Chuck Shurley | God (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
paterelohim) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull_logs2012-12-10 04:37 am
paterelohim) wrote in sirenspull_logs2012-12-10 04:37 am
Entry tags:
and even though it all went wrong, i'll stand before the Lord of Song
Who: Chuck Shurley and Eve
When: the 6th, after Leviathan & Cas die.
Where: the beach where it happened.
Summary: time for a funeral.
Warnings: sadness, subject matter, disturbing, awful.
[The worst part about this whole horrible situation is that 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.
And cries, and cries, shoulders shaking, until his muscles are sore, ribs are straining, and he can hardly breathe. He looks up after a while and wipes his eyes on his sleeve and traces the outline of his baby's wing again with one, single, trembling finger.]
When: the 6th, after Leviathan & Cas die.
Where: the beach where it happened.
Summary: time for a funeral.
Warnings: sadness, subject matter, disturbing, awful.
[The worst part about this whole horrible situation is that 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.
And cries, and cries, shoulders shaking, until his muscles are sore, ribs are straining, and he can hardly breathe. He looks up after a while and wipes his eyes on his sleeve and traces the outline of his baby's wing again with one, single, trembling finger.]
no subject
This's never happened to me before. [A thousand lifetimes, a thousand walks on the earth, 14 trillion years of life, and this has never happened. In the time before Sol and the solar system He was more hands-off and didn't see them as his personal actual children- Eve remembers. Of course she does; there have been other worlds with other monsters, of course.
And in all this time, the Lord God has never had the experience of sitting with his knees in the dirt watching an innocent child die in his arms. There were casualties in the first War, to be sure, but God stayed in his Merkaba the whole time, watching from the throne room. And somehow in all His human lives, it never happened either.
Now He slides an arm under Castiel's cold and stiffening shoulder and hauls him into his lap tenderly, like he's a baby who could easily break.
God is great and God is old, but this is a new kind of pain, something that runs deep in his human veins as strongly as it would in any human father. For the first time he's having human paternal reactions from being paternal in a human body, and the weight of human emotion is almost too much to handle. He strokes Cas' bloody hair away from his face.
It's a long time before he gives voice to the real horror in his heart.]
There were a thousand others in here with him. [It's another first for him- firsthand murdering his children who almost didn't deserve it. Anna in this world was dangerous and needed to be put down- the Leviathan, they only ever acted in their nature.
Their creation.]
They were mine, too. Right?
no subject
Then again, she had her own moments over her own children. She just preferred to silence them to no one but herself.]
... They were. [His. And Hers.] The Leviathan were yours. I won't take responsibility for that mess.
[Oh wait, right. Being ... sympathetic. Empathetic? One of the two.]
They [...] Wouldn't have done well here, anyway.
[And this in itself, is a rather big admission for her, too. Much as she longs for her own brood to be here, she doesn't wish them this place. Purgatory was their home, no matter how twisted. How cruel.]
no subject
Chuck shakes his head against her words.]
I don't know. Maybe. Vampires- they're okay. Werewolves, I mean, look at this place- werewolves, rugarus, the dangerous shapeshifters could all be Voided. This city would set up social programs for them.
[Guilt, intense and cloying, rising up to drown him from the inside, in this moment of grief when he has no defenses against it. He shifts from his kneeling position to sit on the sand cross-legged, keeping Castiel in his lap, one arm cradling the angel's damp head.]
The Leviathan were- [A mess. A failure. A mistake. A tragedy.] -Mine.
[He bows low until his hair obscures his face and his forehead is almost touching Castiel's filthy coat. An truth that has never once had voice in His mind in all these aeons comes to the surface with a quiet, rasping tone.]
They didn't deserve this any more than he did.