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I love these two as brothers. I really do.
Title: Brothers
Rating: PG
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Raphael, Gabriel
Summary: Set post 5x16. Raphael finds a drunken Castiel. And then Gabriel finds them.
Wordcount: 1880
Spoilers: up to 5x16
Warnings: anyone else notice Cas sliding slightly towards future!Cas at the end of that ep?
Disclaimer: Not mine
For the first time in his life, sensing an archangel's presence, Castiel's first instinct was not to bow, or, as more recently, to run or fight. For the first time in his life, or in this new half-life since his Father apparently abandoned him, his instinct was to tell Raphael to fuck off, because he was not in the mood. He was also not particularly sober, but that was hardly going to matter, one way or another.
Unfortunately for his new-found sense of apathy, Raphael was not inclined to listen.
What a surprise.
"Go away, Raphael," he said, more in tired protest than any real expectation of mercy. He didn't bother turning around. For a start, it would have revealed the sword in his hand, and he wanted to get in at least one strike with that before he had to let the archangel take it. Take him. Again.
His free hand curled into a fist. He wasn't sure if it was from fear, or rage. Possibly both. The liquor took away enough of the edge to keep him from telling.
Dean, Sam. He hoped they were alright, that Raphael had just found him, and not them. He just ... he couldn't stay with them. He'd needed ... time. His Father had washed His hands of him. He'd just needed a little time.
Had that really been so much to ask? Really?
"Face me, Castiel," the archangel said. "Face me. It's time."
"Why?" he asked, quietly, tucking his head into the collar of his -Jimmy's- coat, and firming his hand around his sword. "Do you enjoy watching the faces of those you destroy?"
Lightning snapped around him, a rush of rage against his back, and Raphael snarled at him. "This is not enjoyment, Castiel! And you ... you were destroyed long ago, when you first made this choice. When you first betrayed us." The archangel paused, then, just a little, and there was a curl of satisfaction in his voice as he went on. A sharp slice of smug amusement. "Or do you still believe that it was not a betrayal. Do you still believe our Father will save you?"
Castiel stopped. Froze. He had never understood, before, why humans sometimes laughed when they were in pain. He had never understood the urge, the need. He had never felt the rich miasma of black amusement bubbling up through his chest, the crest on a wave of despair, never felt that slick dark slide into twisted joy. He had never felt it, before. The pain of lips stretched tight, the ache as if air was being squeezed from the chest, the hard knot in the throat. He had never felt it before.
It was a little like the alcohol, actually. A strange, nonsensical sliding, spinning on sharp edges into brilliant darkness. Pain. Joy. Anger. Loss. Laughter. A bubble bursting.
Raphael looked at him with something close to fear as he turned, that wide smile on his face, eyes shining with the shards of grace. Raphael didn't understand, either. Raphael had never known so human an urge. He didn't understand.
And Castiel was almost glad he wouldn't have time to explain.
The sword rose and fell, a white shard in the night, metal stained and useless. He spun with it, laughing, not even really caring as it was struck away, as he was struck away, as he fell to his knees in the dirt, as Raphael rose above him, as wings of lightning and glory spread around him, and the killing Grace gathered to rend him once more. He laughed up into it, into the face of it, laughter spilling and raw, edged black against the strength of Heaven. He laughed, because angels don't know how to cry, and his Father didn't care after all. He laughed, because he didn't know what else to do, and the blind joy of it felt ... right.
"Brother, you are judged," Raphael said, as Castiel closed his eyes, grinning into the night ...
"And brother, you are a ham," drawled another voice altogether. "Honestly. I'm all for melodrama, you know, but there have to be limits, Raphael!" There was a rush of air, the whisper of vast wings, and the world dimmed from red to black beyond Jimmy's eyelids. Castiel opened his eyes again, blinking a little, and stared up at the angel standing between him and death.
He didn't have to look up far.
