AU Fanfction: Lifeblood
Title: Lifeblood
AU: Urban Magic
Rating: R
Author’s Note: So, I've been reading a really awesome book called A Madness of Angels. It's an excellent urban fantasy and inspired me to write one of my own based sort of on things in the book, Dresden files type magic and detective shows. I know, it doesn't make a lot of sense at first, but I think it turned out pretty cool. Anyway, enjoy what I do with Cas while canon leaves him trapped in a box of unknown.
---
Magic was Castiel’s lifeblood. As he walked through the city he could feel its magic humming in his blood and his blood hummed in return. As a Sorcerer, his magic was the magic unique to cities and city life. Wizards required rituals and words, Pagans required vast expanses of nature, and Psychics were anywhere the dead were. All a Sorcerer required was a spark of electricity or a stretch of concrete or a skyscraper and they had power. In New York, Castiel had all of that and more. It was a city made for a Sorcerer and the power he felt around him was like a warm security blanket.
He raised a hand and ran it over the building next to him. The electricity in the wires responded immediately and began chasing after his fingers. It made him smile a little. Electricity was such an active entity, it always wanted to play, chase and go, go, go. No other technology, not even phone lines and internet cables, were so active.
“Quit it, you’re screwin’ with the lights.”
He looked up to the windows of the multistory building and saw that the lights were glowing brighter right above where his hand was while the lights where his hand had been were dimmed. He let his hand fall away and the lights snapped back to normal. He felt the electricity sigh softly before his magic settled into its usual background hum.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing over to see how annoyed Detective Dean Winchester was.
The man hated magic for reasons Castiel had yet to figure out. He seemed to understand it well enough, though he supposed all Supernatural Investigations Division detectives had to know the basics, but he seemed irrationally focused on the bad aspects of the art. He had tried convincing the detective that it wasn’t magic that was bad but how it was used by the difference had fallen on deaf ears. His ally was never going to like his art. Or him, he supposed, since magic was how Castiel defined himself. He was a Sorcerer and nothing else.
“How come all these magic places open at eleven,” Dean asked suddenly, a rather annoyed note to his voice.
“The eleventh hour is significant,” Castiel explained, his voice soft.
The one problem with New York was that it was always busy. There were still people on the street and he wasn’t able to drop the veils that hid him from the eyes of the passersby. He walked close to Dean’s side and had to magically whisper his voice to Dean so that no one would suspect something. His veils would hold as long as no one took notice of him.
“It is an hour right before the change between day and night, morning and afternoon. There is a lot of power in change.”
“So, why don’t they open at midnight?”
“Most practitioners, especially Wizards and Pagans, will be working spells at midnight. They open at eleven so those people can stop in on their way to the ritual. These places are especially popular with Pagans.”
“You don’t like them.”
Castiel sighed and shrugged, though Dean couldn’t see the action. “Pagans and Sorcerers don’t get along. They believe we pollute magic by using modern technology as our Source instead of the First Source.”
“Tree huggers,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Are they going to give us trouble if you walk in there?”
“The Roadhouse is a well respected institution, even if it is not officially neutral territory. No one will cause trouble inside.”
At least, Castiel hopped no one would. The magical community still believed that he had killed Anna, one of the most respected and most loved Sorcerers in the world, not just New York. He signed again, sadder this time. He missed his mentor a great deal, but since he had found her body and fled her loft he hadn’t been able to grieve. He had known Uriel would come after him next and he had to hide himself quickly. His only solace was that now Dean believed him and the detective could get the last bits of proof he needed to clear his name.
“I got a bad feeling about this.” Dean took a deep breath, clipped his bag to his jacket’s breast pocket and then pushed open the door to the Roadhouse. It was a relic from another era. Though updated to meet city codes, the building’s power was old, deep, and Castiel could hear the whisper of carriage wheels on dirt streets when he passed through the door. Then he dropped his veils and heard nothing at all.
Everyone in the Roadhouse was not absolutely silent and staring directly at him and Dean.
“You!” a voice roared from a corner. Streaks of electricity raced from the lights into the figure who had risen, his face contorted in fury.
