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Continuing the prompt table. Set in the Weregild verse, ie Supernatual/Norse Myth crossover.
Titles: Claim, Respite, Release, Converge
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Supernatural, Norse Myth
Continuity: The very early years of the Trickster. Prequels to Weregild
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Loki, Hel, Jormungandr, Fenrir. Gabriel/Loki
Summary: Gabriel's first meetings with Loki's children, in all their mildly traumatising glory
Wordcount: 1970 for the four
Disclaimer: Not mine
Warnings: Violence and recovery, for 'Release' in particular. Has anyone actually looked at what the Aesir did to Fenrir? And then laughed about? Bloody hell, they deserved what was set to happen at Ragnarok after that! They effing deserved it!
Titles: Claim, Respite, Release, Converge
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Supernatural, Norse Myth
Continuity: The very early years of the Trickster. Prequels to Weregild
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Loki, Hel, Jormungandr, Fenrir. Gabriel/Loki
Summary: Gabriel's first meetings with Loki's children, in all their mildly traumatising glory
Wordcount: 1970 for the four
Disclaimer: Not mine
Warnings: Violence and recovery, for 'Release' in particular. Has anyone actually looked at what the Aesir did to Fenrir? And then laughed about? Bloody hell, they deserved what was set to happen at Ragnarok after that! They effing deserved it!
Claim - (Gabriel/Loki, Hel - 529 words)
Hel had been the first of Loki's children Gabriel had gone to, way back when. For a number of reasons, the most prominent of which being that the Goddess of the Dead was, ironically enough, the most likely to be reasonable about things, and he'd only had time for one of them before Loki settled enough into the possession to start trying to crush him from the inside out. Which, let's face it, was the first thing the god was going to do if he thought Gabriel was threatening his children. Hel, not being a world-spanning sea serpent or an extraordinarily pissed-off, god-eating wolf, had seemed like his best bet ...
Right up until he was actually face-to-face with her, anyway, Loki snarling dire threats at him from within, and her serene, icy expression staring down at him. Maybe it was something to do with being a queen in Niflheim, but that stare could have frozen the Morningstar for his troubles. And gods, unlike angels, had the equipment to shrivel beneath it.
She had been terrible, then. Not as angels were terrible. Not burning and beautiful. She had been ugly, quiet and cold, an almost human horror. A being of ice and decay, waiting silent and sure on the edges of the world, and in her eyes had been the calm, cool confidence that sooner or later all would belong to her. Everything that laughed in her corpse-like face, everything that flinched from her, that struck at her, everything that followed All-father's lead and cursed her name. Everything. Even foolish archangels that sought to use her father. Especially foolish archangels.
But then ... then she'd smiled at him. Reached out her midnight hand to rest it on his chest, and whisper to the frantic father inside him to be quiet. He hadn't flinched. It had taken every meager scrap of courage he had, and there hadn't been all the much to start with, but he hadn't flinched. And she had smiled at him.
"Do you claim my father?" she'd whispered, ice and wind. Meaning more than the possession, meaning more than the need to survive. He'd nodded, reasons spooling through his mind, excuses, explanations, promises ... everything he'd intended and half-thought of, anything that would put her mind at ease and keep her from destroying him. Every half-felt plan for the being he'd cradled inside him. Loki, the god he'd claimed. Gabriel ... took that sort of thing seriously.
Loki had startled in his chest, stunned at the warmth in the thought, shocked at the will behind it, and Hel had laughed softly, and leaned in to kiss them gently on the forehead.
"Take care of each other, then," she'd grinned, a flash of mischief so like her father, and then darkness again, the weight of ancient cold and the empty future of her world. "And when the time comes ... I'll claim you, archangel. When the time comes ... you will be mine in turn."
He hadn't realised, until years later, that that hadn't been a threat, that she'd meant it the way he'd meant his, that she had offered, in that moment, something she had never offered anyone else.
Not a threat. A promise.
