[OPEN]

[ofthursday]

Who: Leviastiel, and YOU~
When: December 1st-December 6th
Where: All over the city
Summary: The Leviathan go on a rampage and eat their way through the city.
Warnings: Almost everything? Seriously though this is an ancient body-controlling monster that will eat people alive, so yeah.

OOC: Same deal as the Godstiel log! Tag in your characters and post when the encounter is happening. Encounters can happen from just after midnight on the 1st (start of the day midnight) to noon on the 6th, just pick a day and time! Information for the plot is here and if people who haven't signed up still want to encounter Leviastiel, just drop me a note on the plotting post!

Comments

[paterelohim]

[It catches him in the arm and chest and tears out a chunk of flesh. He reels back with a scream and instinctively presses an arm to his chest, but a rush of Power from inside Him holds off bleeding, spurred by the ashy primordial smell of the Leviathans before Him. It's instinctive- He's slipping back into that old skin, that old role.]

Fuck. [It still hurts, though.

He hisses when he sees what weapon it was- an angel's blade, something holy. That has no business in their hands. None. He lunges and grabs the Leviathan's wrist roughly, inhuman strength and remembered skill from fifty lifetimes driving him to pry the sword from strong hands, never mind if he breaks wrist or fingers or does damage. As soon as he has it, it's vanishing. Going home, dropping out of thin air onto his couch in Sector Four.]

[ofthursday]

[There's a feeling of incredible satisfaction from the Leviathan, and Castiel is beginning to realize just how personal this is for them; they hate this being in front of them, who Castiel always knew as the prophet Chuck, his friend, but is suddenly realizing might be someone and something completely different.

The Leviathan snarl and give an unearthly noise as their wrist breaks and a few fingers dislocate, furious; Castiel can feel the pain but it's distant and unimportant in the face of everything else. The Leviathan throw a punch with their other hand, all ancient fury striking out ultimately futilely.]

[paterelohim]

[Chuck, meanwhile, hates the creatures in front of Him. Hates them and remembers them and resents every drop of angelic blood sticking to their stolen skin; it's deeply personal but in ways He doesn't want, the old ways and the guilt and the wrath and mistakes never thought of or regretted.

The punch sideswipes him pretty hard but doesn't do much more than make His ear hurt like a motherfuck. It's enough pain to hasten the tide of anger, to make him throw the Leviathan hard to the ground and clench a hand to make them hold fucking still. Listen while he talks and looms over the prone, possessed angel.

The betrayal and hatred sings out from the monsters' every pore, and after all this time and all these resentful children He finally has something to say.]

Don't even give me that victim crap, okay? You don't even know how good I was to you. I could have killed every one of you right there, [lie. He couldn't stomach the thought of putting out those infant lives back then, on the First Day. Death liked them and they were His and he couldn't kill yet.] but I didn't. I let you live. I gave you a whole world to yourselves.

[ofthursday]

[They're not surprised to be taken down, really; they're not a match for God and they know it, even with the power Castiel has from the souls, and the angel's grace is dying out fast and their own power dwindling with it. Fighting hadn't been about winning since Chuck had shown up, it had been about doing something.]

You betrayed and abandoned us when we didn't meet your standards.

[They hiss in a language not quite English, some mix of the Earthly language and of their own native one that they spoke so long ago.]

Seems like a reoccurring problem with you. You did the same with your next children too, didn't you, only you thought letting them wipe themselves out was easier than locking them away. We wonder which choice was more merciful?

...keyword 8|

[paterelohim]

[That blanks out any mercy or tenderness He'd been holding onto. Slipping into disgust and self-defensive hate is so much easier- as is grabbing the Leviathan by the coat lapels, the grip of power gone, and pulling them up into his face.]

You don't get to talk about them! How-

[How dare you, you ungrateful little shit. Ungrateful. He hauls back and drives his fist into their face.]

Yeah, you know what? You're right. It's never good enough. You were a mistake.

[The faces of the angels who have died press against him, crowding his mind's eye until he's hitting too fast, holding the Leviathan down and striking him over and over, snarling cruelly in furious- god, he doesn't even know. Some wandering journey through different ancient Hebraic languages, driven to antiquity by an unbridled wrath he hasn't felt on His own in centuries that's rushing back in a sudden quantity too great for Him to handle.]

