Puppies (A Deceptive Title)
The observant amongst you will notice that (a) I am naughtily posting this from work because I actually have no time ever anymore to do anything other than work and sleep. And occasionally eat and drink. And things. Also (b) the fic below is looooong overdue. And finally, (c) my beautiful fic Masterpost is now complete (as far as I want it to be complete) thanks to cienna's hard work and dedication to my fic. I really don't want to know how many words I've written. I think it would be embarrassing. So, there's no point in worrying about adding a few more words to the pile.
Title: Renascence
Rating: R
Words: 6,125
Summary: SPN, (Anna/)Balthazar/Castiel(/OFCs). Originally written for disterra for the spn_balthazar fic exchange last year and then somehow forgotten about and left to languish on my memory stick.
Many thanks, as ever, to cienna for the beta.
.Renascence.
The singing of praises to their Father, the Mighty, to His glory and to hope for mankind was great and everything- it wasn't that Balthazar was complaining- but after surprising a bunch of shepherds with a few tunes and Gabriel swaggering about like a preening warrior and the birth of The Son of the Most High everything that came after was kind of a letdown. Back to work. No holiday for you, and Balthazar had seen the kind of holiday the remembrance of this most exultant event would become a couple of thousand years down the line. All he got was a slap on the back for a job well done and a get back into formation, Balthazar, you hopeless excuse for an angel.
It didn't seem fair somehow. Shouldn't they get to celebrate the birth of their new brother too? Once, long ago, when their Father was still forming the world and fashioning angels from the air and igniting stars throughout the universe there has been jubilation, dancing, a really damned good party. That had been such a very long time ago, and so very much had changed since the First War, but still.
As he crept from the barracks late into the after-watch it wasn't disobedience he told himself. It was his very duty to celebrate. His Holy Father had made him this way. It wasn't his fault that Earth called to him; things that weren't so much forbidden as scorned, thought below them, especially by the likes of Uriel and Raphael who would absolutely have his head if they found out what he had determined to do. Balthazar had seen human love and he had seen human intoxication- joy of the Lord and Life brought about by nothing more than a drink- and Balthazar wanted to taste.
There were others who felt it too. Balthazar had seen the way Anna smiled at the humans, and he had seen the way Gabriel made fun of them, and he had seen the way Castiel watched them.
It was to Castiel that Balthazar went, because Gabriel was an ass and Anna was too puritanical and would want to do good. The great thing about Castiel was that you could never guess how he was going to react to anything. Oh, he was a simple creature when it came to smiting demons: all kill, destroy, kill kill kill. But there was more to him than that. There were times, in the Peace, when he had looked away from the Glory of their Father to Creation around him. He had been delighted at the invention of writing and knowledge and took to magic as though their Father had gifted him with it himself. Which, actually, he probably had. But anyway, Castiel was every bit the Heavenly Warrior and obedient soldier but he was also curious.
Beyond duty, there were pretty much only two things that Castiel ever did: training and watching humanity. To his relief, Balthazar found Castiel doing the latter, because tempting him away from training was impossible without a formal order or seven.
"You know they have a word for people like you," Balthazar told his brother, coming to rest beside him. "Or at least, they will have," he added thoughtfully.
"And what is that?" Castiel asked, because he trusted far too easily and never saw it coming.
"Stalker. Creepy creeper. More than one word, in fact!"
Castiel shifted his wings in irritation. "Anna and Gabriel and you watch them too," he said defensively.
"Not this much." That wasn't exactly the truth of it, but Castiel didn't need to know that. Balthazar had a plan. "Wouldn't you like to walk amongst them?"
Castiel watched human lives pass, watched how they moved and spoke and he looked thoughtful.
"I might," Castiel prevaricated. Balthazar understood why; none of them knew if it was even allowed anymore. Back in the day there were some pretty strict rules that Balthazar was glad he wasn't around for.
There was a softness, a longing in the way that convinced Balthazar there was no might about it.
His ruthless, ferocious warrior brother turned into a doting cherub in the face of humanity. It made Balthazar want to laugh, and he would have if laughing wouldn't have completely ruined his plan.
Instead, he turned to Castiel and said seriously, piously, "I am to deliver a message."
The suspicious look Castiel gave him in reply might have offended him if he was any other angel, but Castiel knew him too well. And Balthazar was lying, after all.
"Is that so?" Castiel said.
"To Earth," Balthazar nodded.
Now he came to it, it did seem unbelievable. Neither of them were archangels, or even close, and the idea of giving the task of delivering the Divine Message via a foot soldier was perhaps unlikely. Still. Balthazar persisted. "I am to go forth and tell them to celebrate?"
Balthazar knew that Castiel had been watching the humans for far too long when he rolled every one of his eyes. "And who decreed this?"
"Anna?" Balthazar tried.
"We're not going to Earth without orders, Balthazar," Castiel shook his head sternly and Balthazar had not thought his plan would fail this badly, nor this quickly. It was a curse, Balthazar thought, that angels could not lie like humans could. It was also a tragedy, Balthazar chuckled to himself, that he might not get to lie with humans that night.
