comment_fic 176-180: Supernatural/Paradise Lost, Supernatural, and Leverage
Title: an abundance of wings
Fandom: Supernatural/Paradise Lost
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for 5.8
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 280
Point of view: third
Prompt: Gabriel, his distance from Heaven isn't physical
After the fire goes out, he stays inside the ring. Hours, days, weeks-it doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
It is the end of days. The final endgame, Lucifer stalking the world again, and Father... Father is gone. Still. Again. That doesn't matter either.
The tricks-Gabr-he has been gone from Heaven since that last mission, when he delivered the Son to that human maiden's womb. He has been gone for so long… and yet, not long by Heaven's standards. He could return right now and few would have even noticed his absence.
With a snap he's at the desert, wearing Coyote's face again. Another snap and he's in Africa as the Spider. A third and he's farther north, wreathed in fire as Loki.
So many names and faces he's worn. All are so more familiar than Gabriel, the Messenger. Bearer of God's Word.
He misses Michael. And Lucifer. Even Abdiel and his blind devotion to Father.
Coyote, Anansi, Loki, and Gabriel-trickster and angel, errant son and deity himself.
Heaven has never seemed farther away as he stares up at the sky after Dean's diatribe, wondering and pondering and mourning.
So long since he's thought of himself as an angel, crafted and breathed into life by God's hand and God's song. At any moment, he could have gone back, and he never did. Instead, in a subtler way than Satan, he'd punished humanity for existing. For taking his place as God's favorite.
It is the endgame, and the time has come to choose a side.
Gabriel takes a deep breath, spreads his wings, and soars to the dark backroad where a beast of a car is eating up the miles.
Title: desolation and desecration (blasphemy of Sam)
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my charcters
Warnings: future!fic
Pairings: implied Sam/Gabriel
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 295
Point of view: third
Prompt: Gabriel/Sam, Lucifer, "I must despise you now."
Every angel yet remaining, fallen and not, knew the instant Lucifer slipped inside Sam's skin. He flexed his wings, stretched his spine, and sighed in pleasure.
"Sam!" his brother screamed, lunging for him; Castiel caught him, eyes wide and desolate, and quickly spirited him away.
But Gabriel stayed, watching, and grief filled him to the brim, exploding out in anger.
Lucifer withstood all of his attacks, of course, desperate and uncoordinated. Lucifer was better, had always been better-the best of them all, save Michael.
Michael. He'd probably be appearing soon, if Dean's despair had anything to say about it.
"Ah, brother," Lucifer purred, a desecration of Sam's voice. He sauntered over, a stride Gabriel had never seen Sam take.
It burned him, the blasphemy of Sam, and Gabriel lashed out again, screaming things even he couldn't understand over the tempest whirling in and around him.
Through it all, Satan stood to Sam's full height, smirked a smirk Sam never had, and slowly spread his wings.
"You can choose me, you know," Satan finally said, cutting through Gabriel's rage. "You can be by my side."
"No," Gabriel replied, folding his wings in tight, glaring at the Adversary. "I despise you."
Satan reached out with Sam's hand and Gabriel jerked back. "You love this body, though, don't you?" He held up a hand, moving the fingers and examining Sam's skin. "He is impressive, isn't he? I'd honestly begun to think he'd forever deny me this…" He paused and smiled, slow and sweet. "This paradise."
"When Michael comes-" Gabriel started, and Satan cut him off with a laugh.
"Michael would already be here," Satan said. "Now, either join me-or be gone from my sight."
With one final, heartbroken glance to Sam's face, Gabriel fled.
Title: when the rich wage war
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic; dark
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 320
Point of view: third
Prompt: Castiel/Raphael, on your knees
He tore Castiel apart. He remembers that. A mere scholar of an angel, weak and dissident, lacking God's Grace and strength and the fury of the righteous smiting a blasphemer.
He tore Castiel apart with ease, with the might of Heaven behind him, with surety and knowledge-God's will and God's wrath, God's hands on Earth. An archangel. The best of all His creations.