"Gabriel," Raphael said, blankly, as the force of his Grace dimmed and retreated. "Gabriel?"
The erstwhile archangel tilted his head, and Castiel was sure he was grinning, too. One of Gabriel's trademark, insouciant grins. "Hey, bro. Long time, no see, huh?"
"Gabriel?" the archangel asked again, and Castiel felt a distant urge to roll his eyes. Even he'd reacted better than this, and he'd been in the process of getting the shit kicked out of him, as Dean would say. No-one had ever told him archangels were so slow.
Then again, no-one had ever told him Heaven was trying to destroy the world, either. Or that their Father had washed His hands of all of it centuries ago. All things considered, perhaps the mental acuity of Heaven's most deadly weapons was the least of anyone's worries.
"Oh for ... yes, Raphael! It's me," Gabriel sighed in flamboyant exasperation. "Gabriel. Archangel. The Messenger. Me. You'd think you'd recognise your own brother!" Then a pause, sharp-edged and wry, bitter. "Then again ..."
Raphael snapped upright, face twisting in grief and fury. "You are not my brother," he snarled, a rippling lash of Voice. "My brother died, the moment he left us. The moment he abandoned his family. Whatever you are, whoever you have become, you are not my Gabriel. That brother is dead."
Castiel flinched, stared, as the compact body ranged above him shuddered, as if Gabriel had been struck through the heart. For a second, there was nothing but pain in the Trickster's air, nothing but grief etched through the archangel's form. For a second, Gabriel was only a brother, stricken by rejection.
Then something hardened, sealed, a brittle shield of cold fury, and Gabriel sneered in his brother's face. "Yeah?" he asked, softly. "Seems to be a lot of that going around lately, then. Brothers dying, I mean. Brothers dead. And whose hands hold the swords, I wonder ..."
Raphael stilled, expression frozen into a blank, chill mask. "We do what is necessary, Gabriel. Those of us who have remained to serve. Those of us who are still faithful. We do only what is necessary to end this war."
Gabriel was silent for a long minute, sardonic and still, measuring Raphael, weighing him. And then he smiled, cold and pitying, and shook his head. "No," he said. "You know what? No. I don't care. I don't care what you think you're doing, brother mine. I don't care what you think you know. I don't care how or why, or what you think it will accomplish. Make Daddy love us again, if we kill each other? Make things the way they were, if just a few of us, the bad ones, the inconvenient ones, die? I don't care. I don't care anymore!"
He stalked forward as Castiel watched in amazement, thrust himself right up into the other archangel's face, reached up and dragged Raphael down to meet him, leaned in to hiss in his face, very quietly, almost gently. "I don't care why, Raphael. I don't. I'm just tired, I'm just so very tired, of watching my brothers kill each other. I'm tired of it. So here's what's going to happen now, alright? You just stay quiet a minute, and listen, okay?"
He pushed Raphael away, shoved him back, and then stood back himself. Moved with slow, deliberate steps backwards until he stood next to Castiel, stood beside him, one hand coming down to rest on his shoulder, fingers taut and hard and comforting against him. Castiel blinked up at him, bewildered, and Gabriel managed a smile, a faint shadow of a grin, just for him.
And then he looked back up, met Raphael's stunned gaze, and smirked.
"Pretend for a moment, Raphy, that when Daddy handed out the brains he actually saved you some, and get this through your head," Gabriel said, low and clean and sad. "I left because I wasn't going to watch my brothers destroy each other. I left because I couldn't watch you kill each other. You. All of you. And that, of everything, has not changed." A twitch of a smile, a curl of one fist. "If you kill another of my brothers, if any of you raise a hand against each other again, I am coming for you, Raphael. You. Personally. If you come near Castiel one more time, if you touch him ever again ... I will find you. Messenger, Trickster, it doesn't matter which. I'll find you. And I promise you that when I do, I will not kill you. I will not kill you."