Hel had been the first of Loki's children Gabriel had gone to, way back when. For a number of reasons, the most prominent of which being that the Goddess of the Dead was, ironically enough, the most likely to be reasonable about things, and he'd only had time for one of them before Loki settled enough into the possession to start trying to crush him from the inside out. Which, let's face it, was the first thing the god was going to do if he thought Gabriel was threatening his children. Hel, not being a world-spanning sea serpent or an extraordinarily pissed-off, god-eating wolf, had seemed like his best bet ...
Right up until he was actually face-to-face with her, anyway, Loki snarling dire threats at him from within, and her serene, icy expression staring down at him. Maybe it was something to do with being a queen in Niflheim, but that stare could have frozen the Morningstar for his troubles. And gods, unlike angels, had the equipment to shrivel beneath it.
She had been terrible, then. Not as angels were terrible. Not burning and beautiful. She had been ugly, quiet and cold, an almost human horror. A being of ice and decay, waiting silent and sure on the edges of the world, and in her eyes had been the calm, cool confidence that sooner or later all would belong to her. Everything that laughed in her corpse-like face, everything that flinched from her, that struck at her, everything that followed All-father's lead and cursed her name. Everything. Even foolish archangels that sought to use her father. Especially foolish archangels.
But then ... then she'd smiled at him. Reached out her midnight hand to rest it on his chest, and whisper to the frantic father inside him to be quiet. He hadn't flinched. It had taken every meager scrap of courage he had, and there hadn't been all the much to start with, but he hadn't flinched. And she had smiled at him.
"Do you claim my father?" she'd whispered, ice and wind. Meaning more than the possession, meaning more than the need to survive. He'd nodded, reasons spooling through his mind, excuses, explanations, promises ... everything he'd intended and half-thought of, anything that would put her mind at ease and keep her from destroying him. Every half-felt plan for the being he'd cradled inside him. Loki, the god he'd claimed. Gabriel ... took that sort of thing seriously.
Loki had startled in his chest, stunned at the warmth in the thought, shocked at the will behind it, and Hel had laughed softly, and leaned in to kiss them gently on the forehead.
"Take care of each other, then," she'd grinned, a flash of mischief so like her father, and then darkness again, the weight of ancient cold and the empty future of her world. "And when the time comes ... I'll claim you, archangel. When the time comes ... you will be mine in turn."
He hadn't realised, until years later, that that hadn't been a threat, that she'd meant it the way he'd meant his, that she had offered, in that moment, something she had never offered anyone else.
Not a threat. A promise.
Respite - (Gabriel/Loki, Jormungandr - 513 words)
It had been Loki who suggested they visit Jormungandr next. After Hel, the god had ... softened, somewhat. Not much, really, since this was Loki they were talking about, but ... he had believed that Gabriel at the very least seemed to mean him and his children no harm. Which, considering the circumstances, had confused the hell out of him, a fact that Gabriel couldn't help finding just a little bit amusing.
What? He'd never claimed not to be a hypocrite!
All in all, though, it was lucky he'd had Loki on board for that little visit, because angels? Didn't do so good with water. The whole 'beings of fire and light' thing, not to mention the wings and what tended to happen when they got wet ... But Loki wasn't afraid in the slightest, and this ... this was Loki's body. When he was in control of it ...
Gabriel had never been ice-skating before. Certainly never at barely subsonic speeds, leap-frogging icebergs across the northern Atlantic, and by the time they were ten miles out, he was tucked down around Loki's diaphragm and gibbering quietly. The god hadn't stopped laughing at him the whole bloody way, and he was lucky Gabriel had been more frightened of the iron ocean than pissed off at him, otherwise he might have fouled one of those jumps on purpose, just to drown that laugh in about half an ocean's worth of seawater.
By the time they had perched on an icestack off of Greenland while Jormungandr fountained up to answer Loki's call, Gabriel was so happy they were stationary that he almost didn't mind the fact that there was about sixty feet of sea serpent towering over him, and that was only the head and neck. But that made sense, because Jormungandr could only show head and neck, or he'd have to release the grip his tail had around himself lower down, and the resultant earthquakes as the tension released would shake the world apart.
The kid was called the World Serpent for a reason, you know.
