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morganoconner , who I think wanted something more slashy than this. My apologies -_-;
Title: A Brother's Hand
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Continuity: Just after 5x16, I think
Characters/Pairings: Castiel & Gabriel. Mostly gen, I think?
Summary: He stands empty, and his brother comes
Wordcount: 703
Disclaimer: Not mine
morganoconner , who I think wanted something more slashy than this. My apologies -_-;Title: A Brother's Hand
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Continuity: Just after 5x16, I think
Characters/Pairings: Castiel & Gabriel. Mostly gen, I think?
Summary: He stands empty, and his brother comes
Wordcount: 703
Disclaimer: Not mine
A Brother's Hand
He stands. Empty, and cold, and there is nothing in his eyes, nothing in his hands. Too far fallen. Too much unmade. He has stood for such a long time, again and again as he is brought to his knees, as he is battered and bloodied, and still he stands. Every time, he stands. But his hands are empty now. There is no echo of his fire. He has lost it all.
His brother comes. This brother, vast and terrible, who has fallen in his time. Who fell, long before. This brother who picked him up like a toy, not so long ago, who tossed him from hand to hand, and reminded him again of the difference between an archangel, and the faded, half-fallen angel he has become. That brother comes.
Castiel cannot fight him. He must, he must, he will, but he cannot. Though he raises a hand, though he holds it out not in supplication but in warning, he cannot. He never could, and his hands are empty now. He holds no fire to stave him off, no blade to cost him blood as he falls. He has nothing, the emptiness inside that his Father's words had left, and he cannot fight.
He does not have to. This once, this one time, he does not have to. This brother, who struck him down in his turn. This brother, like other brothers, like Uriel and Raphael, and Lucifer, and all the faces that haunt his dreams. For one choice, this brother, like all the others, and Castiel cannot regret, he can not regret, but the fear is so old in him now. The fear that lurks, unlessened, beneath the blackness in his chest, and the emptiness in his eyes.
This once, it is not answered. This once, it is not warranted.
Gabriel enfolds him. Gabriel, who fell so long ago, who knew so long ago, who heard the Father's bitter words so long before the rest of them. Gabriel, who understood before any other the emptiness of what they fought for. Gabriel wraps him in warmth and grace and wings, and Castiel can only stare. Can only shudder in the embrace, and ask a silent question he'd thought himself too worn, too shattered, to think.
Brother, Gabriel whispers, voice cracking on the word. Brother, he says, as he curls himself so close, as he pulls that vast and terrible grace around the remains of a half-fallen angel. Brother, he pleads, and Castiel understands, suddenly, that this is the only answer Gabriel has. That this is the only choice Gabriel can make. As Castiel stands, over and over again, no matter how empty his eyes, how empty his hands, so Gabriel must reach out. Over and over, no matter how many times he is tossed aside. No matter how many times he is lost. Gabriel must reach out, for the brothers that once held his hands, and kept the emptiness at bay.
He could stand, now. He could fight, now. His only answer, he could fight. He could cast this brother aside, could answer for the wounding of an earlier meeting. He could do that. As every brother since his choosing has met him with violence, so Castiel could return the favour. So he could stand.
But he cannot. He cannot. For the emptiness in his heart that is echoed in Gabriel's eyes. For the warmth of something neither of them can fully remember. For the touch of a brother's hand that is neither violent nor spurning. For the crack in Gabriel's voice, and the fading in Castiel's grace, and all the times they have stood, and stood again, where all the world seemed to cast them down. He cannot strike.
So he reaches out, instead. So he throws away the emptiness in his hand, to take his brother's in its stead. So he tries, with what so little remains of his grace, to return that desperate, reaching embrace. So he holds his brother close, Gabriel, who wounded him, and in the darkness of his Father's loss, he remembers what it was to love.
Gabriel, he whispers softly, as he curls his hand through his brother's hair, and keeps the emptiness at bay. And there is warmth, as his brother softly weeps.
He stands. Empty, and cold, and there is nothing in his eyes, nothing in his hands. Too far fallen. Too much unmade. He has stood for such a long time, again and again as he is brought to his knees, as he is battered and bloodied, and still he stands. Every time, he stands. But his hands are empty now. There is no echo of his fire. He has lost it all.
His brother comes. This brother, vast and terrible, who has fallen in his time. Who fell, long before. This brother who picked him up like a toy, not so long ago, who tossed him from hand to hand, and reminded him again of the difference between an archangel, and the faded, half-fallen angel he has become. That brother comes.
Castiel cannot fight him. He must, he must, he will, but he cannot. Though he raises a hand, though he holds it out not in supplication but in warning, he cannot. He never could, and his hands are empty now. He holds no fire to stave him off, no blade to cost him blood as he falls. He has nothing, the emptiness inside that his Father's words had left, and he cannot fight.
He does not have to. This once, this one time, he does not have to. This brother, who struck him down in his turn. This brother, like other brothers, like Uriel and Raphael, and Lucifer, and all the faces that haunt his dreams. For one choice, this brother, like all the others, and Castiel cannot regret, he can not regret, but the fear is so old in him now. The fear that lurks, unlessened, beneath the blackness in his chest, and the emptiness in his eyes.
This once, it is not answered. This once, it is not warranted.
Gabriel enfolds him. Gabriel, who fell so long ago, who knew so long ago, who heard the Father's bitter words so long before the rest of them. Gabriel, who understood before any other the emptiness of what they fought for. Gabriel wraps him in warmth and grace and wings, and Castiel can only stare. Can only shudder in the embrace, and ask a silent question he'd thought himself too worn, too shattered, to think.
Brother, Gabriel whispers, voice cracking on the word. Brother, he says, as he curls himself so close, as he pulls that vast and terrible grace around the remains of a half-fallen angel. Brother, he pleads, and Castiel understands, suddenly, that this is the only answer Gabriel has. That this is the only choice Gabriel can make. As Castiel stands, over and over again, no matter how empty his eyes, how empty his hands, so Gabriel must reach out. Over and over, no matter how many times he is tossed aside. No matter how many times he is lost. Gabriel must reach out, for the brothers that once held his hands, and kept the emptiness at bay.
He could stand, now. He could fight, now. His only answer, he could fight. He could cast this brother aside, could answer for the wounding of an earlier meeting. He could do that. As every brother since his choosing has met him with violence, so Castiel could return the favour. So he could stand.
But he cannot. He cannot. For the emptiness in his heart that is echoed in Gabriel's eyes. For the warmth of something neither of them can fully remember. For the touch of a brother's hand that is neither violent nor spurning. For the crack in Gabriel's voice, and the fading in Castiel's grace, and all the times they have stood, and stood again, where all the world seemed to cast them down. He cannot strike.
So he reaches out, instead. So he throws away the emptiness in his hand, to take his brother's in its stead. So he tries, with what so little remains of his grace, to return that desperate, reaching embrace. So he holds his brother close, Gabriel, who wounded him, and in the darkness of his Father's loss, he remembers what it was to love.
Gabriel, he whispers softly, as he curls his hand through his brother's hair, and keeps the emptiness at bay. And there is warmth, as his brother softly weeps.
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