"League" SPN Gen Fic Vessel/Castiel 277 words
Title: League
Word Count: 277
Characters: Vessel/Castiel
Rating: Gen
Spoilers: 4:01
AN: Thanks to karaokegal for the super-quick Beta. I've fiddled with it since then so all mistakes are my own.
League
There's a 1700s old school legend, He who cannot recite the Lord’s Prayer must be in league with the Devil and therefore should be burnt alive.
In league with the Devil? That’s the easy way out.
How about being drunk, depressed, and oh-so-fucking-angry with a God you’re not sure you ever really believed in? Try reciting then, and then work out your league.
I’m not sorry for needing more, I only ever wanted less.
I sway on the sidewalk, my coat is stained and my tie is lopsided.. Still I look up to the falling sky. I look upwards and ask for a reason why.
The sound bursts like a hurricane. It hurts so much. White Pain.
I run inside and look in a mirror, and no, that’s not right. I see beauty and terror, which I never saw before..
So much terror. So much beauty. Whatever happens, it’s going to hurt, like the most terrible beauty, like the most beautiful terror, like nothing your eyes can hold onto.
The only thing I know, the only thing is that all He took was me, and it was the only thing I could give and the only thing I knew I could hold onto.
I want to help Him so I must help them.
And that ringing in my ears. It cuts both ways.
We have work for you.
Not Me. I'm just a vessel, a choice out of thousands.
(I know I should be grateful. But still, I am jealous.)
If I just hold on, perhaps I can work too.
And if He holds onto me, maybe we can work together.
Word Count: 277
Characters: Vessel/Castiel
Rating: Gen
Spoilers: 4:01
AN: Thanks to karaokegal for the super-quick Beta. I've fiddled with it since then so all mistakes are my own.
League
There's a 1700s old school legend, He who cannot recite the Lord’s Prayer must be in league with the Devil and therefore should be burnt alive.
In league with the Devil? That’s the easy way out.
How about being drunk, depressed, and oh-so-fucking-angry with a God you’re not sure you ever really believed in? Try reciting then, and then work out your league.
I’m not sorry for needing more, I only ever wanted less.
I sway on the sidewalk, my coat is stained and my tie is lopsided.. Still I look up to the falling sky. I look upwards and ask for a reason why.
The sound bursts like a hurricane. It hurts so much. White Pain.
I run inside and look in a mirror, and no, that’s not right. I see beauty and terror, which I never saw before..
So much terror. So much beauty. Whatever happens, it’s going to hurt, like the most terrible beauty, like the most beautiful terror, like nothing your eyes can hold onto.
The only thing I know, the only thing is that all He took was me, and it was the only thing I could give and the only thing I knew I could hold onto.
I want to help Him so I must help them.
And that ringing in my ears. It cuts both ways.
We have work for you.
Not Me. I'm just a vessel, a choice out of thousands.
(I know I should be grateful. But still, I am jealous.)
If I just hold on, perhaps I can work too.
And if He holds onto me, maybe we can work together.