Big Bang '10 - One Hundred Percent Reason to Remember [epilogue]
Masterlist
Previous
"Enough." Castiel's voice is low, commanding. There's something almost like a feeling curling through him, and if he were human, he might call it rage. Wrath is the closest thing he knows, that he is allowed to know. Uriel has gone too far. He believes this is a game, that nothing rests on the outcome but the resolution of their disagreement. But the Winchesters have a part to play in the coming war, enough of a part that sending them to their deaths and disrupting the Lord's plan is close to blasphemy.
Uriel steps back, surprised by Castiel's reaction, and lifts his hands. "They are just human, Castiel! Human sinners, at that! Why do you care so much? Have you gone soft?" he spits, his voice defensive. He doesn't believe his superior has turned into this-this-creature who can't see far enough to understand that plagues like Sam and Dean Winchester are better off dead and buried than allowed to go around spewing their poisonous actions and feelings on the world.
Not like he really cares about what happens to the world, after all, but it's the principle of the thing. He can't and won't admit that inferior specimens like those are the ones with the fate of their whole existence laying on their incestuous shoulders. Uriel grimaces at the thought.
Life can't be so unfair, God can't be so unfair.
"We've been over this countless times, Uriel. They are part of His plan, and we cannot question it." Has it not been proven, over and over, that the Winchesters truly do love each other? And love is a pure thing, the greatest of their father's creations. "We might not agree with their methods, but you cannot deny that they love each other. It isn't lust, it isn't perversion. They were created for this purpose." That is the end of it, because Castiel's point has been made and executed perfectly; there's no way Uriel can be blind to it.
Uriel opens and closes his mouth, looking for the right words to say, but in the end he just clenches both his jaw and his fists and lowers his head. He can't deny what they have seen again and again: the bond between the Winchesters runs way deeper than he expected, and it could both be an asset...or a liability. Which one depends only on them.
And their enemies, of course. He swallows and mutters something.
"Are you conceding?" Castiel asks, grateful that Uriel is finally able to see that they cannot tamper with what the Lord has made. They are only warriors, and they are not meant to question orders, not as the Morning Star did. Perhaps he's been spending too much time with Dean Winchester, because he adds, "I believe that means I win."
Uriel narrows his eyes and stares at Castiel, his expression dark and unreadable, but doesn't contradict him. It's not like he really has a choice here; after all, the Winchesters showing what filthy, sick creatures they are only gave him even more reasons to remember why he hates the human race so much.
Castiel's lips twitch in what's the pale imitation of a smug grin, as the angel claps his hands together and stands up from the chair he was sitting in. "Very well," he says. "All that's left now it's to tell the Winchesters they have gained an ally in their crusade."
And with a last glance towards Uriel, he's gone. As the flutter of wings fades away, Uriel smirks.
If he has any say in it, the Winchesters will be each other's weak spot, and their enemies will take advantage of it. For a moment he feels almost sorry for stomping on Castiel's beliefs and good will, but they're at war and there are no friends or brothers or whatever it is that humans pretend to find solace in.
Castiel simplifies too much: he doesn't realize that it isn't that easy. No matter how pure the love the other angel thinks he has spotted in the Winchesters, they are an abomination upon the Lord God, and if someone doesn't stop them they will turn into the worst scum that has ever set foot on the planet.
Their father created these creatures, He even loves these creatures and no matter how much Uriel disagrees with Him, he intends to do something to fix it so that God doesn't have to cope with such a disappointment.
And if you stand in my way, Brother, I'll do something about you too.
Castiel locates the Winchesters at a motel in Eastwick, Rhode Island. When he appears, they startle as they always do when he appears without first announcing his presence; they appear to be in the middle of one of Castiel's least-favorite human necessities, Styrofoam containers filled with food spread between them on the small motel table.
"I apologize for the interruption. I promise it won't take long," he says, because he's learned that it's polite, and at their blank expressions, adds, "I come bearing a message from the host of Heaven."
"... okay?" Dean says, and raises his eyebrows in an expression that Castiel hasn't learned to read yet. He thinks it means that he's supposed to continue.
"I'm meant to tell you that God and His angels approve of your love, and that you will not be judged for the unconventional ways in which it chooses to manifest. That is all."