A smile threaded across his features, a pained stretching of the lips, a bubble bursting, and then Gabriel whispered, soft and gentle and sad, "I'll just make you wish I would. I'll make you wish for death. And I can. I can do that. You know I can, don't you? Raphael? You know that, right?"
There was a long silence. Raphael stared at them, at Gabriel, lightning flickering frantically around him, fists clenched, face blank and cold and burning. The archangel stared at them, and said nothing.
Gabriel smiled once more, the flicker of a heart breaking, the crack of a soul. "This is where you run, Raphael," he said. "This is where you run away, and don't come back." And then, only once, a wrung scream, a plea: "Go!"
And Raphael went.
In the silence of his wake, Gabriel stood still as a statue, and closed his eyes. His hand shook around Castiel's shoulder, the fierce tremble of a dying man, the distant echo of a sob. In the silence of a family's breaking, an archangel raised his face to the heavens and stood still as tears crept softly, silently, down his cheeks.
Castiel, the black tide of humour ebbing away inside him, the wild, bitter joy breaking apart to leave only an empty ache, reached up, and took his brother's hand. Through the shudders as their world broke apart, he held on. He held his brother's hand in silence, and promised never to let go.
"Gabriel," he whispered, a dry rasp of pain, of pity, of compassion. The archangel looked down at him, a bitter curl of one lip, a flash of love in drowning eyes.
"I think it's time we went home, little brother," he said, roughly. "What do you say? Get you cleaned up. Dried out. Sober, possibly? Check up on the Winchesters, and get a decent night's sleep. What do you say, hm? You and me?" And someone who didn't know, who didn't understand what had just happened, might have missed the pain in it, the fragile hint of hope. Someone who didn't know might have missed that.
Castiel knew. He understood. And maybe, just a little, despite it all, he hoped too.
"You and me," he repeated softly, smiling as Gabriel helped him to his feet. "That sounds like a plan." A pause, a little smile of his own. Not stretched, not broken. Soft. Real. And Castiel said: "Brother."
Brother.
Title: Brothers
Rating: PG
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Raphael, Gabriel
Summary: Set post 5x16. Raphael finds a drunken Castiel. And then Gabriel finds them.
Wordcount: 1880
Spoilers: up to 5x16
Warnings: anyone else notice Cas sliding slightly towards future!Cas at the end of that ep?
Disclaimer: Not mine
Brothers
"I warned you I would find you, Castiel."For the first time in his life, sensing an archangel's presence, Castiel's first instinct was not to bow, or, as more recently, to run or fight. For the first time in his life, or in this new half-life since his Father apparently abandoned him, his instinct was to tell Raphael to fuck off, because he was not in the mood. He was also not particularly sober, but that was hardly going to matter, one way or another.
Unfortunately for his new-found sense of apathy, Raphael was not inclined to listen.
What a surprise.
"Go away, Raphael," he said, more in tired protest than any real expectation of mercy. He didn't bother turning around. For a start, it would have revealed the sword in his hand, and he wanted to get in at least one strike with that before he had to let the archangel take it. Take him. Again.
His free hand curled into a fist. He wasn't sure if it was from fear, or rage. Possibly both. The liquor took away enough of the edge to keep him from telling.
Dean, Sam. He hoped they were alright, that Raphael had just found him, and not them. He just ... he couldn't stay with them. He'd needed ... time. His Father had washed His hands of him. He'd just needed a little time.
Had that really been so much to ask? Really?
"Face me, Castiel," the archangel said. "Face me. It's time."
"Why?" he asked, quietly, tucking his head into the collar of his -Jimmy's- coat, and firming his hand around his sword. "Do you enjoy watching the faces of those you destroy?"
Lightning snapped around him, a rush of rage against his back, and Raphael snarled at him. "This is not enjoyment, Castiel! And you ... you were destroyed long ago, when you first made this choice. When you first betrayed us." The archangel paused, then, just a little, and there was a curl of satisfaction in his voice as he went on. A sharp slice of smug amusement. "Or do you still believe that it was not a betrayal. Do you still believe our Father will save you?"
