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Shorter, but it had a better shape like this. *sheepish*
Title: The Valley of the Shadow
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Supernatural, Mythology
Continuity: Follows straight from Part I
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Kali, a little bit of Dean.
Summary: Castiel is returned to Earth, and has a promise to keep
Wordcount: 1543
Warnings/SPOILERS: During/Post 5x22. Maybe a little touch of horror
Disclaimer: Not mine
Title: The Valley of the Shadow
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Supernatural, Mythology
Continuity: Follows straight from Part I
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Kali, a little bit of Dean.
Summary: Castiel is returned to Earth, and has a promise to keep
Wordcount: 1543
Warnings/SPOILERS: During/Post 5x22. Maybe a little touch of horror
Disclaimer: Not mine
The Valley of the Shadow - Part II
The second time Castiel was brought back to life, it was not like the first. He was not as he had been, the first time. The Force that lifted him did more than revive him. It remade him, reshaped him, filled him with power and grace that had not been his before. It made him ... better.
And, too, this second time, there was no confusion. No panic and fear, no lack of understanding of what had occurred, no shielding haze of forgetfulness. Castiel knew what had happened to the others while he was gone, was granted that knowledge whole. And he remembered ... all that had happened to him, in the interim. Oh, he remembered.
In one respect, though, it was the same. One thing had not changed. From the second he awoke, from the very first, this time as the last ... Castiel had a purpose. He had a goal. And this time, as the last, he was fully determined to accomplish that goal.
He'd lied to Dean. He wasn't quite sure why, wasn't sure why Dean could not know about Gabriel, or what Castiel planned to do. Perhaps because there was a great chance he would die in this attempt, and Dean had seen enough death this past day to last him a lifetime. Perhaps because Dean was ... hollowed, by what had happened. He could see that, though he did not know what to do to help it. He could hear it, in the flash of bitterness, of rage and pain in his human's voice. "God gives you a shiny new set of wings and suddenly your his bitch again." Which Cas would argue with, all things considered, but Dean ... deserved his bitterness. Though it would only damage him, in the end, Dean did deserve that rush of anger.
If and when Castiel returned, he would fix that. Or try, at least. He might even do as he'd said, do what he'd mentioned on a whim. He might even try to fix Heaven. But first ... First he had a promise to keep, and there was so little time ... Gabriel had been pale and frayed already when Castiel had been taken from him. There was no way of knowing how long he would last. Not ... not there.
Not in Sheol.
Sheol. The Pit of Souls. Where there was no God. Where the dead returned to nothing. As the humans said, dust to dust. Not only bodily, but in spirit, too. In soul. In that place, the dead rested, the dead slept, and sooner or later ... the dead were no more. Sooner or later, they were gone, and not even their Father could return them. They lay beyond Creation, there, in the silence that waited beyond and behind and between, and once you faded in that place, once you were lost to it ... there could be no return. No force could bring you back.
There were no walls around Sheol, no boundary laid around it. There was no entrance or exit. It was not Hell, bound behind locks and gates, a prison that could be broken. It was not a place of punishment, or reward. It was not a place of Judgement. Only oblivion waited there.
And as soon as Gabriel accepted that, as soon as he gave up hope and surrendered ... oblivion would find him. Castiel could not wait, then. Could not be slow in reaching him. The Apocalypse was over, all immediate need on Earth was gone, and while Heaven may need more pressing help, Castiel found he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Not in the face of his brother's need.
So he went to her. With little more than a guess to guide him, a suspicion born from a second-hand story of his brother's death, but he needed something to open the door. He needed something of Gabriel, to guide him home. And Kali ... she had taken something. He knew it. He believed it. So he went to her.
She was cold, in greeting him, ancient and contemptuous, a being who had no use for him or any like him. He could see that in an instant. Could see that the grudges of an Apocalypses had not left her, could see that this Goddess had no more use for any of his Father's children. In an instant, he saw that.
In another, he forgot it. He had no time.
"You have something of my brother," he opened coldly. Heavily. "Something you took. I need it back. Now."
He'd forgotten manners, too. But then, he'd never been very good at them in the first place.
She smiled at him, dark and cruel. "And if I had? Why should I give it to you?" A twist of her mouth, pained anger. "I have lost enough to your kind, of late. Why should I have anything more to do with any of you?"
Perhaps she had a point. Dean had told him of Ganesh's death, unknowing of what it meant. Dean had told him of the slaughter of her son. Even if it was not permanent, even if gods such as these could not be so easily destroyed, still she had a point. Still she had a right to her grudges. But Castiel had a need, and understanding could not overwrite it.
"Gabriel is dead," he told her. Flatly, brokenly. "He is ... There is little time. If I am to bring him back, I need something of him. Something to guide me to him. I need it now. If you have nothing, if you will give me nothing, tell me now. I have not time to waste on you. He does not have the time."
