SPN Fanfic: Wings Are Kind Of Over-Rated
Title: Wings Are Kind Of Over-Rated
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 4.17 Light crack, blasphemy and maundering.
Rating: GEN PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 540? Crap, I meant to write a drabble.
Chrs: ...hm. One from 4.17, and another one, sort of.
Summary: Missing/alternate scene for 4.17 that I totally don't think happened at all.
A/N: Sprung directly from a comment I was leaving over in malevolent73's LJ. This may make no sense whatsoever. LJ-only for now
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Wings Are Kind Of Over-Rated
by CaffieneKitty
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Two elements of the false memory engrams implanted in the Winchesters were not strictly necessary, but Zachariah had stuck with them as being essential. Truly, they were.
Sam Wesson would be a transit-user. Call-centre jobs didn't pay a lot, and the other memories he'd gotten of a disrupted relationship fit better with someone who was rootless, searching for his life in a new city.
Dean Smith was an easier sell. This would never be effective if Dean still had access to something that was so much a part of his real life. The Prius had suited the implanted memories. Stability, responsibility.
Which left their vehicle. Alone.
The Impala sat, gleaming black in the dim lights of the long-term parking facility. Zachariah checked on it far more often than required; the facility being secured against Earthly depredations and the car itself bearing some minor protection against everything else. There was no need to ensure it was undisturbed. Regardless, Zachariah slipped a spare moment or two several times a day to go to the parkade and look at it.
Given the general angelic tendency to take things at face value and not romanticize or anthropomorphize objects, Zachariah found it especially disturbing that each time came to observe it, the car seemed to be watching him back.
A week passed before Zachariah had the nerve to get in and sit behind the wheel. Audacity only went so far among angels. Another several days passed again before he dared start it, the black car roaring to life like the Lion of Judah.
He could not suppress the feeling that the vehicle was enraged.
Zachariah felt blasphemous, to be this entranced by an object made by humans; it was almost idolatry. He told himself he was merely gathering direct experience of the place where the Winchesters had grown, learned to hunt, their only true home besides each other. It was a thin excuse, but no less true. This was more than a conveyance.
In the third week, he sat in the car, in the garage, engine growling a threat. Feeling like a true heretic, Zachariah leaned forward. To the dashboard he whispered; "One drive, then I'll return them to you."
He let the reflexive knowledge of vehicle operation seep into his awareness from the mind of the man whose body he was borrowing, shifted the car into gear and drove.
Not out to the street, but just once, circling the parkade level like a black metal shark. The snarl of the engine echoed from the cement walls and supports. Stale oil-tinged air flowed in through the open window.
Zachariah could feel the freedom inherent in the vehicle's movement, the power to go faster, farther. He had wings and he could still feel it. He could sense the long roads of the vehicle's travels winding back through the past and on through the clouded future.
Returning to the spot the Impala had been parked for three weeks, Zachariah let the knowledge his host held park the vehicle once more, running a borrowed palm over the steering wheel once the vehicle had stopped and the engine was off.
A home, and an escape, united. An enclosed, protected space where a family lived, worked and bled with each other, for each other. Zachariah nodded to himself. Of course.
The angel exited the car and shut the door. It was time for the Winchesters to return.
- - -
(that's it, and I think malevolent73 may want to smite me now :-D)
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 4.17 Light crack, blasphemy and maundering.
Rating: GEN PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 540? Crap, I meant to write a drabble.
Chrs: ...hm. One from 4.17, and another one, sort of.
Summary: Missing/alternate scene for 4.17 that I totally don't think happened at all.
A/N: Sprung directly from a comment I was leaving over in malevolent73's LJ. This may make no sense whatsoever. LJ-only for now
-
Wings Are Kind Of Over-Rated
by CaffieneKitty
-
Two elements of the false memory engrams implanted in the Winchesters were not strictly necessary, but Zachariah had stuck with them as being essential. Truly, they were.
Sam Wesson would be a transit-user. Call-centre jobs didn't pay a lot, and the other memories he'd gotten of a disrupted relationship fit better with someone who was rootless, searching for his life in a new city.
Dean Smith was an easier sell. This would never be effective if Dean still had access to something that was so much a part of his real life. The Prius had suited the implanted memories. Stability, responsibility.
Which left their vehicle. Alone.
The Impala sat, gleaming black in the dim lights of the long-term parking facility. Zachariah checked on it far more often than required; the facility being secured against Earthly depredations and the car itself bearing some minor protection against everything else. There was no need to ensure it was undisturbed. Regardless, Zachariah slipped a spare moment or two several times a day to go to the parkade and look at it.
Given the general angelic tendency to take things at face value and not romanticize or anthropomorphize objects, Zachariah found it especially disturbing that each time came to observe it, the car seemed to be watching him back.
A week passed before Zachariah had the nerve to get in and sit behind the wheel. Audacity only went so far among angels. Another several days passed again before he dared start it, the black car roaring to life like the Lion of Judah.
He could not suppress the feeling that the vehicle was enraged.
Zachariah felt blasphemous, to be this entranced by an object made by humans; it was almost idolatry. He told himself he was merely gathering direct experience of the place where the Winchesters had grown, learned to hunt, their only true home besides each other. It was a thin excuse, but no less true. This was more than a conveyance.
In the third week, he sat in the car, in the garage, engine growling a threat. Feeling like a true heretic, Zachariah leaned forward. To the dashboard he whispered; "One drive, then I'll return them to you."
He let the reflexive knowledge of vehicle operation seep into his awareness from the mind of the man whose body he was borrowing, shifted the car into gear and drove.
Not out to the street, but just once, circling the parkade level like a black metal shark. The snarl of the engine echoed from the cement walls and supports. Stale oil-tinged air flowed in through the open window.
Zachariah could feel the freedom inherent in the vehicle's movement, the power to go faster, farther. He had wings and he could still feel it. He could sense the long roads of the vehicle's travels winding back through the past and on through the clouded future.
Returning to the spot the Impala had been parked for three weeks, Zachariah let the knowledge his host held park the vehicle once more, running a borrowed palm over the steering wheel once the vehicle had stopped and the engine was off.
A home, and an escape, united. An enclosed, protected space where a family lived, worked and bled with each other, for each other. Zachariah nodded to himself. Of course.
The angel exited the car and shut the door. It was time for the Winchesters to return.
- - -
(that's it, and I think malevolent73 may want to smite me now :-D)