The Hawk Must Fly (8/8)
Title: The Hawk Must Fly (8/8)
Author: Parallel Monsoon
Rating: Adult
Genre and/or Pairing: eventual Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, light Castiel/Gabriel
Spoilers: up to 5x19
Warnings: heavy on the angst, pairings but little romance, nongraphic sex this chapter, ambiguous ending
Word Count: 15,000+
Summary: My fix for 5x19. Castiel was chosen to raise the righteous man from perdition on the basis of one thing alone. He is a creature of the air, made for flight above all else, and when Dean takes that from him the grief is crushing. Gabriel opens Dean's eyes to all that Castiel has lost on his behalf, but it may be too late to make a difference.
Notes: This is it, folks, the final chapter. Please make sure you read chapter 7 first. You can find it at here (it was non Dean focused and couldn't be posted here). Thank you one more time to the wonderful people who took the time to review! I want to kiss you all!
On the eve of his death, Castiel was given gifts precious and rare.
He wandered among the discarded cars, trailing his fingers across metal bitten by rust. His vessel was weak, its steps stumbling and slow, but he refused to spend the day abed. There were birds in the sky, grass between the rows, and Castiel looked upon it all with mourning in his Grace.
When Sam sought him out Castiel expected to be rebuked, ushered back to the house and its suffocating walls. Instead Sam fell into step at his side, his presence doing more to ward off the chill than the coat he draped across Castiel's shoulders.
"Dean will come round," he said.
Castiel so much wanted that to be true. There had been arguments through the night, words spoken in anger and haste, ending only when Dean stormed from the bedroom at dawn. He had not seen his charge since.
He did not begrudge Dean the escape. Castiel immersed himself in the things he would miss. Dean withdrew, excising the bonds between them on his own so that it would not be done for him later. He scrambled for control, as he always had, and Castiel was loathe to take it from him.
But there were things Castiel yet wanted to say, and they had so very little time.
He allowed Sam to guide him to seat on the hood of the Impala. The car groaned under their combined weight, a quiet noise of acceptance rather than strain. "I have something for you," Sam said, "It isn't much. You might not even want it, but I…well, here."
Castiel knew what it would be before Sam withdrew the amulet from his pocket. He held out the fetish with the innocent enthusiasm of a young boy, eager to please and too easily crushed. Castiel took it in hand, feeling its cold touch against his palm.
It was Dean who taught him that when humans wanted something, they turn to falsehood. Castiel badly wanted Sam to smile. "Thank you," he said, but his false gratitude only brought shadows to the eyes that watched him with such care. Sam covered Castiel's hand with his own, fingers curling around the horned pendant that mocked the angel with memories of a quest undertaken on behalf of a Father who cared not for his sons.
"Dean didn't want it either. He threw it away." There was weary sorrow in Sam's voice, but no reproach for his brother's actions. "I understand why. But before it was about finding God, it was about making a choice."
"When I was a child, I had faith in my dad," he continued, "That wasn't something I decided on, it was just there, you know, the dumb faith that every kid has in his parents. I thought he would protect me, that he would always have the answers, and if he didn't tell me something I just accepted it was for my own good."
He smiled at Castiel and the quiet pride in it made him look younger than his years. "Then I got older, and I found out that free will is about getting to choose who you put your faith in. I picked Dean. Not because I thought he would never fail me or I would never hurt him, but because I finally figured out that faith doesn't have to be absolute to be real."
Sam lifted his hand in a slow, measured movement that asked a question of Castiel. Castiel answered by looping the amulet's cord around his neck. It was not so great a burden as he remembered, this tiny thing on which he had hung so many hopes.
"Thank you," he said again and meant it.
The boy of demon blood, who understood so much more of godly things than the angels, shrugged and turned his face to the sun. "My dad thought I should put my faith in him just because of who he was. That's fine when you're a kid, because you don't really get the difference between faith and love. Love just happens. Faith you have to earn.
Maybe your Father thinks it's past time we grew up."
***
It was dusk when Gabriel joined him, that in between time between day and night when coyotes howl.
He took Castiel in hand, as Castiel had once held fast to the tarnished soul of a human man, and bore him to the sky. Flew with him to stars and cities, skipping like a stone across the whole of creation.
He gave to Castiel the world and the people who walked it
There was aching tenderness in Castiel for them, the brothers, mothers, and friends, so dear in their courage and their sins. Before he had loved them as an angel should, with the distance of one above. But now he wallowed alongside them in the stink and confusion of mortality, his confusion as great as theirs, his fate no more assured.
