the end:
Still some nights through his dreams slipped a river of milk.
A river of silver, a river of pity.
In the poem, Isaiah and God have a powerful but difficult relationship, a bizarre contract. In one part, Isaiah's nation is on fire. God exhorts him to save it.
Okay, said Isaiah, I save the nation. What do you do?
God exhaled roughly.
I save the fire, said God.
*
I wanted to leave the woman character's identity open to interpretation, and I invite readers to make of her what they wish. However, now I want to share the roots of her creation in this wee fic:
I'm having a lot of trouble with aspects of the newer elements of the show's mythology. If it's all entirely and specifically predestined, then is God just a fucking bastard? So, there's a God who made this brutal and detailed plan for the unfolding of time and all the beings in it - then disappeared? Or is he moving his chess pieces cruelly still? - angels who are hateful, violent and manipulative, a devil, and a bunch of demons.
Where are the women? I love this show, but its use of women characters has often been troubling. And what do we have now? Only one female angel - who was so freaking drippy from the start - who turned out to be a foe to be slain.
If this is the mythology we have, then I want the Mother of God to sweep in and clean up this fucking mess. And I want her to be pissed. Not the Patriarch's ethereal virgin doe, lying passive while awaiting instruction, but the Great Mother, the Intercessor who pleads with Heaven and aids those whom God has forsaken, Our Lady of Sorrows, of Mercy, the human soul with an Immaculate Heart, who prays for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
Women can have power without it being evil, Show.