remix ficlet: SPN, Castiel/Crowley-ish
comment-size remix of 
dariaw's want what you shouldn't, which you should read for uber-creepy Crowley with a jones for Castiel.
Dean Winchester doesn’t know it, but he’s losing his angel. Asked too much of him, or asked too little. Or both: humans are contradictory that way, and it seems that angels are as well. Winchester’s coasting on the tie that bound them together when Castiel brought him out of Hell. (Crowley isn’t jealous that Heaven sent a messenger to rescue Winchester when Crowley was just left to make it off the rack, and up the hierarchy, on his own. Crowley’s seen the price of being chosen, and he prefers to do the choosing, thank you very much.) But if Resurrection Man doesn’t start to pay attention soon, he’s going to find that Castiel is going to assume a new station among the powers of the earth, and the angel isn’t going to be asking anyone’s permission, human or God.
The impulse that makes Crowley track Castiel’s movements so carefully has more to do with self-preservation than the same curiosity that leads little boys to burn ants alive with magnifying glasses, but they’re not unrelated. Castiel is fascinating, as a fallen angel must always be. It’s easy to think of Castiel’s change as a transition like his own in Hell, just a higher stage, but Crowley has decided that must be wrong. Humans, as he well knows, are imperfect from the start. Angels have divine purpose. To lose that-the tortures of Hell could hardly compare. And to walk away from the mandate of Heaven? The disillusionment, the righteousness that must be required to do so is staggering. Sure, Crowley thinks Lucifer’s a genocidal dick, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s got stones. And now there’s Castiel, a younger brother who has also defied his Father but who’s thrown in for the weakling humans.
When Castiel decides that Heaven needs a new master, it’s not going to be simple rebellion, like Lucifer’s. It’s going to be because he’s found out how very disappointing all his alternatives are. Crowley finds that charming. The truly disillusioned are always better game than the reflexively cynical.
As if finally noticing Crowley’s scrutiny, Castiel looks up from his place at Bobby Singer’s table. The bottle beside him is empty; he’s found no answers in his pet human’s favorite diversion.
Crowley unveils himself before Castiel makes any attempt to reveal him. Better for Castiel not to know, yet, whether his power is sufficient to allow that.
He says, “Relax, killer, I want the moron brothers to succeed as much as anyone. The world ending would ruin my vacation plans for this summer. And next summer too, I'd imagine.”
Castiel stares, then looks back at the bottle of whiskey. (Does he do anything but stare? Crowley would like to know. And isn’t that a shocker? He so rarely experiences desire. Lust for power just isn’t the same, not that he’s ever going to turn it down.)
Like Lucifer, Crowley doesn’t like being ignored. It’s possibly their greatest point of overlap. “That was wit, in case you were wondering.”
Castiel stills. On the mortal plane, he could be just another handsome, stubbled drone, drowning his petty sorrows. But Crowley can see the other aspect: each vane of each feather of his celestial wings its own ethereal storm; his skin is wrapped around lightnings that reach from planet to planet.
Castiel tilts his head, and now Crowley has the full attention of this other (roused from twenty centuries of stony sleep), like a human noticing the ant directly in his path. Crowley feels his smallness, feels Castiel’s ability to turn him into a smear of sulfur, and the rush is so good it’s like getting down off the rack all over again.
“I was led to believe that wit was witty,” Castiel says. Crowley gapes at him. That’s what he gets? An insult?
Before he takes himself away-there is much business to be done if he’s going to come out of the failed apocalypse in a proper position to manage Hell-he vows that, before they’re done, Castiel will devote his full attention to giving Crowley what he wants. He’ll cut that galaxy-spanning consciousness down to size. Make Castiel acknowledge that in the end they’re all crawling sinners.
He’ll make Castiel hurt him, and he’ll enjoy it ever so much more than Castiel does.
comments on DW | reply there. I have invites or you can use OpenID.
dariaw's want what you shouldn't, which you should read for uber-creepy Crowley with a jones for Castiel.
Dean Winchester doesn’t know it, but he’s losing his angel. Asked too much of him, or asked too little. Or both: humans are contradictory that way, and it seems that angels are as well. Winchester’s coasting on the tie that bound them together when Castiel brought him out of Hell. (Crowley isn’t jealous that Heaven sent a messenger to rescue Winchester when Crowley was just left to make it off the rack, and up the hierarchy, on his own. Crowley’s seen the price of being chosen, and he prefers to do the choosing, thank you very much.) But if Resurrection Man doesn’t start to pay attention soon, he’s going to find that Castiel is going to assume a new station among the powers of the earth, and the angel isn’t going to be asking anyone’s permission, human or God.
The impulse that makes Crowley track Castiel’s movements so carefully has more to do with self-preservation than the same curiosity that leads little boys to burn ants alive with magnifying glasses, but they’re not unrelated. Castiel is fascinating, as a fallen angel must always be. It’s easy to think of Castiel’s change as a transition like his own in Hell, just a higher stage, but Crowley has decided that must be wrong. Humans, as he well knows, are imperfect from the start. Angels have divine purpose. To lose that-the tortures of Hell could hardly compare. And to walk away from the mandate of Heaven? The disillusionment, the righteousness that must be required to do so is staggering. Sure, Crowley thinks Lucifer’s a genocidal dick, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s got stones. And now there’s Castiel, a younger brother who has also defied his Father but who’s thrown in for the weakling humans.
When Castiel decides that Heaven needs a new master, it’s not going to be simple rebellion, like Lucifer’s. It’s going to be because he’s found out how very disappointing all his alternatives are. Crowley finds that charming. The truly disillusioned are always better game than the reflexively cynical.
As if finally noticing Crowley’s scrutiny, Castiel looks up from his place at Bobby Singer’s table. The bottle beside him is empty; he’s found no answers in his pet human’s favorite diversion.
Crowley unveils himself before Castiel makes any attempt to reveal him. Better for Castiel not to know, yet, whether his power is sufficient to allow that.
He says, “Relax, killer, I want the moron brothers to succeed as much as anyone. The world ending would ruin my vacation plans for this summer. And next summer too, I'd imagine.”
Castiel stares, then looks back at the bottle of whiskey. (Does he do anything but stare? Crowley would like to know. And isn’t that a shocker? He so rarely experiences desire. Lust for power just isn’t the same, not that he’s ever going to turn it down.)
Like Lucifer, Crowley doesn’t like being ignored. It’s possibly their greatest point of overlap. “That was wit, in case you were wondering.”
Castiel stills. On the mortal plane, he could be just another handsome, stubbled drone, drowning his petty sorrows. But Crowley can see the other aspect: each vane of each feather of his celestial wings its own ethereal storm; his skin is wrapped around lightnings that reach from planet to planet.
Castiel tilts his head, and now Crowley has the full attention of this other (roused from twenty centuries of stony sleep), like a human noticing the ant directly in his path. Crowley feels his smallness, feels Castiel’s ability to turn him into a smear of sulfur, and the rush is so good it’s like getting down off the rack all over again.
“I was led to believe that wit was witty,” Castiel says. Crowley gapes at him. That’s what he gets? An insult?
Before he takes himself away-there is much business to be done if he’s going to come out of the failed apocalypse in a proper position to manage Hell-he vows that, before they’re done, Castiel will devote his full attention to giving Crowley what he wants. He’ll cut that galaxy-spanning consciousness down to size. Make Castiel acknowledge that in the end they’re all crawling sinners.
He’ll make Castiel hurt him, and he’ll enjoy it ever so much more than Castiel does.
comments on DW | reply there. I have invites or you can use OpenID.