Now he loved with wrenching closeness, for he knew them all because he knew one among them. Every tear a child shed, every blow a man struck in anger, for Castiel had their echoes first in Dean.
He clung to Gabriel, taking what closeness he could in these final hours, and allowed himself to be bitter.
'We could look for other ways, brother.'
'No. I'm ready, Gabriel. I do this for myself as much as anyone.'
Another lie, but with enough truth behind to make the archangel let it pass unquestioned. It was selfish, to flee infirmity and pain, to leave behind so much because of the things that had been lost. Suicide was a sin to angels as well as men, and Castiel did not pretend he had not given in to despair.
But he did it too for Dean, and in that there was a glory to which any angel would aspire.
The sacrifice would not be his alone. So much would depend on Gabriel when Lucifer was back in his cage. Gabriel, who let Castiel use his wings for his own, who gave to him one last time the currents of the air.
'What will you do, should Michael fight?' he asked his brother.
He knew the risk was very real. If the gate could be closed, the gate could also again be opened. Castiel would make what changes he could to the seal to prevent it, but the angels had all of time to puzzle at the riddles he left to them.
'I fight back,' Gabriel answered without hesitation, 'I cut him down and sing his name with yours.'
Michael. First angel, brightest of them all, his faith that of a child's, wanting only to please the Father who had turned his back. And if Michael of them all was closest to God's vision of perfection, what did that say for their creator, that such blind obedience should be glorified?
'Strike first, Gabriel. Strike first and strike hard. He cannot be swayed. He cannot change. Lucifer understands more than he.'
He felt the archangel's surprise at the fierceness of Castiel's conviction. 'Brother…'
But Castiel could see it so clearly now, the ways in which Michael had twisted them all to his own ends, hiding the truth of God's departure lest they make up their own minds as to its cause. 'He's taken God's place. Every angel should be allowed to decide for themselves where they stand.'
'You sound so cynical, Castiel. That's more my act.'
But Castiel felt far from pessimistic. He felt simply full, choked full of the stuff of life. The world passed by beneath them, giving up crystallized flashes of humanity in its teeming masses. If only the other angels could see them as he did, not beautiful for lack of ugliness but in the ways they fought against it. They were made of dust, these children of Adam, and Castiel of stars, but they were one nonetheless.
'Take me home,' he said, 'Take me to Dean.'
***
He found Dean in the panic room, standing at the altar of Castiel's lost wings. The banishing sigil had dried to flaking rust, its danger no longer in its use but in the things it represented for them both.
Castiel summoned forth his blade and frowned at Dean's smile. The human folded to his knees, hands folded in semblance of prayer, giving himself to vengeance.
Castiel drove the tip of the sword into his own palm instead of Dean's throat. Blood pooled and with it he remade the sigil, adding a new layer of markings outside the original. Banishing despair, fear, sorrow. Asking for peace and glad tidings on the morrow.
'Your will be done,' he prayed, 'For I know it is your will to save them, Father, no matter what else you wish for us.'
He offered Dean his hand, marking him with blood as he pulled him to his feet. They stood at a distance of inches, face to face, breathing the same warm air.
Castiel's Grace swelled with feeling too deep for the weak words of man. He wished he could twine with his charge as he twined with his brother, who even now kept him in the circle of his Grace.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean's lips quirked into a smile.
"Hello, Castiel."
It was the last either of them spoke. There in the night Dean stripped away his coverings, laid himself bare before the angel in a sacrifice of a different kind.
Castiel took of the offering with reverence, painting sigils on Dean's back as he moved within him. Inscribing on his skin all the things he wished for the man with the sigils of lust and life and joy found in partings.
In this most physical of acts Castiel had never felt himself to be less of the flesh. He felt Dean shudder beneath him, but for Castiel there was only the climb. Sweat slicked the body he had claimed for his own, but there was no relief to be found, no end to the sweet torture. He spiraled ever higher, desperate for the fall.
Until Dean kissed him.
It was clumsy and hard, a clash of teeth that bruised his lips. And that was Dean, that need that never softened, that love that came with a cutting edge. Castiel felt something within him break wide and poured himself Grace and body into his righteous man.
'Yes,' he sang to the world and his Father.
'Yes, yes. This.'
***The apocalypse ended at dawn. Castiel stood with the ones he had laid claim to. Sam, his friend. Gabriel, his brother, his own.
Dean.