Gabriel had stayed mostly quiet for that meeting. Just getting a word in edgewise here or there, answering Jor's few questions. It was Loki they were there for. Loki who jumped from the ice to his son's head, about giving Gabriel a heart-attack in the process, so he could touch and laugh and hug his child for the first time in years. Loki who, seemingly unconsciously, threaded his soul around Gabriel's as he talked and wrapped the archangel in the kind of warmth he hadn't felt in far too long. The warmth of family.
Jormungandr had been a respite, for both of them. A game and a laugh, warmth and the first inklings of trust and open caring between them. Jor had done that, and Gabriel was convinced the slimy bastard had known it, too, smiling a vast, toothy smile as Loki heckled Gabriel for his fear of water. Oh yes. Gabriel was sure the kid had known.
Despite that, though, he still thought Jor might just be his favourite. Just by a hair.
It had been Loki who suggested they visit Jormungandr next. After Hel, the god had ... softened, somewhat. Not much, really, since this was Loki they were talking about, but ... he had believed that Gabriel at the very least seemed to mean him and his children no harm. Which, considering the circumstances, had confused the hell out of him, a fact that Gabriel couldn't help finding just a little bit amusing.
What? He'd never claimed not to be a hypocrite!
All in all, though, it was lucky he'd had Loki on board for that little visit, because angels? Didn't do so good with water. The whole 'beings of fire and light' thing, not to mention the wings and what tended to happen when they got wet ... But Loki wasn't afraid in the slightest, and this ... this was Loki's body. When he was in control of it ...
Gabriel had never been ice-skating before. Certainly never at barely subsonic speeds, leap-frogging icebergs across the northern Atlantic, and by the time they were ten miles out, he was tucked down around Loki's diaphragm and gibbering quietly. The god hadn't stopped laughing at him the whole bloody way, and he was lucky Gabriel had been more frightened of the iron ocean than pissed off at him, otherwise he might have fouled one of those jumps on purpose, just to drown that laugh in about half an ocean's worth of seawater.
By the time they had perched on an icestack off of Greenland while Jormungandr fountained up to answer Loki's call, Gabriel was so happy they were stationary that he almost didn't mind the fact that there was about sixty feet of sea serpent towering over him, and that was only the head and neck. But that made sense, because Jormungandr could only show head and neck, or he'd have to release the grip his tail had around himself lower down, and the resultant earthquakes as the tension released would shake the world apart.
The kid was called the World Serpent for a reason, you know.
Gabriel had stayed mostly quiet for that meeting. Just getting a word in edgewise here or there, answering Jor's few questions. It was Loki they were there for. Loki who jumped from the ice to his son's head, about giving Gabriel a heart-attack in the process, so he could touch and laugh and hug his child for the first time in years. Loki who, seemingly unconsciously, threaded his soul around Gabriel's as he talked and wrapped the archangel in the kind of warmth he hadn't felt in far too long. The warmth of family.
Jormungandr had been a respite, for both of them. A game and a laugh, warmth and the first inklings of trust and open caring between them. Jor had done that, and Gabriel was convinced the slimy bastard had known it, too, smiling a vast, toothy smile as Loki heckled Gabriel for his fear of water. Oh yes. Gabriel was sure the kid had known.
Despite that, though, he still thought Jor might just be his favourite. Just by a hair.
Release - (Gabriel/Loki, Fenrir - 563 words)
Fenrir had been the last of the children to know his father's new status in life. The last to know of Gabriel's position in their family. Because Fenrir ... well, to be quite frank, because Fenrir was the most dangerous of them. Not through power, that was Hel, or sheer strength, where pretty much no-one could compete with Jor ... but through rage. Pain. Desperation. Fenrir was so like his father, there. He'd suffered the same way, after all. Been welcomed, accepted ... and then betrayed. Then bound and tortured, and left until the end of days would release him and the gods would reap the cost of their betrayal. Left to writhe.
Loki hadn't pushed Gabriel towards him. The god hadn't bullied or demanded, though Gabriel had felt the desire in him more than once. Loki had been cautious. Had been careful. Because Loki ... had wanted Gabriel to free his son. Loki had wanted him to release Fenrir the way he'd released Loki himself. And Loki had known that if he pushed Gabriel, if he had given him cause to fear ... that would never happen.