With that, Castiel is flying, and a rapturous feeling envelops him. The love between the Winchesters has provided him with all the reasons to remember his faith in the human race; after all he has seen, it's kind of inevitable.
Silence falls on Sam and Dean, and it stays like that for a while. They don't speak, or eat, still sort of trying to understand what just happened. After a good handful of minutes, Dean clears his throat awkwardly.
"So," he starts, without looking at Sam and not even sure why should he be ashamed.
"So," Sam echoes, picking at his napkin.
Dean has never been patient. "What the hell was that about?" he snaps, and Sam's looks up, almost offended.
"Why am I the one who is supposed to know? You are the angel whisperer, not me!" he points out, and Dean rolls his eyes.
"I'm asking you, college boy, because you always have all the answers," he explains, slow, as if he's talking to someone really stupid. "Man, that must come in handy for the Trivial Pursuit."
Sam huffs. "How would you know that? It's not like you've ever played," he retorts, and Dean makes a petulant noise.
They keep bantering like that until dinner is cold in their plates, and even though they're throwing insults at each other they have to force themselves not to grin, because this is them. This is something they know, something that will never change no matter how fucked up their lives are going to get with all the angels-and-demons crap.
They know they can always come back to this, this intimacy of knowing how to hit each other's buttons and still be sure that the other will never really hurt them. Sam and Dean don't often think about what all of that means, or when exactly they stopped imagining the perfect girl to grow old with and started painting a future where the two of them are sitting so close their knees brush together as they enjoy a cold beer.
It's a simple dream, probably even a little too simple, but for them it means peace, safety, home. They are each other's home, and everything else is just details.
FIN
Notes: First off, the technical stuff - Part 3 was based on Ten Inch Hero, Part 6 was based off of a plot from Grey's Anatomy and Part 7 was inspired by the song Jueves by La Oreja de Van Gogh. The title and overall structure was inspired by the song Remember the Name by Fort Minor.
And now that's done... I am glad to see this beast finished. There are parts of it I'm still not entirely fond of, but there are also parts that I love. It balances out. thruterryseyes 's art is amazing, and really pulls everything together. <3 Plus, I don't think I'd ever have gotten through the past week without the wonderful support from my f-list. Love you guys. <3
Previous
"Enough." Castiel's voice is low, commanding. There's something almost like a feeling curling through him, and if he were human, he might call it rage. Wrath is the closest thing he knows, that he is allowed to know. Uriel has gone too far. He believes this is a game, that nothing rests on the outcome but the resolution of their disagreement. But the Winchesters have a part to play in the coming war, enough of a part that sending them to their deaths and disrupting the Lord's plan is close to blasphemy.
Uriel steps back, surprised by Castiel's reaction, and lifts his hands. "They are just human, Castiel! Human sinners, at that! Why do you care so much? Have you gone soft?" he spits, his voice defensive. He doesn't believe his superior has turned into this-this-creature who can't see far enough to understand that plagues like Sam and Dean Winchester are better off dead and buried than allowed to go around spewing their poisonous actions and feelings on the world.
Not like he really cares about what happens to the world, after all, but it's the principle of the thing. He can't and won't admit that inferior specimens like those are the ones with the fate of their whole existence laying on their incestuous shoulders. Uriel grimaces at the thought.
Life can't be so unfair, God can't be so unfair.
"We've been over this countless times, Uriel. They are part of His plan, and we cannot question it." Has it not been proven, over and over, that the Winchesters truly do love each other? And love is a pure thing, the greatest of their father's creations. "We might not agree with their methods, but you cannot deny that they love each other. It isn't lust, it isn't perversion. They were created for this purpose." That is the end of it, because Castiel's point has been made and executed perfectly; there's no way Uriel can be blind to it.
Uriel opens and closes his mouth, looking for the right words to say, but in the end he just clenches both his jaw and his fists and lowers his head. He can't deny what they have seen again and again: the bond between the Winchesters runs way deeper than he expected, and it could both be an asset...or a liability. Which one depends only on them.
And their enemies, of course. He swallows and mutters something.
"Are you conceding?" Castiel asks, grateful that Uriel is finally able to see that they cannot tamper with what the Lord has made. They are only warriors, and they are not meant to question orders, not as the Morning Star did. Perhaps he's been spending too much time with Dean Winchester, because he adds, "I believe that means I win."
