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Third and final part, this, and apologies for the lateness. Um. It went a bit ... foggy, this part. Forgive me.
Title: The Valley of the Shadow
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Supernatural, Mythology
Continuity: Follows straight from Part I and Part II
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Gabriel
Summary: Castiel returns to Sheol, and finds his brother
Wordcount: 1860
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 and Part II
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Gabriel
Summary: Castiel returns to Sheol, and finds his brother
Wordcount: 1860
Warnings/SPOILERS: During/Post 5x22. Maybe a little touch of horror
Disclaimer: Not mine
Valley of the Shadow, Part III
In a moment, in a whisper, without thought or care or strength of will ... Sheol embraced him. Silent and grey, its shroud reached up around him as he pressed his brother's blood to his heart, as he cradled his brother's grace, and without line or bound or door, it swallowed him whole.
For a moment, as he fell, as he tumbled gracelessly into the shadows where only emptiness waited, Castiel was afraid. Vastly, deathly afraid, quivering at the silent touch of nothing on his soul. For a moment, in falling, he trembled.
And then, his wings caught air, his hands remembered grace, his soul remembered its purpose. And then, Castiel, angel, brother, remembered himself, and what he came for, and forced Sheol beneath him. Forced its horror away. Here and then, forged sure around his purpose, Castiel cast fear aside, and turned his sight upon the silent plain, with only one goal, one destination in mind.
Gabriel.
At first, he couldn't find him. Couldn't see him. At first, looking down, there was only the endless, featureless fall of the plain, grey and desolate, marred only by the wisping shadows of what had once been souls. At first, though his gaze touched the emptiness as far as an angel's sight may reach, there was no sign of his brother, and Castiel felt another fear seize his heart, throttle his hope. That he was too late. That his brother was already lost, beyond where any force could reach him, and Castiel had failed.
And then. Oh, and then. Gabriel's grace between his hands, as his heart failed, flaring with arrogant, desperate life. Reaching, blood and bound, to the greater part of itself, Kali's gift serving as compass and guide, and Gabriel its northern star. Castiel gasped around his thanks, a prayer on his lips to a goddess not his own, and the vial between his hands shone steady and bright, and pointed him the way.
He plunged along the path, that moment of fear spurring urgency, terror. Not too late, not yet, but how far had Gabriel fallen, while he waited? How frayed had his brother become, while he searched? Castiel growled, low and furious, desperate, and flew as fast as the airless voids of Sheol would allow. Not fast enough. Never fast enough.
Castiel had lived his life too late, too slow, and never had it infuriated him more than this moment, in this search.
And there! There, beneath him, a pale burst of light, a ghostly edifice on the silent plain. A carnival, and the sight struck Castiel still, made him pause in his flight. Silent and eerie, drawn in pale lines of grace that only barely clung to substance, but it was a sight that had no place here. A phantom echo of life, of mischief and trickery and laughter, an illusion wrought straight from a Trickster's hands. From his brother's hands, from his brother's grace. A carnival of illusion, for a Trickster caught and bound. For Gabriel.
He walked to its boundaries. Flight seemed ... wrong. That was not how you approached a fair, though he wasn't quite sure how he knew that. From Dean, maybe, or simply so long on Earth. Or even, perhaps, some whisper from the grace still held in the palm of his hand. From Gabriel, perhaps, in solemn, silent echo.
The fair, as he entered, was full of ghosts.
Castiel stared around him, in something not far from awe, something not far from fear. And something, underneath it all, that was desperately, endlessly sad. Something that grieved, for all he saw here.
There, in silent, laughing echo, was Michael. Not as he was now, not as he had been on the field of apocalypse. Earlier, much earlier than that. When the general still knew how to laugh, with his arm wrapped companionably around a ghostly Lucifer, the Prince of Hell young and innocent, free from bitterness. And there, Raphael, smiling through his serious mien. And Uriel. Castiel's breath caught at that, caught at the small, soft smile on his brother's shadowed face, caught on the memory, the pain. The grief.