For a second, he thought she meant to strike him for that. For a second, as her human visage faltered and a gleam showed through, vast and terrible, of the Goddess beneath, he thought she meant to kill him then and there, and send him to his brother that way. For a second, he honestly didn't care. But then ... then something flickered in Kali's blood-dark eyes, some hint of evaluation, some touch of sympathy, and she looked more gently upon him.
"You mean to bring him back, little one?" she asked quietly, a chill buzz of evaluation, dark and inscrutable, curious. "Even if you must face me to manage it?"
Castiel nodded impatiently. Hadn't he just said that? "Destruction waits, one way or another," he said quietly. "Whether it is yours, or that of Sheol, it matters little." Though perhaps he might prefer hers, if he had a choice. Kali offered destruction in battle, in blood and pain and all that as a warrior he had come to respect. In Sheol, there was only the slow wasting, and the quiet nothing, and he had had enough of that as he faded, as he lost his power. He had touched that too deeply already, and had no wish to see Gabriel touch it more deeply again. He had no time. "Tell me now, goddess. One way or another. Tell me now!"
She studied him for another second, for a long, endless beat of time, while he quivered with impatience and the burning, desperate need to move, to fight, to fly, to act. As he had before, as he had ploughed through Hell, as he had stood against an archangel, as he had staggered empty to the fight. Castiel needed to move. And Kali, the Goddess of Destruction, of battle and protection and the sword in defense of her people ... That, as perhaps nothing else, she understood.
"Here," she said quietly, holding something out to him. A vial, tiny in her dark hand, a jewel of glass and blood and Grace, shimmering against the blackness of her. A jewel that sang his brother's name. That sang of Gabriel. "Blood, and Grace. The sacrifice of a life beneath my sword, the essence of a spirit beneath my blade. It is ... as complete an artefact as you will find, of him." A small, strange smile. "There were few he still touched, by the end. He left ... too small a mark, on this world. Time to fix that, perhaps. Time ... to bring him back."
Castiel reached out, silently, almost reverently, and touched the cool curve of the glass. Wrapped his hand carefully around it, and pulled his brother towards him.
What remained of his brother. For now.
"Yes," he said, quietly, closing his hand very gently around the glass and the pale pulse of Grace, the fragile thread spun out into the emptiness beyond, behind, between. Touched the thread of his brother's death, and felt it tug his heart to the hollows of the world, where Gabriel waited. Yes. It was time to bring his brother back. Or, perhaps, time to die trying. Either way. Gabriel would not fade untouched, unsought. Gabriel would not wither forgotten. Not while Castiel had a promise to keep.
He did not see her smile, as he left, did not see the rich, dark curve of her lip as he flew from her without a word, lost in the siren song of his brother's fading Grace. He did not see Kali, Destroyer and Protectoress, smile into the darkness after him.
But she did. In the twilight, she did.
Contd: Valley of the Shadow, Part III
The second time Castiel was brought back to life, it was not like the first. He was not as he had been, the first time. The Force that lifted him did more than revive him. It remade him, reshaped him, filled him with power and grace that had not been his before. It made him ... better.
And, too, this second time, there was no confusion. No panic and fear, no lack of understanding of what had occurred, no shielding haze of forgetfulness. Castiel knew what had happened to the others while he was gone, was granted that knowledge whole. And he remembered ... all that had happened to him, in the interim. Oh, he remembered.
In one respect, though, it was the same. One thing had not changed. From the second he awoke, from the very first, this time as the last ... Castiel had a purpose. He had a goal. And this time, as the last, he was fully determined to accomplish that goal.
He'd lied to Dean. He wasn't quite sure why, wasn't sure why Dean could not know about Gabriel, or what Castiel planned to do. Perhaps because there was a great chance he would die in this attempt, and Dean had seen enough death this past day to last him a lifetime. Perhaps because Dean was ... hollowed, by what had happened. He could see that, though he did not know what to do to help it. He could hear it, in the flash of bitterness, of rage and pain in his human's voice. "God gives you a shiny new set of wings and suddenly your his bitch again." Which Cas would argue with, all things considered, but Dean ... deserved his bitterness. Though it would only damage him, in the end, Dean did deserve that rush of anger.
If and when Castiel returned, he would fix that. Or try, at least. He might even do as he'd said, do what he'd mentioned on a whim. He might even try to fix Heaven. But first ... First he had a promise to keep, and there was so little time ... Gabriel had been pale and frayed already when Castiel had been taken from him. There was no way of knowing how long he would last. Not ... not there.
Not in Sheol.
Sheol. The Pit of Souls. Where there was no God. Where the dead returned to nothing. As the humans said, dust to dust. Not only bodily, but in spirit, too. In soul. In that place, the dead rested, the dead slept, and sooner or later ... the dead were no more. Sooner or later, they were gone, and not even their Father could return them. They lay beyond Creation, there, in the silence that waited beyond and behind and between, and once you faded in that place, once you were lost to it ... there could be no return. No force could bring you back.