Uriel narrows his eyes and stares at Castiel, his expression dark and unreadable, but doesn't contradict him. It's not like he really has a choice here; after all, the Winchesters showing what filthy, sick creatures they are only gave him even more reasons to remember why he hates the human race so much.
Castiel's lips twitch in what's the pale imitation of a smug grin, as the angel claps his hands together and stands up from the chair he was sitting in. "Very well," he says. "All that's left now it's to tell the Winchesters they have gained an ally in their crusade."
And with a last glance towards Uriel, he's gone. As the flutter of wings fades away, Uriel smirks.
If he has any say in it, the Winchesters will be each other's weak spot, and their enemies will take advantage of it. For a moment he feels almost sorry for stomping on Castiel's beliefs and good will, but they're at war and there are no friends or brothers or whatever it is that humans pretend to find solace in.
Castiel simplifies too much: he doesn't realize that it isn't that easy. No matter how pure the love the other angel thinks he has spotted in the Winchesters, they are an abomination upon the Lord God, and if someone doesn't stop them they will turn into the worst scum that has ever set foot on the planet.
Their father created these creatures, He even loves these creatures and no matter how much Uriel disagrees with Him, he intends to do something to fix it so that God doesn't have to cope with such a disappointment.
And if you stand in my way, Brother, I'll do something about you too.
Castiel locates the Winchesters at a motel in Eastwick, Rhode Island. When he appears, they startle as they always do when he appears without first announcing his presence; they appear to be in the middle of one of Castiel's least-favorite human necessities, Styrofoam containers filled with food spread between them on the small motel table.
"I apologize for the interruption. I promise it won't take long," he says, because he's learned that it's polite, and at their blank expressions, adds, "I come bearing a message from the host of Heaven."
"... okay?" Dean says, and raises his eyebrows in an expression that Castiel hasn't learned to read yet. He thinks it means that he's supposed to continue.
"I'm meant to tell you that God and His angels approve of your love, and that you will not be judged for the unconventional ways in which it chooses to manifest. That is all."
With that, Castiel is flying, and a rapturous feeling envelops him. The love between the Winchesters has provided him with all the reasons to remember his faith in the human race; after all he has seen, it's kind of inevitable.
Silence falls on Sam and Dean, and it stays like that for a while. They don't speak, or eat, still sort of trying to understand what just happened. After a good handful of minutes, Dean clears his throat awkwardly.
"So," he starts, without looking at Sam and not even sure why should he be ashamed.
"So," Sam echoes, picking at his napkin.
Dean has never been patient. "What the hell was that about?" he snaps, and Sam's looks up, almost offended.
"Why am I the one who is supposed to know? You are the angel whisperer, not me!" he points out, and Dean rolls his eyes.
"I'm asking you, college boy, because you always have all the answers," he explains, slow, as if he's talking to someone really stupid. "Man, that must come in handy for the Trivial Pursuit."
Sam huffs. "How would you know that? It's not like you've ever played," he retorts, and Dean makes a petulant noise.
They keep bantering like that until dinner is cold in their plates, and even though they're throwing insults at each other they have to force themselves not to grin, because this is them. This is something they know, something that will never change no matter how fucked up their lives are going to get with all the angels-and-demons crap.
They know they can always come back to this, this intimacy of knowing how to hit each other's buttons and still be sure that the other will never really hurt them. Sam and Dean don't often think about what all of that means, or when exactly they stopped imagining the perfect girl to grow old with and started painting a future where the two of them are sitting so close their knees brush together as they enjoy a cold beer.
It's a simple dream, probably even a little too simple, but for them it means peace, safety, home. They are each other's home, and everything else is just details.
FIN
Notes: First off, the technical stuff - Part 3 was based on Ten Inch Hero, Part 6 was based off of a plot from Grey's Anatomy and Part 7 was inspired by the song Jueves by La Oreja de Van Gogh. The title and overall structure was inspired by the song Remember the Name by Fort Minor.
And now that's done... I am glad to see this beast finished. There are parts of it I'm still not entirely fond of, but there are also parts that I love. It balances out. thruterryseyes 's art is amazing, and really pulls everything together. <3 Plus, I don't think I'd ever have gotten through the past week without the wonderful support from my f-list. Love you guys. <3