He turned at the center, turned and turned in place, from illusion to illusion, naming them, seeing them, remembering them. This hall of mirrors, of portraits, of memories. This desperate fragment of the past that his brother had thrown up around himself, to shield against the nothing, against the whisper of oblivion. So pale. So without substance. So illusive. Did Gabriel have nothing real to cling to? Had his brother lost so much? But he knew. He knew the answer, recognised its echo inside himself.
They had all lost so much. They had lost it all.
"Gabriel!" he called, the sound a shock against the silent shadows, an affront. "Brother!" he cried out, in the halls of illusion, and if Sheol frowned on him for it, if it wrapped its musty shroud in around in censure ... Castiel did not care. Castiel did not stop. For his brother, he did not stop. "Gabriel! Brother, where are you?"
For a moment, there was nothing. For an endless moment, while the illusion continued its silent, saddened dance, there was no answer, no echo, nothing to show his brother still existed, still held out in this grey and drowning place. For a moment, there was nothing.
And then ... "Cas?"
Rasped, hoarse. Almost shocked, but too muted for so strong an emotion, for so clear a reaction. And Castiel turned, bright and vivid amongst the shadows, the vial of blood clenched red and shining in his hand. He turned, and there was Gabriel. There he was.
His brother had faded. Castiel felt himself stagger at the depth of it, the extent of it. There was no life in Gabriel's eyes, no hope. Only desolation, black and bitter, and then, as he looked at Castiel, as he turned eyes paled by endless nothing to his brother ... some faint stir of surprise. Some faint echo of love.
"Gabriel," Castiel rasped, stunned, desperate. Terrified. "Gabriel," he growled, furious at the fading, and before he could think he had reached out. Before he could think he had seized hold, tugged his brother's fading soul to him, pulled Gabriel's tattered form to his chest and clung tight. Wrapped himself around Gabriel, with all the strength that had pulled Dean from Hell, wrapped wings and grace and love and body around his brother, and held on with all he had.
"Gabriel," he whispered, softly broken. "Brother."
For a second, Gabriel did nothing. Froze, stiff and trembling, in Castiel's arms, rigid in something close to terror. For a second. And then, slowly, shaking, he lifted a hand, touched the back of Castiel's head, threaded translucent fingers through Castiel's hair. Touched the tremble that shook his brother in reaction.
"Castiel?" he asked, soft and wondering, into Castiel's shoulder. "Kiddo? That you?"
"Gabriel," Castiel answered, shaking, snarling at himself, at the pain that refused exit to any other word. "Gabriel," he rasped again, fighting himself, struggling with himself. "I promised I would return."
Gabriel exhaled, a shuddering, trembling thing, his hand tightening in Castiel's hair. Clinging, soft and desperate. "No offense, kid," he murmured, head tucked into Castiel's chest, made small and pale. "No offense, but ... I've made a hundred thousand illusions, for this. A hundred ... You came, and came, and then ... then you left, and I ... and I ..."
Castiel snarled, furious, blind, as he looked out on the echoes of family Gabriel had spun to hide the hollowness, on the illusions his brother had clung to. On the dream that had failed him. "I'm real," he whispered, soft and vehement. "Gabriel. Brother. I am real. I promise you."
Gabriel laughed, then. A savage, shattered sound, splinters of black mirth falling on the shadowed plain. He laughed, and bubbling through it was a sob, hard and desolate. He laughed, a harsh, racking sound, brittle and savage and sharp. He laughed, and Castiel could do nothing but hold him, but press against him until he must press his reality into his brother, until he must break that laughter with the sheer force of his presence against his brother.
Gradually, the sound faded. Gradually, the sound died, as everything in this place must die, as everything in Sheol must fade away. Gradually, the laughter fell, and Gabriel sagged against him, glimmering pale, and sighed.