There were no walls around Sheol, no boundary laid around it. There was no entrance or exit. It was not Hell, bound behind locks and gates, a prison that could be broken. It was not a place of punishment, or reward. It was not a place of Judgement. Only oblivion waited there.
And as soon as Gabriel accepted that, as soon as he gave up hope and surrendered ... oblivion would find him. Castiel could not wait, then. Could not be slow in reaching him. The Apocalypse was over, all immediate need on Earth was gone, and while Heaven may need more pressing help, Castiel found he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Not in the face of his brother's need.
So he went to her. With little more than a guess to guide him, a suspicion born from a second-hand story of his brother's death, but he needed something to open the door. He needed something of Gabriel, to guide him home. And Kali ... she had taken something. He knew it. He believed it. So he went to her.
She was cold, in greeting him, ancient and contemptuous, a being who had no use for him or any like him. He could see that in an instant. Could see that the grudges of an Apocalypses had not left her, could see that this Goddess had no more use for any of his Father's children. In an instant, he saw that.
In another, he forgot it. He had no time.
"You have something of my brother," he opened coldly. Heavily. "Something you took. I need it back. Now."
He'd forgotten manners, too. But then, he'd never been very good at them in the first place.
She smiled at him, dark and cruel. "And if I had? Why should I give it to you?" A twist of her mouth, pained anger. "I have lost enough to your kind, of late. Why should I have anything more to do with any of you?"
Perhaps she had a point. Dean had told him of Ganesh's death, unknowing of what it meant. Dean had told him of the slaughter of her son. Even if it was not permanent, even if gods such as these could not be so easily destroyed, still she had a point. Still she had a right to her grudges. But Castiel had a need, and understanding could not overwrite it.
"Gabriel is dead," he told her. Flatly, brokenly. "He is ... There is little time. If I am to bring him back, I need something of him. Something to guide me to him. I need it now. If you have nothing, if you will give me nothing, tell me now. I have not time to waste on you. He does not have the time."
For a second, he thought she meant to strike him for that. For a second, as her human visage faltered and a gleam showed through, vast and terrible, of the Goddess beneath, he thought she meant to kill him then and there, and send him to his brother that way. For a second, he honestly didn't care. But then ... then something flickered in Kali's blood-dark eyes, some hint of evaluation, some touch of sympathy, and she looked more gently upon him.
"You mean to bring him back, little one?" she asked quietly, a chill buzz of evaluation, dark and inscrutable, curious. "Even if you must face me to manage it?"
Castiel nodded impatiently. Hadn't he just said that? "Destruction waits, one way or another," he said quietly. "Whether it is yours, or that of Sheol, it matters little." Though perhaps he might prefer hers, if he had a choice. Kali offered destruction in battle, in blood and pain and all that as a warrior he had come to respect. In Sheol, there was only the slow wasting, and the quiet nothing, and he had had enough of that as he faded, as he lost his power. He had touched that too deeply already, and had no wish to see Gabriel touch it more deeply again. He had no time. "Tell me now, goddess. One way or another. Tell me now!"
She studied him for another second, for a long, endless beat of time, while he quivered with impatience and the burning, desperate need to move, to fight, to fly, to act. As he had before, as he had ploughed through Hell, as he had stood against an archangel, as he had staggered empty to the fight. Castiel needed to move. And Kali, the Goddess of Destruction, of battle and protection and the sword in defense of her people ... That, as perhaps nothing else, she understood.
"Here," she said quietly, holding something out to him. A vial, tiny in her dark hand, a jewel of glass and blood and Grace, shimmering against the blackness of her. A jewel that sang his brother's name. That sang of Gabriel. "Blood, and Grace. The sacrifice of a life beneath my sword, the essence of a spirit beneath my blade. It is ... as complete an artefact as you will find, of him." A small, strange smile. "There were few he still touched, by the end. He left ... too small a mark, on this world. Time to fix that, perhaps. Time ... to bring him back."
Castiel reached out, silently, almost reverently, and touched the cool curve of the glass. Wrapped his hand carefully around it, and pulled his brother towards him.
What remained of his brother. For now.
"Yes," he said, quietly, closing his hand very gently around the glass and the pale pulse of Grace, the fragile thread spun out into the emptiness beyond, behind, between. Touched the thread of his brother's death, and felt it tug his heart to the hollows of the world, where Gabriel waited. Yes. It was time to bring his brother back. Or, perhaps, time to die trying. Either way. Gabriel would not fade untouched, unsought. Gabriel would not wither forgotten. Not while Castiel had a promise to keep.
He did not see her smile, as he left, did not see the rich, dark curve of her lip as he flew from her without a word, lost in the siren song of his brother's fading Grace. He did not see Kali, Destroyer and Protectoress, smile into the darkness after him.
But she did. In the twilight, she did.
Contd: Valley of the Shadow, Part III
