Living on a Prayer, BtVS/SPN, part 1/approx 30 (story complete)
Living on a Prayer
Mature
nwhepcat
Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel, Faith Lehane
Follow up to
Like the White-Winged Dove and Waiting for the end of the World. Also, Vessel becomes relevant.
Faith has a slayer dream which sends her on a reluctant journey to her old territory, on a quest to save a new ally.
Spoilers through SPN 4.10 "Heaven and Hell," incorporates world-building details revealed since.
Crossposted to spn_castiel
The last three nights, Faith has been dreaming about an angel. Not a live one, not like Castiel, but the stained glass one she used to stare at in church when she was little. Long, flowing golden hair, white robes with an emerald cloak, red and purple wings. Fierce and commanding, he held a sword at the ready.
When Monsignor Strynkowski's sermons got a little too laced with brimstone, Faith used to gaze at the angel. She's not sure now whether she wanted him to rescue her, or just wanted to be him. A little of both, probably.
The first night, she figures it has to do with everything that's been happening lately. The whole dying thing, and her fevered certainty that she was in hell, which reminded her of Monsignor Strynkowski. Hanging out with an angel. Her unconscious mind's just processing some pretty strange and heavy shit, that's all.
She has the dream a second night, and this time, when she wakes up in the morning, she considers the possibility that it's just a massive diversion of inappropriate thoughts (more confusions than thoughts) about Castiel. Because now that she thinks of it, she has a pretty good idea that the stained glass angel was the focus of a major crush back in the day, vaguely sexual thoughts without specifics, because she was long over going to church by the time she knew any of the details.
It's not until the third night that she realizes it's a slayer dream. This time the angel is on his knees, and the robes are drenched in red. A stained glass three-headed demon stands over him, the angel's sword in one clawed hand, his severed wing in the other.
Frozen in the moment when the angel awaits the death blow, nothing in the stained glass image moves -- except for the blood. It emerges from the glass as rubies, dripping in a stream from the window, skittering along the cold marble floor.
***
That third night she sits bolt upright in bed, gasping. It's Dean who's instantly awake in the next bed, reaching under his pillow.
"Stand down, dude," she tells him. "Just a dream."
"Yeah, sure," he says. He fumbles with the chain pull on the bedside lamp.
Sammy's still sprawled on the extra bed, dead to the world. It's the big brother who's attuned to the smallest sound of distress.
"Y'alright?"
She doesn't bother lying; her hand shakes as she reaches for the water she left on the night stand. "Slayer dream," she says.
"One of those psychic ones," he says, with just a trace of disapproval in his tone.
"Yeah. Though they could come with a goddamn key or something. I fuckin' hate puzzles." She throws back the covers and pulls on her jeans and jacket, shoves her bare feet into her boots. "I need a smoke."
Dawn isn't even a glimmer on the horizon yet. The windows of the other rooms are blank and dark, except for a couple with the flickering blue shadows of a television in an unlit room. The motel sign washes the parking lot in a green and red glow; it's close enough she can hear the buzz and snap of the neon.
Dean gives her a couple of minutes before he joins her. "This one really got to you."
He's seen her after the others; nothing escapes him. Faith wonders if he's ever had a full night's sleep.
"When I was little, my ma used to ship me off with a neighbor on Sunday mornings to go to church. Gave her a little guaranteed quiet time to deal with the aftereffects of Saturday night."
She lets that hang there a moment, and Dean doesn't ask her what that has to do with anything. He just waits for her to tell it how she wants to tell it.
"The church had these stained glass windows. There was one I liked to look at when I was bored or upset, a warrior angel. I hadn't thought about it for years."
"It was in your dream?"
"For the past three nights. The first two, it was just the way I remembered it. The sun behind it, lighting up those colors like jewels. Tonight, though -- the angel was dying. A demon had his sword, and his wing --" It's just a dream, just a picture in glass, but a knot rises in her throat as if she's talking about the death of Giles, maybe -- someone distant and hard to know, but important. "Kickass prophetic dream, huh? Helpful as fuck."
"How do they usually go?"
Grinding her cigarette under her boot heel, she says, "About like that." She shakes another from the pack and fires it up. "So tell me," she says on a stream of smoke. "Angels can die, can't they?"
"Yeah." Dean's voice sounds sandpapery. "They can. It takes a lot."
Ah, shit. "You've seen it."
"No. No. But Castiel -- there was a moment when I thought --"
The knot in her throat aches with a sudden fierceness. "What the fuck can do that?"
"Demon."
"I've seen him fight demons. He shreds 'em."
"This wasn't just any demon. High-ranking mofo from hell."
"What happened?"
"I clocked the sonofabitch."
"You killed it?"
"I interrupted it. It got ... sucked into some kind of celestial blowback. It's gone, and I hope to hell it's dead."
"Do you know how to make that happen again?"
"No."
She watches a light come on in a room across the parking lot, vague shadows of movement against the curtains. "I'm out of my depth here. The Powers That Be have sent a churchmouse to fight a dragon."
"Powers That Be?"
"Friend of mine used to call 'em that. Whatever moves us around like chess pieces and knocks a few off the board whenever things get rough. How can -- Castiel could be anywhere on earth and a few places that aren't."
"Maybe there's another way of interpreting this," Dean says. "Maybe it's pointing you toward that church. Could be Lilith's demons will try to open a seal there."
"How the hell do we know? We can't slip up."
"We get Sammy on the case. There are signs and portents when something big's coming. He'll find 'em."
The neon sign snaps and buzzes. She thinks about the sound of rubies dropping on marble.