“Raphael!” Castiel grabbed the back of Dean’s jacket at dragged him back out the door.
“What the hell?!”
“One of Anna’s friends and ex-lover.” Castiel explained as he shoved Dean towards the direction of his car. “And also a very powerful Sorcerer. Run.”
“Like Hell…”
Castiel whipped around suddenly, holding up his tattered trench coat. Electricity danced across the shielding spells he had painstakingly woven into the fabric.
“How could you?!” Raphael drew power from the street lights this time, hurling another bolt of crackling, blazing energy at him. “How dare you!”
He used his coat to absorb the strike and then drew the power into his hands. “I didn’t kill her!”
“Liar!”
“He didn’t!” Dean stepped around him, gun raised. “Detective Winchester, Supernatural Investigations…”
“Salt rounds won’t work on a Sorcerer, mortal,” Raphael sneered at Dean. “I am not demon or spirit.”
“These are silver jacketed lead rounds, jackass, that’ll stop a Sorcerer real nice.” Dean pulled the hammer back on his weapon. “Now drop the magic and put your hands on the wall.”
“Make me.” Raphael dashed a hand through the air. The street underneath Dean’s feet came to life, rising up suddenly and swallowing Dean to the knees. Raphael closed a fist and it pulled Dean down off balance, his gun clattering to the asphalt where it was immediately swallowed up.
“Son of a bitch.”
Castiel reached into his shoulder bag and grabbed a can of black matte spray paint. He threw it at Raphael, who shot it down with a bolt of electricity, just what he wanted. He sent his magic into the paint particles hanging in the air and began to stitch them together as they fell to the streets. The energy Raphael threw into his coat made it much easier and soon the paint was full his.
“She was a star,” Raphael said as he advanced towards Castiel. “Brighter and more brilliant than some half-breed amateur like you.”
“I did not kill her,” Castiel repeated as he stepped back, his coat still raised against attack. His attention was focused on the paint, however and carefully winding it around Raphael’s feet without the other Sorcerer noticing.
From what Anna had told him when he had first been presented to The Sorcerer’s Order, Raphael was a master of the concrete magic. Sidewalks, city streets, any sort of manmade paths were where Raphael’s magic was strongest. Castiel’s own was in painted symbols, graffiti wards and the magic in wall paintings. They could both draw on electricity though and Raphael was pulling it to him in vast quantities. Most of the city was dark already and the darkness worked to Castiel’s advantage.
“Liar!” Raphael roared and prepared to launch another attack.
“I speak the truth!” Castiel yelled back, closing the last symbol with a push of magic and then throwing his magic out of the paint. It solidified and blazed bright red, like flames for a moment then seared into the streets.
All the electricity and power Raphael had pooled broke free of his hold and went lashing back into lights, cables, and electronics. Things shattered and sizzled, filling the streets around them with sparks, broken glass and the smell of smoke.
Raphael yelled, a sound of rage and grief, and pounded his fists against the circle around him.
“Get me the hell out of here,” Dean snapped, trying to tug his legs free of the street.
Still drawing on the energy his coat had absorbed, Castiel put a hand to the asphalt and shifted the streets back to normal so that Dean was once again standing on them instead of in. He also brought Dean’s gun back to the surface.
“Now you get the hell out of here,” he said as he checked his weapon over. “The police will be here in no time and you’re still wanted for questioning.”
“But…” Castiel protested, breathing a little faster than normal from the magic still humming loudly through him. “Raphael.”
“Won’t do anything stupid now that you’ve got him warded to hell and back. Go. Or I’ll arrest you for being stupid.”
He opened his mouth to object again, but Dean fixed him with a hard look. He closed his mouth quickly. The release of his power was much gentler and once it was gone, his battered trench coat looked just as ragged and ugly as it had before. He drew it tightly around him as the crowd began to gather again now that the fight was over. He looked one last time at Raphael, still pounding and screaming at him, then cast his veils and vanished into the crowd.
The magic of the city was now in disarray, leaving Castiel feeling uneasy and sick. He found a dumpster not far from the scene and slumped against in to recover. When the city was better, he would be too because the city was his magic and his magic was his lifeblood.