Castiel stopped. Froze. He had never understood, before, why humans sometimes laughed when they were in pain. He had never understood the urge, the need. He had never felt the rich miasma of black amusement bubbling up through his chest, the crest on a wave of despair, never felt that slick dark slide into twisted joy. He had never felt it, before. The pain of lips stretched tight, the ache as if air was being squeezed from the chest, the hard knot in the throat. He had never felt it before.
It was a little like the alcohol, actually. A strange, nonsensical sliding, spinning on sharp edges into brilliant darkness. Pain. Joy. Anger. Loss. Laughter. A bubble bursting.
Raphael looked at him with something close to fear as he turned, that wide smile on his face, eyes shining with the shards of grace. Raphael didn't understand, either. Raphael had never known so human an urge. He didn't understand.
And Castiel was almost glad he wouldn't have time to explain.
The sword rose and fell, a white shard in the night, metal stained and useless. He spun with it, laughing, not even really caring as it was struck away, as he was struck away, as he fell to his knees in the dirt, as Raphael rose above him, as wings of lightning and glory spread around him, and the killing Grace gathered to rend him once more. He laughed up into it, into the face of it, laughter spilling and raw, edged black against the strength of Heaven. He laughed, because angels don't know how to cry, and his Father didn't care after all. He laughed, because he didn't know what else to do, and the blind joy of it felt ... right.
"Brother, you are judged," Raphael said, as Castiel closed his eyes, grinning into the night ...
"And brother, you are a ham," drawled another voice altogether. "Honestly. I'm all for melodrama, you know, but there have to be limits, Raphael!" There was a rush of air, the whisper of vast wings, and the world dimmed from red to black beyond Jimmy's eyelids. Castiel opened his eyes again, blinking a little, and stared up at the angel standing between him and death.
He didn't have to look up far.
"Gabriel," Raphael said, blankly, as the force of his Grace dimmed and retreated. "Gabriel?"
The erstwhile archangel tilted his head, and Castiel was sure he was grinning, too. One of Gabriel's trademark, insouciant grins. "Hey, bro. Long time, no see, huh?"
"Gabriel?" the archangel asked again, and Castiel felt a distant urge to roll his eyes. Even he'd reacted better than this, and he'd been in the process of getting the shit kicked out of him, as Dean would say. No-one had ever told him archangels were so slow.
Then again, no-one had ever told him Heaven was trying to destroy the world, either. Or that their Father had washed His hands of all of it centuries ago. All things considered, perhaps the mental acuity of Heaven's most deadly weapons was the least of anyone's worries.
"Oh for ... yes, Raphael! It's me," Gabriel sighed in flamboyant exasperation. "Gabriel. Archangel. The Messenger. Me. You'd think you'd recognise your own brother!" Then a pause, sharp-edged and wry, bitter. "Then again ..."
Raphael snapped upright, face twisting in grief and fury. "You are not my brother," he snarled, a rippling lash of Voice. "My brother died, the moment he left us. The moment he abandoned his family. Whatever you are, whoever you have become, you are not my Gabriel. That brother is dead."
Castiel flinched, stared, as the compact body ranged above him shuddered, as if Gabriel had been struck through the heart. For a second, there was nothing but pain in the Trickster's air, nothing but grief etched through the archangel's form. For a second, Gabriel was only a brother, stricken by rejection.
Then something hardened, sealed, a brittle shield of cold fury, and Gabriel sneered in his brother's face. "Yeah?" he asked, softly. "Seems to be a lot of that going around lately, then. Brothers dying, I mean. Brothers dead. And whose hands hold the swords, I wonder ..."
Raphael stilled, expression frozen into a blank, chill mask. "We do what is necessary, Gabriel. Those of us who have remained to serve. Those of us who are still faithful. We do only what is necessary to end this war."