"Yeah. Okay." She drops her cigarette and flattens it underfoot, then turns to go back inside.
Mature
nwhepcat
Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel, Faith Lehane
Follow up to
Like the White-Winged Dove and Waiting for the end of the World. Also, Vessel becomes relevant.
Faith has a slayer dream which sends her on a reluctant journey to her old territory, on a quest to save a new ally.
Spoilers through SPN 4.10 "Heaven and Hell," incorporates world-building details revealed since.
Crossposted to spn_castiel
The last three nights, Faith has been dreaming about an angel. Not a live one, not like Castiel, but the stained glass one she used to stare at in church when she was little. Long, flowing golden hair, white robes with an emerald cloak, red and purple wings. Fierce and commanding, he held a sword at the ready.
When Monsignor Strynkowski's sermons got a little too laced with brimstone, Faith used to gaze at the angel. She's not sure now whether she wanted him to rescue her, or just wanted to be him. A little of both, probably.
The first night, she figures it has to do with everything that's been happening lately. The whole dying thing, and her fevered certainty that she was in hell, which reminded her of Monsignor Strynkowski. Hanging out with an angel. Her unconscious mind's just processing some pretty strange and heavy shit, that's all.
She has the dream a second night, and this time, when she wakes up in the morning, she considers the possibility that it's just a massive diversion of inappropriate thoughts (more confusions than thoughts) about Castiel. Because now that she thinks of it, she has a pretty good idea that the stained glass angel was the focus of a major crush back in the day, vaguely sexual thoughts without specifics, because she was long over going to church by the time she knew any of the details.
It's not until the third night that she realizes it's a slayer dream. This time the angel is on his knees, and the robes are drenched in red. A stained glass three-headed demon stands over him, the angel's sword in one clawed hand, his severed wing in the other.
Frozen in the moment when the angel awaits the death blow, nothing in the stained glass image moves -- except for the blood. It emerges from the glass as rubies, dripping in a stream from the window, skittering along the cold marble floor.
***
That third night she sits bolt upright in bed, gasping. It's Dean who's instantly awake in the next bed, reaching under his pillow.
"Stand down, dude," she tells him. "Just a dream."
"Yeah, sure," he says. He fumbles with the chain pull on the bedside lamp.
Sammy's still sprawled on the extra bed, dead to the world. It's the big brother who's attuned to the smallest sound of distress.
"Y'alright?"
She doesn't bother lying; her hand shakes as she reaches for the water she left on the night stand. "Slayer dream," she says.
"One of those psychic ones," he says, with just a trace of disapproval in his tone.
"Yeah. Though they could come with a goddamn key or something. I fuckin' hate puzzles." She throws back the covers and pulls on her jeans and jacket, shoves her bare feet into her boots. "I need a smoke."
Dawn isn't even a glimmer on the horizon yet. The windows of the other rooms are blank and dark, except for a couple with the flickering blue shadows of a television in an unlit room. The motel sign washes the parking lot in a green and red glow; it's close enough she can hear the buzz and snap of the neon.
Dean gives her a couple of minutes before he joins her. "This one really got to you."
He's seen her after the others; nothing escapes him. Faith wonders if he's ever had a full night's sleep.
"When I was little, my ma used to ship me off with a neighbor on Sunday mornings to go to church. Gave her a little guaranteed quiet time to deal with the aftereffects of Saturday night."
She lets that hang there a moment, and Dean doesn't ask her what that has to do with anything. He just waits for her to tell it how she wants to tell it.
"The church had these stained glass windows. There was one I liked to look at when I was bored or upset, a warrior angel. I hadn't thought about it for years."
"It was in your dream?"
"For the past three nights. The first two, it was just the way I remembered it. The sun behind it, lighting up those colors like jewels. Tonight, though -- the angel was dying. A demon had his sword, and his wing --" It's just a dream, just a picture in glass, but a knot rises in her throat as if she's talking about the death of Giles, maybe -- someone distant and hard to know, but important. "Kickass prophetic dream, huh? Helpful as fuck."
"How do they usually go?"
Grinding her cigarette under her boot heel, she says, "About like that." She shakes another from the pack and fires it up. "So tell me," she says on a stream of smoke. "Angels can die, can't they?"
"Yeah." Dean's voice sounds sandpapery. "They can. It takes a lot."
Ah, shit. "You've seen it."
"No. No. But Castiel -- there was a moment when I thought --"
The knot in her throat aches with a sudden fierceness. "What the fuck can do that?"
"Demon."
"I've seen him fight demons. He shreds 'em."
"This wasn't just any demon. High-ranking mofo from hell."
"What happened?"
"I clocked the sonofabitch."
"You killed it?"
"I interrupted it. It got ... sucked into some kind of celestial blowback. It's gone, and I hope to hell it's dead."
"Do you know how to make that happen again?"
"No."
She watches a light come on in a room across the parking lot, vague shadows of movement against the curtains. "I'm out of my depth here. The Powers That Be have sent a churchmouse to fight a dragon."
"Powers That Be?"
"Friend of mine used to call 'em that. Whatever moves us around like chess pieces and knocks a few off the board whenever things get rough. How can -- Castiel could be anywhere on earth and a few places that aren't."
"Maybe there's another way of interpreting this," Dean says. "Maybe it's pointing you toward that church. Could be Lilith's demons will try to open a seal there."
"How the hell do we know? We can't slip up."
"We get Sammy on the case. There are signs and portents when something big's coming. He'll find 'em."
The neon sign snaps and buzzes. She thinks about the sound of rubies dropping on marble.
"Yeah. Okay." She drops her cigarette and flattens it underfoot, then turns to go back inside.