I should've just had the balls to stab you in the neck with a pair of scissors and- and fucking abort you on day one. [He grabs them by the throat, staring hatefully into Castiel's blue eyes.] You didn't even deserve a first chance. You don't deserve a second one.

[ofthursday]

[The Leviathan just laugh, the noise unhinged and holding no joy but still some level of dark humor. This is funny to them in a terrible way, almost a vindication of everything they've felt in all those years and years in Purgatory.

They don't stop laughing through the pain and broken bones, and Castiel isn't even registering them. All he can think about is all the moments he and Chuck had spent together, both in awful situations and in silly ones spent drinking or bowling, and try to reconcile what he's hearing with them. It doesn't line up. It can't.]

You made us, Daddy. You made us what we are, and no matter what you do you're punishing us for your mistakes.

[They grin, a mix of black blood and red all over their face and throat and clothes.]

We did nothing wrong. We were just Created by a monster even greater than us.

[paterelohim]

[At some point the Wrath bleeds into guilt bleeds into rage and He finds Himself shaking the Leviathan by the front of their shirt, hauling them up and slamming them into the ground - that is forming itself into rocks and pebbles - hard enough to make them bleed. Not even throwing punches, just slamming him down over and over in rage.]

No. Shut your fucking mouth, you- parasite.

[He hauls the Leviathan up closer to him and speaks in that old language, the one older than the angels, that Castiel wouldn't understand- but the Leviathan would.]

I know what you're capable of. You'd kill them all if you had the chance.

[ofthursday]

Of course we would. That's how we were made to be.

[They ignore the pain and hiss the words back, matching the language, and Castiel doesn't care that he can't understand. He can't understand much of anything anymore, not just because it's such a shock but because he's quickly running out of time.]

Maybe you shouldn't have made them so delicious.

[paterelohim]

Maybe I should just-

[Then some of his senses come back to him. Something is changing in the blue of Castiel's eyes and it's enough to catch his attention and startle him out of his rage-coma.]

No. [Cas is slipping. He keeps the angel - or the monsters - from going over the edge of death. Not yet.] I can make you less hungry.

I'll give you a chance. I'll extract you out of him and give you human bodies of your own, no powers. Just apologize.

[He knows they won't take it. But he has to offer it. Offer them the chance to save themselves, then he won't feel as bad for doing what absolutely has to be done.

He knows it has to be done anyway. This will end with him yanking the Leviathans from Castiel's body and crushing them to dust before their essence can reach the water, and this little deal is just a stopgap to patch over whatever stain of guilt might follow him. Will follow him.]

[ofthursday]

Trade one prison for another? Never.

[They smile, again, and in many ways it's the the most genuine they ever have done so.]

Take your stand, Father. For once.

[paterelohim]

[He just shakes His head. In the end, they never listen. They never compromise when they should or reason when they can. It's almost sad.

This whole race of feral disappointments tearing into the children He truly loves- it's almost a regret to sink His hand into Castiel's chest and bodily rip out an almighty fistful of blackness like slime, like scales, like hunger and primordial seas. From the hole He made they all come rushing out at once, and it's stomach-turningly easy to raise a hand-

-and the whirling vortex of darkness is gone.

No scream, no fighting, no thrashing or explosion or horrible death rattles. They're just gone. A thousand lives, and Castiel is at last empty. Chuck stares into the empty space where they were for a second before remembering Cas and turning to him, finding him healed before He's finished turning His head.

Every fiber of him is terrified at what He'll see.]

[ofthursday]

[Castiel is still alive.

He knows, distantly, that the Leviathan are gone, that he's alone in his vessel again and it's over. But it's almost like the connection between his mind and his grace and his body have been severed, and he lays limp against the ground and breathes in short, intermittent gasps. His grace is flickering, not even strong enough to shine out like angels usually do just before death, but he's not going quite that quickly either. He still has a minute or two left.

Somewhere, he finds the resiliency and the will that have always been his strongest assets and manages to whisper a few barely audible, broken words.]