"So were they," he whispered hollowly, wrapped in his brother's arms. "All of them. They were real too. And then they faded. Every one." He paused, pulled back, his face twitching desperately as he tried to summon a smile, as he tried to laugh a trickster's laugh. "All my illusions fade, in the end," he wondered softly, faded eyes looking out on the emptiness that crept forward to claim him. "They all fade, here."
And at those words, as though waiting for them, as though broken on their command, around them, in Sheol, his carnival fell asunder. Around them, in the twilight, his history and his future, his family and his dreams, pale and priceless, fell into the dust ... and were no more.
"Hey, bro?" Gabriel whispered softly, and there was something terribly childlike in it. "You'll ... you'll stay with me until I go, right? You won't ... You'll wait until I'm gone before you fade, right?"
Castiel shuddered, a quiver that flooded up from the very core of him, that ran to the very edges of his grace. His new and powerful grace, the gift of a Father for a new life, the reward for loyalty to the point of death, and beyond. Castiel shuddered around those words, around the pale shadow of a brother in his arms, and it was not pain that moved him, was not pity, but rage. But a deep, slow well of fury, and a vast and bottomless love.
"I will not fade," he said, words cut glass, the edge of a blade against the darkness. "We will not fade, my brother."
Gabriel laughed at him, a little huff, as he curled close. "Everyone fades here," he whispered softly. "All my illusions fade, Cas."
And Castiel felt him, felt the tremble of him, the reality, however frayed. Castiel felt the pulse of grace within his hands, the whisper of blood and life, the gift of a goddess. And within himself, the price won by death, an endless well of grace, of power, the gift of a Father to his son, and maybe, just maybe ... for no other purpose than this. For no other cause than to find this faded son, and bring him home. Castiel felt that, felt power given by a mother and a father, to a brother and a son, and smiled. Softly, gently, terribly. Against the shudder of fury in his chest, against the clench of compassion, against the endless rush of love.
"Then," he said, very quietly, as he cradled his fallen brother in his arms, as he gripped him tight and raised him from the shadows, as he carried them both to the Light. "Then," he whispered, an immutable promise against the fading of the shadows, "you will know you are free, Gabriel ... when I do not."
For what was freedom, save a touch that would not fade?
A/N: Psalm 23:4, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me"
In a moment, in a whisper, without thought or care or strength of will ... Sheol embraced him. Silent and grey, its shroud reached up around him as he pressed his brother's blood to his heart, as he cradled his brother's grace, and without line or bound or door, it swallowed him whole.
For a moment, as he fell, as he tumbled gracelessly into the shadows where only emptiness waited, Castiel was afraid. Vastly, deathly afraid, quivering at the silent touch of nothing on his soul. For a moment, in falling, he trembled.
And then, his wings caught air, his hands remembered grace, his soul remembered its purpose. And then, Castiel, angel, brother, remembered himself, and what he came for, and forced Sheol beneath him. Forced its horror away. Here and then, forged sure around his purpose, Castiel cast fear aside, and turned his sight upon the silent plain, with only one goal, one destination in mind.
Gabriel.
At first, he couldn't find him. Couldn't see him. At first, looking down, there was only the endless, featureless fall of the plain, grey and desolate, marred only by the wisping shadows of what had once been souls. At first, though his gaze touched the emptiness as far as an angel's sight may reach, there was no sign of his brother, and Castiel felt another fear seize his heart, throttle his hope. That he was too late. That his brother was already lost, beyond where any force could reach him, and Castiel had failed.
And then. Oh, and then. Gabriel's grace between his hands, as his heart failed, flaring with arrogant, desperate life. Reaching, blood and bound, to the greater part of itself, Kali's gift serving as compass and guide, and Gabriel its northern star. Castiel gasped around his thanks, a prayer on his lips to a goddess not his own, and the vial between his hands shone steady and bright, and pointed him the way.
