Burn so brightly: The Untold tales: 01
Elfladyarwen wondered if I could post the discarded scenes here on livejournal as well as on tumblr, and that I can:
Not sure if there is any kind of market for this, but I thought I would share some discarded bits from "Burn so Brightly", so you guys can see how the story has evolved over time.
For one thing, instead of self-mutilation in chapter 5, there was supposed to be wing-grooming, as per the common rules of wing-fic. Alas, I couldn't decide how it would play out, and eventually went in another direction entirely. What remains in the published chapter is the idea that Castiel's wings are made of grace, and so to touch them is to be in contact with his true form. What follows below is one of the many, many versions of the inevitable "mind meld" when Sam and Dean try to rub oil into Castiel's wings.
Castiel’s little hands were suddenly on his face, blue eyes burning into him. Dean’s stomach dropped, and he seemed to plunge into himself, barreling on, pushed by white light, a roaring storm of grace that tasted like every silent look he and Castiel had ever shared.
Sam grabbed the angel’s hands and tried to pry them off, but Castiel turned smoothly and reached out and touched and then Sam was locked in the circle too, mind opening up to them, making it a stream of three collective consciousnesses.
Sam’s mind was no more a pleasant place to be than Dean’s. Barren vistas stretched in every direction, the sky was on fire, and everything was muted as if Dean’s eyes and ears were full of cotton.
Along this landscape, Castiel blazed, white light pouring over cracked, wounded ground. He vibrated restlessly in this space, uncertain of his welcome, until Sam spoke, his mind reaching out to envelop the angel. Dean watched, helpless to move or speak, unable to summon control of his own self the way Sam had managed. He watched with fear and hunger as the blighted, black trees of Sam’s mind wrapped their branches around Castiel and pressed him lovingly to the ground.
Forgiveness, Sam was saying. Welcome. Belonging.
Dean whimpered, feeling like he was being torn open by his own emotions. He sank to the ground, sank into it, and at once dreaded the immersion and loved it, needing to be one with his little brother, but needing also to escape the burning sky that reminded him of a stretch of forty years.
The trees came to him then and lifted him up, and dragged his prone self into the white light, laying him down on Castiel. Grace licked his skin, burned and froze him, worshiped every broken, bleeding inch of his life.
Love, the light said.
Love, the trees said.
Like peeling away layers of clothing they opened him up, dipping their awareness into the depths of him. Beyond the man who drank himself to sleep and struggled to remember the faces of the women he slept with, beyond the saint straining under the burden of a crumbling world, beyond the bloodstained sinner cowering and laughing under cruel teachers in Hell, and beyond the soldier who would always feel too small in his father’s shoes. Sam and Castiel found the place in Dean Winchester where he loved, and they shook with joy to find their images mirrored there.
Dean felt like he was on the rack, chest cut open and pumping muscle exposed.
Then the sky rent in two and Dean was flung upwards. He slammed into his own body with enough force to make him fall back and hit his head against the tiled wall.
Not sure if there is any kind of market for this, but I thought I would share some discarded bits from "Burn so Brightly", so you guys can see how the story has evolved over time.
For one thing, instead of self-mutilation in chapter 5, there was supposed to be wing-grooming, as per the common rules of wing-fic. Alas, I couldn't decide how it would play out, and eventually went in another direction entirely. What remains in the published chapter is the idea that Castiel's wings are made of grace, and so to touch them is to be in contact with his true form. What follows below is one of the many, many versions of the inevitable "mind meld" when Sam and Dean try to rub oil into Castiel's wings.
Castiel’s little hands were suddenly on his face, blue eyes burning into him. Dean’s stomach dropped, and he seemed to plunge into himself, barreling on, pushed by white light, a roaring storm of grace that tasted like every silent look he and Castiel had ever shared.
Sam grabbed the angel’s hands and tried to pry them off, but Castiel turned smoothly and reached out and touched and then Sam was locked in the circle too, mind opening up to them, making it a stream of three collective consciousnesses.
Sam’s mind was no more a pleasant place to be than Dean’s. Barren vistas stretched in every direction, the sky was on fire, and everything was muted as if Dean’s eyes and ears were full of cotton.
Along this landscape, Castiel blazed, white light pouring over cracked, wounded ground. He vibrated restlessly in this space, uncertain of his welcome, until Sam spoke, his mind reaching out to envelop the angel. Dean watched, helpless to move or speak, unable to summon control of his own self the way Sam had managed. He watched with fear and hunger as the blighted, black trees of Sam’s mind wrapped their branches around Castiel and pressed him lovingly to the ground.
Forgiveness, Sam was saying. Welcome. Belonging.
Dean whimpered, feeling like he was being torn open by his own emotions. He sank to the ground, sank into it, and at once dreaded the immersion and loved it, needing to be one with his little brother, but needing also to escape the burning sky that reminded him of a stretch of forty years.
The trees came to him then and lifted him up, and dragged his prone self into the white light, laying him down on Castiel. Grace licked his skin, burned and froze him, worshiped every broken, bleeding inch of his life.
Love, the light said.
Love, the trees said.
Like peeling away layers of clothing they opened him up, dipping their awareness into the depths of him. Beyond the man who drank himself to sleep and struggled to remember the faces of the women he slept with, beyond the saint straining under the burden of a crumbling world, beyond the bloodstained sinner cowering and laughing under cruel teachers in Hell, and beyond the soldier who would always feel too small in his father’s shoes. Sam and Castiel found the place in Dean Winchester where he loved, and they shook with joy to find their images mirrored there.
Dean felt like he was on the rack, chest cut open and pumping muscle exposed.
Then the sky rent in two and Dean was flung upwards. He slammed into his own body with enough force to make him fall back and hit his head against the tiled wall.