He smiled, and in the seconds before the blade came down felt the pendant at his throat begin to burn.
Author: Parallel Monsoon
Rating: Adult
Genre and/or Pairing: eventual Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, light Castiel/Gabriel
Spoilers: up to 5x19
Warnings: heavy on the angst, pairings but little romance, nongraphic sex this chapter, ambiguous ending
Word Count: 15,000+
Summary: My fix for 5x19. Castiel was chosen to raise the righteous man from perdition on the basis of one thing alone. He is a creature of the air, made for flight above all else, and when Dean takes that from him the grief is crushing. Gabriel opens Dean's eyes to all that Castiel has lost on his behalf, but it may be too late to make a difference.
Notes: This is it, folks, the final chapter. Please make sure you read chapter 7 first. You can find it at here (it was non Dean focused and couldn't be posted here). Thank you one more time to the wonderful people who took the time to review! I want to kiss you all!
On the eve of his death, Castiel was given gifts precious and rare.
He wandered among the discarded cars, trailing his fingers across metal bitten by rust. His vessel was weak, its steps stumbling and slow, but he refused to spend the day abed. There were birds in the sky, grass between the rows, and Castiel looked upon it all with mourning in his Grace.
When Sam sought him out Castiel expected to be rebuked, ushered back to the house and its suffocating walls. Instead Sam fell into step at his side, his presence doing more to ward off the chill than the coat he draped across Castiel's shoulders.
"Dean will come round," he said.
Castiel so much wanted that to be true. There had been arguments through the night, words spoken in anger and haste, ending only when Dean stormed from the bedroom at dawn. He had not seen his charge since.
He did not begrudge Dean the escape. Castiel immersed himself in the things he would miss. Dean withdrew, excising the bonds between them on his own so that it would not be done for him later. He scrambled for control, as he always had, and Castiel was loathe to take it from him.
But there were things Castiel yet wanted to say, and they had so very little time.
He allowed Sam to guide him to seat on the hood of the Impala. The car groaned under their combined weight, a quiet noise of acceptance rather than strain. "I have something for you," Sam said, "It isn't much. You might not even want it, but I…well, here."
Castiel knew what it would be before Sam withdrew the amulet from his pocket. He held out the fetish with the innocent enthusiasm of a young boy, eager to please and too easily crushed. Castiel took it in hand, feeling its cold touch against his palm.
It was Dean who taught him that when humans wanted something, they turn to falsehood. Castiel badly wanted Sam to smile. "Thank you," he said, but his false gratitude only brought shadows to the eyes that watched him with such care. Sam covered Castiel's hand with his own, fingers curling around the horned pendant that mocked the angel with memories of a quest undertaken on behalf of a Father who cared not for his sons.
"Dean didn't want it either. He threw it away." There was weary sorrow in Sam's voice, but no reproach for his brother's actions. "I understand why. But before it was about finding God, it was about making a choice."
"When I was a child, I had faith in my dad," he continued, "That wasn't something I decided on, it was just there, you know, the dumb faith that every kid has in his parents. I thought he would protect me, that he would always have the answers, and if he didn't tell me something I just accepted it was for my own good."
He smiled at Castiel and the quiet pride in it made him look younger than his years. "Then I got older, and I found out that free will is about getting to choose who you put your faith in. I picked Dean. Not because I thought he would never fail me or I would never hurt him, but because I finally figured out that faith doesn't have to be absolute to be real."
Sam lifted his hand in a slow, measured movement that asked a question of Castiel. Castiel answered by looping the amulet's cord around his neck. It was not so great a burden as he remembered, this tiny thing on which he had hung so many hopes.
"Thank you," he said again and meant it.
The boy of demon blood, who understood so much more of godly things than the angels, shrugged and turned his face to the sun. "My dad thought I should put my faith in him just because of who he was. That's fine when you're a kid, because you don't really get the difference between faith and love. Love just happens. Faith you have to earn.
Maybe your Father thinks it's past time we grew up."
***
It was dusk when Gabriel joined him, that in between time between day and night when coyotes howl.
He took Castiel in hand, as Castiel had once held fast to the tarnished soul of a human man, and bore him to the sky. Flew with him to stars and cities, skipping like a stone across the whole of creation.
He gave to Castiel the world and the people who walked it
There was aching tenderness in Castiel for them, the brothers, mothers, and friends, so dear in their courage and their sins. Before he had loved them as an angel should, with the distance of one above. But now he wallowed alongside them in the stink and confusion of mortality, his confusion as great as theirs, his fate no more assured.