Castiel trapped him and demanded answers, having been returned to life by the Adversary. No one else had the raw power to do such a thing, save Michael and God, and neither would have done it-so Satan had revealed his favorites: the traitor and the vessels.
Castiel trapped him once, a result of Raphael's arrogance and shock. Castiel trapped him once and showed just how far he'd fallen.
And now…
"Kneel," the Adversary demands of all the hosts, of all the garrisons, of Heaven itself.
Raphael clenches his fists as Zachariah postures. No one is surprised when the Adversary strikes him down with a simple gesture.
"Kneel," the Adversary commands. "Kneel or perish."
Dean did not say yes. Dean did not say yes and Father is still gone and Michael is a bodiless spirit, easily destroyed by Lucifer's smile.
Castiel strides forward, filled with profane power, and he pauses before Raphael. "Kneel," he says quietly. "On your knees, if you desire life."
He tore Castiel apart, once. He tore Castiel apart, and yet here Castiel stands, with Lucifer and Michael's defiant vessel, and there is nothing to be done.
Raphael takes a deep breath, arches his wings, and lunges forward.
He tore Castiel apart, once. But that was before, and Castiel is now more than his equal.
The Adversary laughs, the brother-who should have said yes, should have said yes, how dare he refuse-smirks, and Castiel stands victorious.
"Kneel!" the Adversary roars.
All who remain, terrified and angry and desperate, do.
Title: ghosts
Fandom: Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: none
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount:
Point of view: third
Prompt: team, enemies from the past
They all have people from the past after them, of course. People they've stolen from, or people they've put away, or people they've left barely alive in a pool of their own entrails.
And while Sophie and Parker's enemies are usually placated with a bundle of cash, and while Hardison's are searching for a ghost in a computer system, and while Nate's languish in prison, sending hitman after hitman who keep somehow mysteriously getting lost or dead, Eliot's-well, Eliot's are dangerous.
The Butcher of Kiev is easy compared to some others, and at night he dreams in shades red and black and blue. Sophie and Parker and Hardison, and even Nate, don't really understand. They're thieves and an ex-cop (basically), and honestly, they've never actually hurt anyone. Victimless crime, and now righteous crusade, and Eliot-he's the odd man out.
He has hurt people. He's killed people. He's stolen from one villain to give the loot over to another, and he's left behind wrathful crime lords in a dozen countries.
He wonders sometimes if Nate ever checked up on the Butcher, because he never said anything: the Butcher didn't leave that kitchen alive.
There have been a couple others who caught up with him, but luckily they all went after Eliot, not his team. Soon, though, he knows, someone will figure out his weakness. Soon they'll start targeting the team, and he knows he should leave, for their safety.
But he doesn't want to go. These people are home now.
He will leave, as soon as the bad guys figure it out. Not even he can shake the past for long.
Title: the Judas lullaby
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: slight AU
Pairings: Sam/Ruby
Rating: R
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 230
Prompt: Ruby, "I can't promise to obey you. I can't swear I won't betray you,/Or that when the morning comes I won't take flight."
She turns, keeping her eyes on Dean even as she listens to Sam. Hell has changed him, her one true competitor-he's darker, leaner, far more dangerous than before Alistair sank in with fang and claw.
He doesn't trust her, which is fine since she only trusts him with Sam's safety. Even that, though, he refuses to give her.
He'll kill her the first chance he gets, with or without Sam's blessing. And while Sam has needed her, these past few months, those days are gone with Dean's return.
Damn him. He couldn't have stayed below just a few days(monthsyearseons) longer? Everything would have been finalized then. Sam would be hers, body and soul, bound to do her bidding, sworn to her plan. He would unleash the Star of Morning, clothe her king in his flawless form, and finally all would be well.
But instead Dean is back, Dean watchful and wary, Dean dangerous in ways she hasn't seen since last she lay beneath Alistair.
She will have to be wary in turn, keep an eye on him at all times, be ready to flee at half a moment's notice. Nothing can get in the way of releasing the LightBringer.
She wishes killing him were allowed, but Sam would never forgive her. Even still, sometimes she pictures how Dean would look, gutted and torn open, eyes staring at the sky.