He plunged along the path, that moment of fear spurring urgency, terror. Not too late, not yet, but how far had Gabriel fallen, while he waited? How frayed had his brother become, while he searched? Castiel growled, low and furious, desperate, and flew as fast as the airless voids of Sheol would allow. Not fast enough. Never fast enough.
Castiel had lived his life too late, too slow, and never had it infuriated him more than this moment, in this search.
And there! There, beneath him, a pale burst of light, a ghostly edifice on the silent plain. A carnival, and the sight struck Castiel still, made him pause in his flight. Silent and eerie, drawn in pale lines of grace that only barely clung to substance, but it was a sight that had no place here. A phantom echo of life, of mischief and trickery and laughter, an illusion wrought straight from a Trickster's hands. From his brother's hands, from his brother's grace. A carnival of illusion, for a Trickster caught and bound. For Gabriel.
He walked to its boundaries. Flight seemed ... wrong. That was not how you approached a fair, though he wasn't quite sure how he knew that. From Dean, maybe, or simply so long on Earth. Or even, perhaps, some whisper from the grace still held in the palm of his hand. From Gabriel, perhaps, in solemn, silent echo.
The fair, as he entered, was full of ghosts.
Castiel stared around him, in something not far from awe, something not far from fear. And something, underneath it all, that was desperately, endlessly sad. Something that grieved, for all he saw here.
There, in silent, laughing echo, was Michael. Not as he was now, not as he had been on the field of apocalypse. Earlier, much earlier than that. When the general still knew how to laugh, with his arm wrapped companionably around a ghostly Lucifer, the Prince of Hell young and innocent, free from bitterness. And there, Raphael, smiling through his serious mien. And Uriel. Castiel's breath caught at that, caught at the small, soft smile on his brother's shadowed face, caught on the memory, the pain. The grief.
He turned at the center, turned and turned in place, from illusion to illusion, naming them, seeing them, remembering them. This hall of mirrors, of portraits, of memories. This desperate fragment of the past that his brother had thrown up around himself, to shield against the nothing, against the whisper of oblivion. So pale. So without substance. So illusive. Did Gabriel have nothing real to cling to? Had his brother lost so much? But he knew. He knew the answer, recognised its echo inside himself.
They had all lost so much. They had lost it all.
"Gabriel!" he called, the sound a shock against the silent shadows, an affront. "Brother!" he cried out, in the halls of illusion, and if Sheol frowned on him for it, if it wrapped its musty shroud in around in censure ... Castiel did not care. Castiel did not stop. For his brother, he did not stop. "Gabriel! Brother, where are you?"
For a moment, there was nothing. For an endless moment, while the illusion continued its silent, saddened dance, there was no answer, no echo, nothing to show his brother still existed, still held out in this grey and drowning place. For a moment, there was nothing.
And then ... "Cas?"
Rasped, hoarse. Almost shocked, but too muted for so strong an emotion, for so clear a reaction. And Castiel turned, bright and vivid amongst the shadows, the vial of blood clenched red and shining in his hand. He turned, and there was Gabriel. There he was.
His brother had faded. Castiel felt himself stagger at the depth of it, the extent of it. There was no life in Gabriel's eyes, no hope. Only desolation, black and bitter, and then, as he looked at Castiel, as he turned eyes paled by endless nothing to his brother ... some faint stir of surprise. Some faint echo of love.
"Gabriel," Castiel rasped, stunned, desperate. Terrified. "Gabriel," he growled, furious at the fading, and before he could think he had reached out. Before he could think he had seized hold, tugged his brother's fading soul to him, pulled Gabriel's tattered form to his chest and clung tight. Wrapped himself around Gabriel, with all the strength that had pulled Dean from Hell, wrapped wings and grace and love and body around his brother, and held on with all he had.
"Gabriel," he whispered, softly broken. "Brother."
