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Prob all I'll manage tonight. Obviously I still have managed the concept of 'drabble', but there you go. Also ... it may be slightly obvious what kind of mood I'm in -_-;
Title: Glass Houses
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Gabriel. Gen
Continuity: Random AU somewhere post 5x10
Summary: Castiel could wish there was someone other than Gabriel to be his confessor
Wordcount: 972
Notes: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
morganoconner
Disclaimer: Not mine
Title: Glass Houses
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Gabriel. Gen
Continuity: Random AU somewhere post 5x10
Summary: Castiel could wish there was someone other than Gabriel to be his confessor
Wordcount: 972
Notes: for
morganoconner Disclaimer: Not mine
Glass Houses
Gabriel was not who he would have chosen to ask this question of, Castiel thought, standing stiffly on the pavement outside the motel. Watching him. Gabriel. The archangel, though he didn't seem it anymore. The Trickster, that more than the other, now. Castiel's brother ...
Maybe never. Maybe never that. What did he know of archangels?
Save what it felt like to be destroyed by one.
No. Gabriel was not who he would have chosen, not the angel he would hope to be his confessor. Not that it meant much. Before Gabriel was the only one there to choose, there was no need for the choice. Angels had been beyond sin. Beyond wrong. He had been beyond wrong, without need for a confessor. He remembered believing that, once. He remembered the safety of knowing that. And without it ... he supposed that Gabriel being the only one left to need was hardly the worst of his problems.
Still ... he could wish it wasn't this brother. That of all who had come, the one who would choose not to kill him, the one who would choose to understand, had not been this fey, impossible creature, this laughing mockery of a brother. That it had not been the trickster an archangel had become who had answered his empty prayers. But still he had to ask.
"Do you blame me?" He asked the streetlamp, not the archangel. Stiff and cold and quiet, looking sideways into the night. The humans were sleeping. They would not hear. He did not want them to. "Like Lucifer. Do you blame me?"
Gabriel stopped moving. Stopped his incessant flitting, the nervous energy Castiel could not remember ever seeing in the kind of beings they had once been. Could not remember in the majesty that had been the Messenger. Gabriel paused, on the edges of his sight, and Castiel could feel the depths of his stare. That, at least, was familiar.
"What do you mean, kiddo?" Strange twist to the voice, wry and dark. They still saw as angels saw, they two. For all they had lost. They still saw that way.
"Raphael believes Lucifer raised me," Castiel answered softly, still looking away. "Lucifer tells me I should stand at his side, as I have already repeated his mistakes, and Heaven sees us one and the same. And my brothers ... my brothers come to me with swords in their hands, and it is not a demon who kills them when they do." He paused, gathered some semblance of resolve, managed to lift flat, weary eyes to measure his brother's answer. To measure Gabriel. "They blame me for the blood on my hands, and the deaths on my grace, and the doubt I have sowed in Heaven. They blame me for Heaven's fall. Do you think they are right?"
Gabriel looked at him for a long, long minute. For an endless beat, a frozen fragment of time. Gabriel looked at him, with sly eyes that were suddenly impossibly tired, with intelligence that was suddenly impossibly old, and though there was still a small smile tucked in the wry corner of that mouth, it was not the Trickster that looked at Castiel. It was not that laughing, unquenchable thing.
Castiel wondered distantly when that look of weary pain had become what made an angel recognisable.
"I stood with all my Father's might behind me, and told my brother that he was to be cast down," Gabriel answered softly, small and quiet beneath the light. "I walked among my brothers' children and slew them with a word. I watched my Father leave, and take faith with him. I fled from Heaven, and left my brothers broken behind me." His mouth moved, lifted, smiled, and his eyes never changed. Never looked away. "Raphael will believe anything now, Castiel, because he has nothing left. Lucifer always wanted his brothers to fall with him, and will spin any lie he likes to accomplish it. Because archangels are no better than the rest of you, and there's none of us left now with any idea what we're meant to do."
Castiel shook his head slowly, held those wry, tired eyes. Blinked, a little, when Gabriel smiled.
"Heaven is swimming in blood, kid," the archangel murmured softly. "Heaven is swimming in doubt. But that's not on you. That started all the way back when an archangel decided he didn't like Daddy's plans anymore, and Daddy decided He didn't like sticking around looking after His kids anymore, and all the big brothers decided it was easier to run away inside their heads or out of the nest altogether." He laughed, sharp and bitter. "Heaven's a mess, Cas. Heaven's been a mess for centuries, they're just figuring it out now, that's all. And someone's got to carry the can, and you ... you just happened to develope a spine at the wrong moment." A grin, slick and pained, and a look of something that might almost have been regret. "Sorry about that, you know."
"Don't be," Castiel heard a voice say, and realised a second later it was his own. He paused, blinked a little in surprise, and then found a wry smile of his own. "Don't be," he repeated softly, catching Gabriel's eye and lifting his chin, smiling as it caused the archangel's to lift in turn. "I do not regret my choice, Gabriel, or what I become because of it. I just ... thought that you might."