And Gabriel had been afraid. Let's be honest here. Fenrir was a gigantic wolf who trusted no-one, was afraid of everyone, and was fully capable and even prophesied to kill a god. Not just any god, but Odin All-father himself. Even with Loki along, the chances of Fenrir doing anything besides try his damnedest to bite Gabriel's head off were slim to nil. The last person Fenrir had trusted had been Tyr, not Loki, and look how that turned out.
But he had gone, in the end. Because he was a soft touch, and Loki had been a warm weight in his chest for over ten years by then, and Jor had been waiting patiently beneath the sea for his brother, and Hel had watched him silently and sadly whenever he visited, and all-bloody-right! He'd always been too bloody soft when it came to family. One day, he'd just known it, that was going to get him killed ...
There were times Gabriel really, really hated his father.
Anyway. He'd gone to Fenrir. He'd found the wolf on his small island, bound about with the ribbon Gleipnir, a sword still embedded in his jaws, raging still in the silence. Maddened and alone, with only the bones of Tyr's hand crushed beneath him for company.
There were times when Gabriel really, really hated the Aesir, too. Though whether the hate of that moment had been his, or the black tide of Loki's, he still wasn't quite sure. Either way, though, it was deserved.
Loki hadn't been able to help, in the end. Choked by fury and hate, the god hadn't been able to do anything besides rage inside their chest, and put a shake into their hands as Gabriel reached out to his son. As Gabriel put a hand on the sword that held the jaws closed, and met Fenrir's pained, mad eyes. Only once, before or since, had Gabriel wanted to hold a weapon less. But he couldn't leave it there, and the only way the wolf might know to trust him was if he gave him back his chance to fight before he freed him. If he pulled the wicked thing free, and gave Fenrir free rein to attack. If he trusted the wolf first.
So he had. He had.
Fenrir had been the last of the children to know his father's new status in life. The last to know of Gabriel's position in their family. Because Fenrir ... well, to be quite frank, because Fenrir was the most dangerous of them. Not through power, that was Hel, or sheer strength, where pretty much no-one could compete with Jor ... but through rage. Pain. Desperation. Fenrir was so like his father, there. He'd suffered the same way, after all. Been welcomed, accepted ... and then betrayed. Then bound and tortured, and left until the end of days would release him and the gods would reap the cost of their betrayal. Left to writhe.
Loki hadn't pushed Gabriel towards him. The god hadn't bullied or demanded, though Gabriel had felt the desire in him more than once. Loki had been cautious. Had been careful. Because Loki ... had wanted Gabriel to free his son. Loki had wanted him to release Fenrir the way he'd released Loki himself. And Loki had known that if he pushed Gabriel, if he had given him cause to fear ... that would never happen.
And Gabriel had been afraid. Let's be honest here. Fenrir was a gigantic wolf who trusted no-one, was afraid of everyone, and was fully capable and even prophesied to kill a god. Not just any god, but Odin All-father himself. Even with Loki along, the chances of Fenrir doing anything besides try his damnedest to bite Gabriel's head off were slim to nil. The last person Fenrir had trusted had been Tyr, not Loki, and look how that turned out.
But he had gone, in the end. Because he was a soft touch, and Loki had been a warm weight in his chest for over ten years by then, and Jor had been waiting patiently beneath the sea for his brother, and Hel had watched him silently and sadly whenever he visited, and all-bloody-right! He'd always been too bloody soft when it came to family. One day, he'd just known it, that was going to get him killed ...
There were times Gabriel really, really hated his father.
Anyway. He'd gone to Fenrir. He'd found the wolf on his small island, bound about with the ribbon Gleipnir, a sword still embedded in his jaws, raging still in the silence. Maddened and alone, with only the bones of Tyr's hand crushed beneath him for company.
There were times when Gabriel really, really hated the Aesir, too. Though whether the hate of that moment had been his, or the black tide of Loki's, he still wasn't quite sure. Either way, though, it was deserved.
