The Apotheosis of Wile E. Coyote, SPN S3, part 49/?
Title: The Apotheosis of Wile E. Coyote
Author: nwhepcat
Fandom: Supernatural, gen;
Rating R (probable)
Spoilers: Set shortly after S3 "Mystery Spot," but spoilery for S4 "Heaven and Hell"
Summary: Even with the clock ticking toward death and hell, Dean insists on taking on a routine job. It's anything but routine when he finds something he's not meant to discover, and things get a great deal more complicated.
Disclaimer: So not mine, and it is a sadness.
Warnings: Language, h/c, psychosis
Previous parts are here.
Seriously? Dean thinks. His passenger who has the power to teleport finally wakes up, and this is what it comes up with? Kneeling?
Suddenly glass showers over him from the overhead light, the kitchen windows and the glass-fronted cabinets. It must be making a helluva noise, but it's swallowed by the sound of Castiel's voice.
Holy shit, he's never heard anything like it.
But he has.
It's complex and beautiful and terrifying, almost like music, but no kind of music he's ever heard.
Like home.
The voice calls a name he knows must be his, but it's not in any human language, because he is not human. He folds in on himself, low to the ground to signify his submission, palms pressed flat on the floor, heedless of the broken glass. He cries out for mercy
and that just pisses Dean off. He raises his head and feels his face go slack with terror. This thing has as much in common with the sweet and girly Christmas tree angels as Godzilla has with Michigan J. Frog.
If Godzilla were made of light and beautiful in an otherworldly way.
Fighting his passenger's attempt to compel him to grovel, Dean feels a thread of blood trickle from his nose. He nods toward the circle of flame. "Nice Johnny Cash impression. What else have you got?"
His passenger doesn't think much of that. He hurls Dean back into an impossibly small space, this time allowing him -- forcing him -- to witness his interview with the angel.
Bowing his head once more, he begs for forgiveness and mercy, knowing he will never be permitted to ask these of the Father he has offended.
"You know there is no forgiveness for what you have done," the other answers. "You placed your will above that of our Father. Was it worth it to walk among men for a handful of decades? Was it worth abandoning your post and your brethren? Turning your back on your garrison?"
"Begging your forgiveness, but it has been but a few days since I awakened. I woke when you touched me, and found myself in this body." Allowing himself a glimpse at the presence before him, he whispers, "Is this what I was?"
Grief and shame surge through him like flood waters, even before the affirmative answer.
"You do not remember?"
"I was torn from my home," he says, and the savage pain of that violation sears him along with the memory. "I was torn ... in two." Horror and desolation and then nothingness. "It was not my choice, but if --" Tears streak his face. "If you are here to kill me, I submit freely. It would be an act of mercy."
Author: nwhepcat
Fandom: Supernatural, gen;
Rating R (probable)
Spoilers: Set shortly after S3 "Mystery Spot," but spoilery for S4 "Heaven and Hell"
Summary: Even with the clock ticking toward death and hell, Dean insists on taking on a routine job. It's anything but routine when he finds something he's not meant to discover, and things get a great deal more complicated.
Disclaimer: So not mine, and it is a sadness.
Warnings: Language, h/c, psychosis
Previous parts are here.
Seriously? Dean thinks. His passenger who has the power to teleport finally wakes up, and this is what it comes up with? Kneeling?
Suddenly glass showers over him from the overhead light, the kitchen windows and the glass-fronted cabinets. It must be making a helluva noise, but it's swallowed by the sound of Castiel's voice.
Holy shit, he's never heard anything like it.
But he has.
It's complex and beautiful and terrifying, almost like music, but no kind of music he's ever heard.
Like home.
The voice calls a name he knows must be his, but it's not in any human language, because he is not human. He folds in on himself, low to the ground to signify his submission, palms pressed flat on the floor, heedless of the broken glass. He cries out for mercy
and that just pisses Dean off. He raises his head and feels his face go slack with terror. This thing has as much in common with the sweet and girly Christmas tree angels as Godzilla has with Michigan J. Frog.
If Godzilla were made of light and beautiful in an otherworldly way.
Fighting his passenger's attempt to compel him to grovel, Dean feels a thread of blood trickle from his nose. He nods toward the circle of flame. "Nice Johnny Cash impression. What else have you got?"
His passenger doesn't think much of that. He hurls Dean back into an impossibly small space, this time allowing him -- forcing him -- to witness his interview with the angel.
Bowing his head once more, he begs for forgiveness and mercy, knowing he will never be permitted to ask these of the Father he has offended.
"You know there is no forgiveness for what you have done," the other answers. "You placed your will above that of our Father. Was it worth it to walk among men for a handful of decades? Was it worth abandoning your post and your brethren? Turning your back on your garrison?"
"Begging your forgiveness, but it has been but a few days since I awakened. I woke when you touched me, and found myself in this body." Allowing himself a glimpse at the presence before him, he whispers, "Is this what I was?"
Grief and shame surge through him like flood waters, even before the affirmative answer.
"You do not remember?"
"I was torn from my home," he says, and the savage pain of that violation sears him along with the memory. "I was torn ... in two." Horror and desolation and then nothingness. "It was not my choice, but if --" Tears streak his face. "If you are here to kill me, I submit freely. It would be an act of mercy."