Gabriel grinned, sad and tired, and bouncing on his heels because Tricksters weren't archangels, and were allowed to run, and cry, and laugh, and bounce. "Yeah, well," he said. "Stones and glass houses, kid. Stones and glass houses."
And Castiel smiled, and let it settle, let it wait, before blanking his expression and promising: "Do not worry, Gabriel. I will make sure nothing happens to your stones."
Gabriel was not who he would have chosen to ask this question of, Castiel thought, standing stiffly on the pavement outside the motel. Watching him. Gabriel. The archangel, though he didn't seem it anymore. The Trickster, that more than the other, now. Castiel's brother ...
Maybe never. Maybe never that. What did he know of archangels?
Save what it felt like to be destroyed by one.
No. Gabriel was not who he would have chosen, not the angel he would hope to be his confessor. Not that it meant much. Before Gabriel was the only one there to choose, there was no need for the choice. Angels had been beyond sin. Beyond wrong. He had been beyond wrong, without need for a confessor. He remembered believing that, once. He remembered the safety of knowing that. And without it ... he supposed that Gabriel being the only one left to need was hardly the worst of his problems.
Still ... he could wish it wasn't this brother. That of all who had come, the one who would choose not to kill him, the one who would choose to understand, had not been this fey, impossible creature, this laughing mockery of a brother. That it had not been the trickster an archangel had become who had answered his empty prayers. But still he had to ask.
"Do you blame me?" He asked the streetlamp, not the archangel. Stiff and cold and quiet, looking sideways into the night. The humans were sleeping. They would not hear. He did not want them to. "Like Lucifer. Do you blame me?"
Gabriel stopped moving. Stopped his incessant flitting, the nervous energy Castiel could not remember ever seeing in the kind of beings they had once been. Could not remember in the majesty that had been the Messenger. Gabriel paused, on the edges of his sight, and Castiel could feel the depths of his stare. That, at least, was familiar.
"What do you mean, kiddo?" Strange twist to the voice, wry and dark. They still saw as angels saw, they two. For all they had lost. They still saw that way.
"Raphael believes Lucifer raised me," Castiel answered softly, still looking away. "Lucifer tells me I should stand at his side, as I have already repeated his mistakes, and Heaven sees us one and the same. And my brothers ... my brothers come to me with swords in their hands, and it is not a demon who kills them when they do." He paused, gathered some semblance of resolve, managed to lift flat, weary eyes to measure his brother's answer. To measure Gabriel. "They blame me for the blood on my hands, and the deaths on my grace, and the doubt I have sowed in Heaven. They blame me for Heaven's fall. Do you think they are right?"
Gabriel looked at him for a long, long minute. For an endless beat, a frozen fragment of time. Gabriel looked at him, with sly eyes that were suddenly impossibly tired, with intelligence that was suddenly impossibly old, and though there was still a small smile tucked in the wry corner of that mouth, it was not the Trickster that looked at Castiel. It was not that laughing, unquenchable thing.
Castiel wondered distantly when that look of weary pain had become what made an angel recognisable.
"I stood with all my Father's might behind me, and told my brother that he was to be cast down," Gabriel answered softly, small and quiet beneath the light. "I walked among my brothers' children and slew them with a word. I watched my Father leave, and take faith with him. I fled from Heaven, and left my brothers broken behind me." His mouth moved, lifted, smiled, and his eyes never changed. Never looked away. "Raphael will believe anything now, Castiel, because he has nothing left. Lucifer always wanted his brothers to fall with him, and will spin any lie he likes to accomplish it. Because archangels are no better than the rest of you, and there's none of us left now with any idea what we're meant to do."
Castiel shook his head slowly, held those wry, tired eyes. Blinked, a little, when Gabriel smiled.
"Heaven is swimming in blood, kid," the archangel murmured softly. "Heaven is swimming in doubt. But that's not on you. That started all the way back when an archangel decided he didn't like Daddy's plans anymore, and Daddy decided He didn't like sticking around looking after His kids anymore, and all the big brothers decided it was easier to run away inside their heads or out of the nest altogether." He laughed, sharp and bitter. "Heaven's a mess, Cas. Heaven's been a mess for centuries, they're just figuring it out now, that's all. And someone's got to carry the can, and you ... you just happened to develope a spine at the wrong moment." A grin, slick and pained, and a look of something that might almost have been regret. "Sorry about that, you know."
"Don't be," Castiel heard a voice say, and realised a second later it was his own. He paused, blinked a little in surprise, and then found a wry smile of his own. "Don't be," he repeated softly, catching Gabriel's eye and lifting his chin, smiling as it caused the archangel's to lift in turn. "I do not regret my choice, Gabriel, or what I become because of it. I just ... thought that you might."
Gabriel grinned, sad and tired, and bouncing on his heels because Tricksters weren't archangels, and were allowed to run, and cry, and laugh, and bounce. "Yeah, well," he said. "Stones and glass houses, kid. Stones and glass houses."
And Castiel smiled, and let it settle, let it wait, before blanking his expression and promising: "Do not worry, Gabriel. I will make sure nothing happens to your stones."
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