AU: Urban Magic
Rating: R
Author’s Note: So, I've been reading a really awesome book called A Madness of Angels. It's an excellent urban fantasy and inspired me to write one of my own based sort of on things in the book, Dresden files type magic and detective shows. I know, it doesn't make a lot of sense at first, but I think it turned out pretty cool. Anyway, enjoy what I do with Cas while canon leaves him trapped in a box of unknown.
---
Magic was Castiel’s lifeblood. As he walked through the city he could feel its magic humming in his blood and his blood hummed in return. As a Sorcerer, his magic was the magic unique to cities and city life. Wizards required rituals and words, Pagans required vast expanses of nature, and Psychics were anywhere the dead were. All a Sorcerer required was a spark of electricity or a stretch of concrete or a skyscraper and they had power. In New York, Castiel had all of that and more. It was a city made for a Sorcerer and the power he felt around him was like a warm security blanket.
He raised a hand and ran it over the building next to him. The electricity in the wires responded immediately and began chasing after his fingers. It made him smile a little. Electricity was such an active entity, it always wanted to play, chase and go, go, go. No other technology, not even phone lines and internet cables, were so active.
“Quit it, you’re screwin’ with the lights.”
He looked up to the windows of the multistory building and saw that the lights were glowing brighter right above where his hand was while the lights where his hand had been were dimmed. He let his hand fall away and the lights snapped back to normal. He felt the electricity sigh softly before his magic settled into its usual background hum.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing over to see how annoyed Detective Dean Winchester was.
The man hated magic for reasons Castiel had yet to figure out. He seemed to understand it well enough, though he supposed all Supernatural Investigations Division detectives had to know the basics, but he seemed irrationally focused on the bad aspects of the art. He had tried convincing the detective that it wasn’t magic that was bad but how it was used by the difference had fallen on deaf ears. His ally was never going to like his art. Or him, he supposed, since magic was how Castiel defined himself. He was a Sorcerer and nothing else.
“How come all these magic places open at eleven,” Dean asked suddenly, a rather annoyed note to his voice.
“The eleventh hour is significant,” Castiel explained, his voice soft.
The one problem with New York was that it was always busy. There were still people on the street and he wasn’t able to drop the veils that hid him from the eyes of the passersby. He walked close to Dean’s side and had to magically whisper his voice to Dean so that no one would suspect something. His veils would hold as long as no one took notice of him.
“It is an hour right before the change between day and night, morning and afternoon. There is a lot of power in change.”
“So, why don’t they open at midnight?”
“Most practitioners, especially Wizards and Pagans, will be working spells at midnight. They open at eleven so those people can stop in on their way to the ritual. These places are especially popular with Pagans.”
“You don’t like them.”
Castiel sighed and shrugged, though Dean couldn’t see the action. “Pagans and Sorcerers don’t get along. They believe we pollute magic by using modern technology as our Source instead of the First Source.”
“Tree huggers,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Are they going to give us trouble if you walk in there?”
“The Roadhouse is a well respected institution, even if it is not officially neutral territory. No one will cause trouble inside.”
At least, Castiel hopped no one would. The magical community still believed that he had killed Anna, one of the most respected and most loved Sorcerers in the world, not just New York. He signed again, sadder this time. He missed his mentor a great deal, but since he had found her body and fled her loft he hadn’t been able to grieve. He had known Uriel would come after him next and he had to hide himself quickly. His only solace was that now Dean believed him and the detective could get the last bits of proof he needed to clear his name.
“I got a bad feeling about this.” Dean took a deep breath, clipped his bag to his jacket’s breast pocket and then pushed open the door to the Roadhouse. It was a relic from another era. Though updated to meet city codes, the building’s power was old, deep, and Castiel could hear the whisper of carriage wheels on dirt streets when he passed through the door. Then he dropped his veils and heard nothing at all.
Everyone in the Roadhouse was not absolutely silent and staring directly at him and Dean.
“You!” a voice roared from a corner. Streaks of electricity raced from the lights into the figure who had risen, his face contorted in fury.