Now he loved with wrenching closeness, for he knew them all because he knew one among them. Every tear a child shed, every blow a man struck in anger, for Castiel had their echoes first in Dean.
He clung to Gabriel, taking what closeness he could in these final hours, and allowed himself to be bitter.
'We could look for other ways, brother.'
'No. I'm ready, Gabriel. I do this for myself as much as anyone.'
Another lie, but with enough truth behind to make the archangel let it pass unquestioned. It was selfish, to flee infirmity and pain, to leave behind so much because of the things that had been lost. Suicide was a sin to angels as well as men, and Castiel did not pretend he had not given in to despair.
But he did it too for Dean, and in that there was a glory to which any angel would aspire.
The sacrifice would not be his alone. So much would depend on Gabriel when Lucifer was back in his cage. Gabriel, who let Castiel use his wings for his own, who gave to him one last time the currents of the air.
'What will you do, should Michael fight?' he asked his brother.
He knew the risk was very real. If the gate could be closed, the gate could also again be opened. Castiel would make what changes he could to the seal to prevent it, but the angels had all of time to puzzle at the riddles he left to them.
'I fight back,' Gabriel answered without hesitation, 'I cut him down and sing his name with yours.'
Michael. First angel, brightest of them all, his faith that of a child's, wanting only to please the Father who had turned his back. And if Michael of them all was closest to God's vision of perfection, what did that say for their creator, that such blind obedience should be glorified?
'Strike first, Gabriel. Strike first and strike hard. He cannot be swayed. He cannot change. Lucifer understands more than he.'
He felt the archangel's surprise at the fierceness of Castiel's conviction. 'Brother…'
But Castiel could see it so clearly now, the ways in which Michael had twisted them all to his own ends, hiding the truth of God's departure lest they make up their own minds as to its cause. 'He's taken God's place. Every angel should be allowed to decide for themselves where they stand.'
'You sound so cynical, Castiel. That's more my act.'
But Castiel felt far from pessimistic. He felt simply full, choked full of the stuff of life. The world passed by beneath them, giving up crystallized flashes of humanity in its teeming masses. If only the other angels could see them as he did, not beautiful for lack of ugliness but in the ways they fought against it. They were made of dust, these children of Adam, and Castiel of stars, but they were one nonetheless.
'Take me home,' he said, 'Take me to Dean.'
***
He found Dean in the panic room, standing at the altar of Castiel's lost wings. The banishing sigil had dried to flaking rust, its danger no longer in its use but in the things it represented for them both.
Castiel summoned forth his blade and frowned at Dean's smile. The human folded to his knees, hands folded in semblance of prayer, giving himself to vengeance.
Castiel drove the tip of the sword into his own palm instead of Dean's throat. Blood pooled and with it he remade the sigil, adding a new layer of markings outside the original. Banishing despair, fear, sorrow. Asking for peace and glad tidings on the morrow.
'Your will be done,' he prayed, 'For I know it is your will to save them, Father, no matter what else you wish for us.'
He offered Dean his hand, marking him with blood as he pulled him to his feet. They stood at a distance of inches, face to face, breathing the same warm air.
Castiel's Grace swelled with feeling too deep for the weak words of man. He wished he could twine with his charge as he twined with his brother, who even now kept him in the circle of his Grace.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean's lips quirked into a smile.
"Hello, Castiel."
It was the last either of them spoke. There in the night Dean stripped away his coverings, laid himself bare before the angel in a sacrifice of a different kind.
Castiel took of the offering with reverence, painting sigils on Dean's back as he moved within him. Inscribing on his skin all the things he wished for the man with the sigils of lust and life and joy found in partings.
In this most physical of acts Castiel had never felt himself to be less of the flesh. He felt Dean shudder beneath him, but for Castiel there was only the climb. Sweat slicked the body he had claimed for his own, but there was no relief to be found, no end to the sweet torture. He spiraled ever higher, desperate for the fall.
Until Dean kissed him.
It was clumsy and hard, a clash of teeth that bruised his lips. And that was Dean, that need that never softened, that love that came with a cutting edge. Castiel felt something within him break wide and poured himself Grace and body into his righteous man.
'Yes,' he sang to the world and his Father.
'Yes, yes. This.'
***The apocalypse ended at dawn. Castiel stood with the ones he had laid claim to. Sam, his friend. Gabriel, his brother, his own.
Dean.
He smiled, and in the seconds before the blade came down felt the pendant at his throat begin to burn.