Gabriel was silent for a long minute, sardonic and still, measuring Raphael, weighing him. And then he smiled, cold and pitying, and shook his head. "No," he said. "You know what? No. I don't care. I don't care what you think you're doing, brother mine. I don't care what you think you know. I don't care how or why, or what you think it will accomplish. Make Daddy love us again, if we kill each other? Make things the way they were, if just a few of us, the bad ones, the inconvenient ones, die? I don't care. I don't care anymore!"
He stalked forward as Castiel watched in amazement, thrust himself right up into the other archangel's face, reached up and dragged Raphael down to meet him, leaned in to hiss in his face, very quietly, almost gently. "I don't care why, Raphael. I don't. I'm just tired, I'm just so very tired, of watching my brothers kill each other. I'm tired of it. So here's what's going to happen now, alright? You just stay quiet a minute, and listen, okay?"
He pushed Raphael away, shoved him back, and then stood back himself. Moved with slow, deliberate steps backwards until he stood next to Castiel, stood beside him, one hand coming down to rest on his shoulder, fingers taut and hard and comforting against him. Castiel blinked up at him, bewildered, and Gabriel managed a smile, a faint shadow of a grin, just for him.
And then he looked back up, met Raphael's stunned gaze, and smirked.
"Pretend for a moment, Raphy, that when Daddy handed out the brains he actually saved you some, and get this through your head," Gabriel said, low and clean and sad. "I left because I wasn't going to watch my brothers destroy each other. I left because I couldn't watch you kill each other. You. All of you. And that, of everything, has not changed." A twitch of a smile, a curl of one fist. "If you kill another of my brothers, if any of you raise a hand against each other again, I am coming for you, Raphael. You. Personally. If you come near Castiel one more time, if you touch him ever again ... I will find you. Messenger, Trickster, it doesn't matter which. I'll find you. And I promise you that when I do, I will not kill you. I will not kill you."
A smile threaded across his features, a pained stretching of the lips, a bubble bursting, and then Gabriel whispered, soft and gentle and sad, "I'll just make you wish I would. I'll make you wish for death. And I can. I can do that. You know I can, don't you? Raphael? You know that, right?"
There was a long silence. Raphael stared at them, at Gabriel, lightning flickering frantically around him, fists clenched, face blank and cold and burning. The archangel stared at them, and said nothing.
Gabriel smiled once more, the flicker of a heart breaking, the crack of a soul. "This is where you run, Raphael," he said. "This is where you run away, and don't come back." And then, only once, a wrung scream, a plea: "Go!"
And Raphael went.
In the silence of his wake, Gabriel stood still as a statue, and closed his eyes. His hand shook around Castiel's shoulder, the fierce tremble of a dying man, the distant echo of a sob. In the silence of a family's breaking, an archangel raised his face to the heavens and stood still as tears crept softly, silently, down his cheeks.
Castiel, the black tide of humour ebbing away inside him, the wild, bitter joy breaking apart to leave only an empty ache, reached up, and took his brother's hand. Through the shudders as their world broke apart, he held on. He held his brother's hand in silence, and promised never to let go.
"Gabriel," he whispered, a dry rasp of pain, of pity, of compassion. The archangel looked down at him, a bitter curl of one lip, a flash of love in drowning eyes.
"I think it's time we went home, little brother," he said, roughly. "What do you say? Get you cleaned up. Dried out. Sober, possibly? Check up on the Winchesters, and get a decent night's sleep. What do you say, hm? You and me?" And someone who didn't know, who didn't understand what had just happened, might have missed the pain in it, the fragile hint of hope. Someone who didn't know might have missed that.
Castiel knew. He understood. And maybe, just a little, despite it all, he hoped too.
"You and me," he repeated softly, smiling as Gabriel helped him to his feet. "That sounds like a plan." A pause, a little smile of his own. Not stretched, not broken. Soft. Real. And Castiel said: "Brother."
Brother.
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