[Fic] The Woman Who Made Mothers
God and the Darkness discuss the gifts she gave to Dean. 12x05 "The One You've Been Waiting For" tag...sorta. Definitely crackfic.
Alternate title: "Where did all this pie come from??!" Because guys, it's been five episodes and there's been so much pie. There is clearly something afoot.
The Woman Who Made Mothers
They are on a black beach, stars under the water like giant gaseous fish.
"I left Dean with a gift," says the Darkness. Her dress is the water and God's breath is the breeze upon it.
He blows hard enough to make the stars scatter into new constellations. He says, "That's kind of you."
He's never been much for small talk, but given the givens it might be better if they stick to small stuff for a while--the tiniest, the most infinitesimal. Maybe He should have brought a book with Him, or a crossword. It's hard to think small in a place like this.
"No, it wasn't kind," says the Darkness, abruptly, as though She'd been in the midst of measuring Her actions carefully, seeing if they fit such a word. "I was merely seeking balance. I wanted to reciprocate."
"Okay, I'll bite," says God. "What did you give him? A cat sweater? A gift card? Witty coffee mug?"
The Darkness frowns. She kicks her legs in the water. "I saw inside his heart. So I gave Dean his heart."
And this is a secret, but God is scared of Her sometimes; He always has been. When God created humanity, and free will, He created the ghost in the machine--languages He'd have to learn and emotions that He could not feel. Desires He himself had never entertained. He'd created artists to make art at which even He could marvel. So as a rule, God doesn't mess with hearts. He accepts them when they're offered, and kisses them when asked, but that's it. He can't begin to imagine what the Darkness means by that.
"It wasn't difficult," says the Darkness.
And this--this is why God fears Her.
"What did you give him?" God asks again, more tentatively this time. He hates the idea that She might have learned to make what humans make. It damaged the prestige of the thing--prestige He'd worked millennia to build.
He needn't have worried.
"I gave him his mother," answers the Darkness, quite simply. "Also, pie."
"His mo-- You mean Mary?! And pie? Like, pie pie?"
"Yes. I gave Dean Winchester his mother and pie."
"His mother. And… pie. That's subtle. That's, uh--"
"Do you disapprove?"
"Oh! No way, not at all. I mean, you do you, right?" God reassures her, chuckling weakly. "Like, one pie? Did Mary come bearing a merengue?"
The Darkness frowns again. "A single pie would not have been demonstrative of my power."
God sighs, and thinks for a moment--about the Winchester Gospel, the nature of Apocalypse. The invention of archetype. The complexities of the human heart, and the brilliance of humanity. He thinks about pie. He thinks about a lot of pie.
Just--gratuitous amounts of pie. An inundation, even.
"Well, Amara," says God. Because as much as it pains Him to admit it, they're definitely related. "I guess that is kind of the family aesthetic."
Amara smiles, and the stars gather bright beneath her feet.
Alternate title: "Where did all this pie come from??!" Because guys, it's been five episodes and there's been so much pie. There is clearly something afoot.
The Woman Who Made Mothers
They are on a black beach, stars under the water like giant gaseous fish.
"I left Dean with a gift," says the Darkness. Her dress is the water and God's breath is the breeze upon it.
He blows hard enough to make the stars scatter into new constellations. He says, "That's kind of you."
He's never been much for small talk, but given the givens it might be better if they stick to small stuff for a while--the tiniest, the most infinitesimal. Maybe He should have brought a book with Him, or a crossword. It's hard to think small in a place like this.
"No, it wasn't kind," says the Darkness, abruptly, as though She'd been in the midst of measuring Her actions carefully, seeing if they fit such a word. "I was merely seeking balance. I wanted to reciprocate."
"Okay, I'll bite," says God. "What did you give him? A cat sweater? A gift card? Witty coffee mug?"
The Darkness frowns. She kicks her legs in the water. "I saw inside his heart. So I gave Dean his heart."
And this is a secret, but God is scared of Her sometimes; He always has been. When God created humanity, and free will, He created the ghost in the machine--languages He'd have to learn and emotions that He could not feel. Desires He himself had never entertained. He'd created artists to make art at which even He could marvel. So as a rule, God doesn't mess with hearts. He accepts them when they're offered, and kisses them when asked, but that's it. He can't begin to imagine what the Darkness means by that.
"It wasn't difficult," says the Darkness.
And this--this is why God fears Her.
"What did you give him?" God asks again, more tentatively this time. He hates the idea that She might have learned to make what humans make. It damaged the prestige of the thing--prestige He'd worked millennia to build.
He needn't have worried.
"I gave him his mother," answers the Darkness, quite simply. "Also, pie."
"His mo-- You mean Mary?! And pie? Like, pie pie?"
"Yes. I gave Dean Winchester his mother and pie."
"His mother. And… pie. That's subtle. That's, uh--"
"Do you disapprove?"
"Oh! No way, not at all. I mean, you do you, right?" God reassures her, chuckling weakly. "Like, one pie? Did Mary come bearing a merengue?"
The Darkness frowns again. "A single pie would not have been demonstrative of my power."
God sighs, and thinks for a moment--about the Winchester Gospel, the nature of Apocalypse. The invention of archetype. The complexities of the human heart, and the brilliance of humanity. He thinks about pie. He thinks about a lot of pie.
Just--gratuitous amounts of pie. An inundation, even.
"Well, Amara," says God. Because as much as it pains Him to admit it, they're definitely related. "I guess that is kind of the family aesthetic."
Amara smiles, and the stars gather bright beneath her feet.