“Raphael!” Castiel grabbed the back of Dean’s jacket at dragged him back out the door.
“What the hell?!”
“One of Anna’s friends and ex-lover.” Castiel explained as he shoved Dean towards the direction of his car. “And also a very powerful Sorcerer. Run.”
“Like Hell…”
Castiel whipped around suddenly, holding up his tattered trench coat. Electricity danced across the shielding spells he had painstakingly woven into the fabric.
“How could you?!” Raphael drew power from the street lights this time, hurling another bolt of crackling, blazing energy at him. “How dare you!”
He used his coat to absorb the strike and then drew the power into his hands. “I didn’t kill her!”
“Liar!”
“He didn’t!” Dean stepped around him, gun raised. “Detective Winchester, Supernatural Investigations…”
“Salt rounds won’t work on a Sorcerer, mortal,” Raphael sneered at Dean. “I am not demon or spirit.”
“These are silver jacketed lead rounds, jackass, that’ll stop a Sorcerer real nice.” Dean pulled the hammer back on his weapon. “Now drop the magic and put your hands on the wall.”
“Make me.” Raphael dashed a hand through the air. The street underneath Dean’s feet came to life, rising up suddenly and swallowing Dean to the knees. Raphael closed a fist and it pulled Dean down off balance, his gun clattering to the asphalt where it was immediately swallowed up.
“Son of a bitch.”
Castiel reached into his shoulder bag and grabbed a can of black matte spray paint. He threw it at Raphael, who shot it down with a bolt of electricity, just what he wanted. He sent his magic into the paint particles hanging in the air and began to stitch them together as they fell to the streets. The energy Raphael threw into his coat made it much easier and soon the paint was full his.
“She was a star,” Raphael said as he advanced towards Castiel. “Brighter and more brilliant than some half-breed amateur like you.”
“I did not kill her,” Castiel repeated as he stepped back, his coat still raised against attack. His attention was focused on the paint, however and carefully winding it around Raphael’s feet without the other Sorcerer noticing.
From what Anna had told him when he had first been presented to The Sorcerer’s Order, Raphael was a master of the concrete magic. Sidewalks, city streets, any sort of manmade paths were where Raphael’s magic was strongest. Castiel’s own was in painted symbols, graffiti wards and the magic in wall paintings. They could both draw on electricity though and Raphael was pulling it to him in vast quantities. Most of the city was dark already and the darkness worked to Castiel’s advantage.
“Liar!” Raphael roared and prepared to launch another attack.
“I speak the truth!” Castiel yelled back, closing the last symbol with a push of magic and then throwing his magic out of the paint. It solidified and blazed bright red, like flames for a moment then seared into the streets.
All the electricity and power Raphael had pooled broke free of his hold and went lashing back into lights, cables, and electronics. Things shattered and sizzled, filling the streets around them with sparks, broken glass and the smell of smoke.
Raphael yelled, a sound of rage and grief, and pounded his fists against the circle around him.
“Get me the hell out of here,” Dean snapped, trying to tug his legs free of the street.
Still drawing on the energy his coat had absorbed, Castiel put a hand to the asphalt and shifted the streets back to normal so that Dean was once again standing on them instead of in. He also brought Dean’s gun back to the surface.
“Now you get the hell out of here,” he said as he checked his weapon over. “The police will be here in no time and you’re still wanted for questioning.”
“But…” Castiel protested, breathing a little faster than normal from the magic still humming loudly through him. “Raphael.”
“Won’t do anything stupid now that you’ve got him warded to hell and back. Go. Or I’ll arrest you for being stupid.”
He opened his mouth to object again, but Dean fixed him with a hard look. He closed his mouth quickly. The release of his power was much gentler and once it was gone, his battered trench coat looked just as ragged and ugly as it had before. He drew it tightly around him as the crowd began to gather again now that the fight was over. He looked one last time at Raphael, still pounding and screaming at him, then cast his veils and vanished into the crowd.
The magic of the city was now in disarray, leaving Castiel feeling uneasy and sick. He found a dumpster not far from the scene and slumped against in to recover. When the city was better, he would be too because the city was his magic and his magic was his lifeblood.