Loki hadn't been able to help, in the end. Choked by fury and hate, the god hadn't been able to do anything besides rage inside their chest, and put a shake into their hands as Gabriel reached out to his son. As Gabriel put a hand on the sword that held the jaws closed, and met Fenrir's pained, mad eyes. Only once, before or since, had Gabriel wanted to hold a weapon less. But he couldn't leave it there, and the only way the wolf might know to trust him was if he gave him back his chance to fight before he freed him. If he pulled the wicked thing free, and gave Fenrir free rein to attack. If he trusted the wolf first.
So he had. He had.
Converge - (Gabriel/Loki, Hel, Jormungandr, Fenrir - 365 words)
The other two had found them, still on Fenrir's island. Hel, walking through the shadows and the ice, her eyes soft with distant pity. Jor, behind the eyes of serpents in the water, watching as they lay beside the shore. Loki's family. Gabriel's.
Gabriel had lain still and let them come, quiet beneath Fenrir's bulk, his hands bloody where they curled in the wolf's fur. Some of it his blood. Some of it the wolf's. The sword lay well away from them, now, beneath the water of the lake. Gabriel had hurled it from him with an archangel's strength, and more hatred than he could rightly name. It would not be easily found, not again.
He'd always hated the killing. He'd always hated having a weapon in his hand.
Fenrir was breathing easier now, at least. No more a roar of pain, a savage snarl of fury. The wounds in his jaw were closing slowly. Gabriel had been doing his best to help that along, silent and careful as Loki whispered from their mouth, as Loki stole their hands and whispered them through his son's fur. It might have been his power that had broken Gleipnir, it might have been First-father's wayward archangel who freed the wolf, but it was Loki who loved him, and Gabriel knew better than to come between a father and his child. Between a father and any of his children.
They came to him. Converged around him. Hel with one hand black as midnight tangled in her brother's fur, one hand pale as ice stroking his and Loki's brow. Jor in the bodies of many serpents, curling around them in bonds that would never chain them. Fenrir, lying atop him, crying quietly in pain and gratitude.
And Loki. Curled inside his breast, whispering silently to Gabriel even as he whispered out loud to his children. Clinging desperately to Grace and soul, the invisible hands of a god locked around Gabriel's heart.
"Thank you. Oh, thank you. For all of us. Thank you."
And if Gabriel had been able to speak, inside or out, if he had had any strength left in his heart ... he would have whispered it back. He would have whispered thank you back.
The other two had found them, still on Fenrir's island. Hel, walking through the shadows and the ice, her eyes soft with distant pity. Jor, behind the eyes of serpents in the water, watching as they lay beside the shore. Loki's family. Gabriel's.
Gabriel had lain still and let them come, quiet beneath Fenrir's bulk, his hands bloody where they curled in the wolf's fur. Some of it his blood. Some of it the wolf's. The sword lay well away from them, now, beneath the water of the lake. Gabriel had hurled it from him with an archangel's strength, and more hatred than he could rightly name. It would not be easily found, not again.
He'd always hated the killing. He'd always hated having a weapon in his hand.
Fenrir was breathing easier now, at least. No more a roar of pain, a savage snarl of fury. The wounds in his jaw were closing slowly. Gabriel had been doing his best to help that along, silent and careful as Loki whispered from their mouth, as Loki stole their hands and whispered them through his son's fur. It might have been his power that had broken Gleipnir, it might have been First-father's wayward archangel who freed the wolf, but it was Loki who loved him, and Gabriel knew better than to come between a father and his child. Between a father and any of his children.
They came to him. Converged around him. Hel with one hand black as midnight tangled in her brother's fur, one hand pale as ice stroking his and Loki's brow. Jor in the bodies of many serpents, curling around them in bonds that would never chain them. Fenrir, lying atop him, crying quietly in pain and gratitude.
And Loki. Curled inside his breast, whispering silently to Gabriel even as he whispered out loud to his children. Clinging desperately to Grace and soul, the invisible hands of a god locked around Gabriel's heart.
"Thank you. Oh, thank you. For all of us. Thank you."
And if Gabriel had been able to speak, inside or out, if he had had any strength left in his heart ... he would have whispered it back. He would have whispered thank you back.
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