For a second, Gabriel did nothing. Froze, stiff and trembling, in Castiel's arms, rigid in something close to terror. For a second. And then, slowly, shaking, he lifted a hand, touched the back of Castiel's head, threaded translucent fingers through Castiel's hair. Touched the tremble that shook his brother in reaction.
"Castiel?" he asked, soft and wondering, into Castiel's shoulder. "Kiddo? That you?"
"Gabriel," Castiel answered, shaking, snarling at himself, at the pain that refused exit to any other word. "Gabriel," he rasped again, fighting himself, struggling with himself. "I promised I would return."
Gabriel exhaled, a shuddering, trembling thing, his hand tightening in Castiel's hair. Clinging, soft and desperate. "No offense, kid," he murmured, head tucked into Castiel's chest, made small and pale. "No offense, but ... I've made a hundred thousand illusions, for this. A hundred ... You came, and came, and then ... then you left, and I ... and I ..."
Castiel snarled, furious, blind, as he looked out on the echoes of family Gabriel had spun to hide the hollowness, on the illusions his brother had clung to. On the dream that had failed him. "I'm real," he whispered, soft and vehement. "Gabriel. Brother. I am real. I promise you."
Gabriel laughed, then. A savage, shattered sound, splinters of black mirth falling on the shadowed plain. He laughed, and bubbling through it was a sob, hard and desolate. He laughed, a harsh, racking sound, brittle and savage and sharp. He laughed, and Castiel could do nothing but hold him, but press against him until he must press his reality into his brother, until he must break that laughter with the sheer force of his presence against his brother.
Gradually, the sound faded. Gradually, the sound died, as everything in this place must die, as everything in Sheol must fade away. Gradually, the laughter fell, and Gabriel sagged against him, glimmering pale, and sighed.
"So were they," he whispered hollowly, wrapped in his brother's arms. "All of them. They were real too. And then they faded. Every one." He paused, pulled back, his face twitching desperately as he tried to summon a smile, as he tried to laugh a trickster's laugh. "All my illusions fade, in the end," he wondered softly, faded eyes looking out on the emptiness that crept forward to claim him. "They all fade, here."
And at those words, as though waiting for them, as though broken on their command, around them, in Sheol, his carnival fell asunder. Around them, in the twilight, his history and his future, his family and his dreams, pale and priceless, fell into the dust ... and were no more.
"Hey, bro?" Gabriel whispered softly, and there was something terribly childlike in it. "You'll ... you'll stay with me until I go, right? You won't ... You'll wait until I'm gone before you fade, right?"
Castiel shuddered, a quiver that flooded up from the very core of him, that ran to the very edges of his grace. His new and powerful grace, the gift of a Father for a new life, the reward for loyalty to the point of death, and beyond. Castiel shuddered around those words, around the pale shadow of a brother in his arms, and it was not pain that moved him, was not pity, but rage. But a deep, slow well of fury, and a vast and bottomless love.
"I will not fade," he said, words cut glass, the edge of a blade against the darkness. "We will not fade, my brother."
Gabriel laughed at him, a little huff, as he curled close. "Everyone fades here," he whispered softly. "All my illusions fade, Cas."
And Castiel felt him, felt the tremble of him, the reality, however frayed. Castiel felt the pulse of grace within his hands, the whisper of blood and life, the gift of a goddess. And within himself, the price won by death, an endless well of grace, of power, the gift of a Father to his son, and maybe, just maybe ... for no other purpose than this. For no other cause than to find this faded son, and bring him home. Castiel felt that, felt power given by a mother and a father, to a brother and a son, and smiled. Softly, gently, terribly. Against the shudder of fury in his chest, against the clench of compassion, against the endless rush of love.
"Then," he said, very quietly, as he cradled his fallen brother in his arms, as he gripped him tight and raised him from the shadows, as he carried them both to the Light. "Then," he whispered, an immutable promise against the fading of the shadows, "you will know you are free, Gabriel ... when I do not."
For what was freedom, save a touch that would not fade?
A/N: Psalm 23:4, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me"