It was always you.

[paterelohim]

[Suddenly he finds the next breath catching painfully, rasping out an answer with a desolate nod.]

Yeah.

[He looks at the little angel, once again broken. Again. His body is healed, but his grace is doing something... weird. And Chuck just wants to help- as if anything could help.]

Do you- uh- want me to fix that?

[ofthursday]

[Castiel stares up at Him, eyebrows furrowing just slightly as if he doesn't understand the question, otherwise still completely motionless save for the erratic rise and fall of his chest. There's silence, for a few seconds, before he gives a simple response.]

No.

[He doesn't want to be fixed. He wants it to be over, finally truly over; after what he's done at home, what he's done here, what he's just found out, everything... Darkness can't come fast enough. He can't go on with these burdens.]

Let me go, this time.

[Please. Don't keep him in this yo-yo of life and death where each return brings only worse pain and more loss. He's done.]

[paterelohim]

[He cracks at that and starts to cry. It's almost liberating to be so honest. No, he wants to yell, I can't, not again- I can't lose any more. Please.]

Okay.

[He moves closer, taking Castiel's bloody hand in his, irrationally hoping he can warm it up. Chuck indulges himself one thing - one parental gesture he's wanted to do for so long - and brushes some bloody, sticky hair from his eyes.]

I meant it when I said I was sorry. I-

[ofthursday]

[He wants to be angry. Distantly, somewhere, he is; he's been lied to for over a year, by the one person since he'd arrived that he'd been able to trust--or so he'd thought, at least.

But he can't manage the energy to be truly angry, and he doesn't want to die feeling that way even if he could. If this is going to be it--and he knows there's a chance it might not be--then he wants to die remembering what had made everything worth it. The Winchesters, the first time he truly made his own choices, the times there had been victories and the times there had been quiet peace, even for just a night. The bond he'd formed with Gabriel, Jinx telling him he was always welcome with them, sleeping on Chuck's couch for weeks and getting to be something approaching normal even if unbeknownst to him he was speaking to the Father he'd never met.

Crowley.

He curls his fingers around Chuck's, just a little, giving the faintest hint of a smile. He's never had a chance to make peace before death, like this; it's freeing, and for just a few moments the loss and the pain and all the horrors can't touch him.

He doesn't respond to Chuck's words, and he knows an answer probably isn't really expected. Instead, he closes his eyes at the feeling of the hand on his forehead, taking the last moment he has to recognize the feeling of a comfort so familiar to most children, but entirely new to him.

His eyes don't open again, and ashen wings spread out across the ground as if they've always been there.]

[paterelohim]

[This may be entirely new to Cas, but Chuck has been here before.

There was a moment, once, that first time Castiel died, between the screaming light and the paranoid silence. When the terrible fury of Raphael was gone and Heaven's eyes were closed to that house and, surrounded by the gore and carnage of His son, Chuck fell to his knees in his living room and cried. He sobbed, feeling the weight of every death thus far and every death to come, and then he stood and He made a decision and locked away His grief in the assurance that that one decision would make everything okay.

And then there was the moment when everything slowed to a crawl. Chuck slipped between molecules and into the ether of spark and dart and things not-quite-matter and not-quite-mass, and found Castiel there. There, in that place of no consciousness and ashen wings, Chuck was able to lay his hand on the angel's bright, burning foreheads and simply look at him. One moment, and then He had been home again, and Castiel charging off to a storage locker in New Hampshire to save the Winchesters.

Except that had passed by in less than a blink; a fleeting mirage that was nothing but illusion- he never even left his living room, not really.

This is different, he knows. It's different than any death before. He's never seen it happen up close before. A child has never died in His arms. In all these eons, in all these hundreds of human lifetimes walking on his Earth, that has never happened to him.

For a full minute, he doesn't move. He shakes, but doesn't remember moving. He traces the outline of an ashen feather shakily, his hand clasping Castiel's cold one all the harder, and he isn't aware of when exactly it is that he gives up and bows his head over the angel and cries.

When he's finally done, he sends the body into nothingness, and makes the ocean to wash away the wings.

It's only right.]