"I'm going," Balthazar said stubbornly, and he would he decided, with or without Castiel. "I'm going to celebrate the birth of our brother, like we used to."
Though there had been less physicality in those days, before, than what Balthazar had in mind now, but the spirit of the thing was the same; rejoicing, praising their Father in all his aspects.
Balthazar so very much wanted to praise his Father in the aspect of alcohol.
It was also true that there was no way Castiel wouldn't follow, if only to try and stop him.
Before Castiel could even think to reach out and grab hold of him Balthazar flew.
***
Having a human body was like nothing Balthazar had ever experienced, and like nothing he could ever have expected.
Physical, actual touch, with hands that were limited in movement by the world around them, by the weight of the sky, by the twist of bones and muscles and skin. It was fascinating and for a long time Balthazar didn't move, becoming aware of the ground beneath his feet, the cool wind against his skin, seeing for the first time colour and shape through limited, human eyes. This body, this vessel, blinked his borrowed eyed and Balthazar realised it had been automatic, instinctual, and was amazed. Shifting weight from foot to foot, balancing, came easily as the muscles remembered how to walk, even if Balthazar had no idea how.
It was dark around him, night time it was called, making it difficult for his human eyes to see clearly. From what he could make out he was walking back and forth beside a long table and there were others around him, watching his movements, their eyes wide and their lips thin. Balthazar saw in their minds that they thought he'd gone mad. That grief would be the death of him. This, Balthazar decided, was a poor place for celebration. None of the humans tried to stop him as Balthazar walked over to the door- a real door- and stepped out onto a narrow street, dimly lit by oil lamps and torches.
Balthazar walked and admired the way his feet and his legs moved and pulled and relaxed, bones rolling in joints.
There weren't many people on the streets with him and those he did see had wrapped themselves in thick skins and furs. They looked at him strangely as he passed and when Balthazar looked down he saw that his arms and his feet were bare and that this was strange. He allowed his body to feel the cold and in an instant the hair along his arms stood on end and his feet felt pain like Balthazar had never felt before. He had felt pain, of course, but it had never been physical in the sense of rough ground tearing at the flesh of his soles, or shivers along his spine that made his back and sides ache. Everything was new and strange and Balthazar loved it.
The thoughts of those around him said, scornfully, Drunkard, and Balthazar thought this an excellent idea.
It wasn't hard to find what he'd been seeking; he could smell sweet-sour fruit and vomit and he could hear the calls and the laughter from a long way off, the warm firelight spilling welcomingly out onto the street when he drew close.
For the first time Balthazar spoke human words and revelled in the way sound rolled from his tongue, rang in his ears, put thought to logic and bound eternity to sand.
With this newfound language Balthazar convinced the publican to hand over his shoes and an old brick-maker to hand over his jacket and the gathered labourers to keep a cup full of wine full for him. Taste was better than even the cold, warm against his lips, warm in his human stomach, and Balthazar thought that he must have drunk at least a whole jar by the time Castiel found him.
Human or angel there was no missing that serious, intense stare that Castiel's visage always favoured. Balthazar looked at his brother's vessel, a young thing hidden away in too many layers with a scowl that looked out of place on his kind face. It occurred to Balthazar then that he had no idea what his own vessel looked like. From the way the women of the tavern lingered, from the tautness of his arms and the roughness of his hands Balthazar thought it was unlikely he was a monstrous sight. It was a curious feeling to realise that how he looked meant something in this world.
"Brother!" Balthazar raised his cup in greeting to Castiel, standing awkwardly just inside the door and looking around with undisguised discomfort.
Around him, his new friends drank a cup to his brother too, waving him over and offering him wine and dates, women, honey.
"We're not staying," Castiel said and his voice was unnaturally low for such a young face. Seeing power there, something else the others around him fell silent, suddenly unsure and afraid. They shied away from Balthazar, thought him a demon or a trickster and Balthazar wanted to curse Castiel for killing the mood. And before he'd even had the chance to get his brother to taste the wine.
"I suppose not," Balthazar agreed amiably. There was too much suspicion in the eyes of the other customers now- not three breaths ago his friends. Humans, Balthazar decided, were fickle and treacherous. He left them behind without regret.
Back out on the street the night had turned even colder and Balthazar saw his breath forming clouds in the air as he spoke, "There are other, better places to see yet."
Castiel's already impressive frown deepened. "We are to return-"
"We aren't to do anything," Balthazar interrupted, and enjoyed how much easier it was to impede speech than it was to interrupt thought. "We're here now. Isn't it incredible? These bodies-"
"We have duties. This isn't sanctioned-"
"Sanctioned," Balthazar scoffed. "Our Father knows all. If he disapproved he would have had us hauled back to Heaven long ago."
"You," Castiel said.
"You what?"
"You would have been hauled back. I am merely here to ensure you aren't causing trouble."
"Oh yes," Balthazar laughed. "I'm sure you are."
They walked without direction, and this too was something that Balthazar had never done before. Always there had been purpose, a goal to be reached, a reason for every action. It was freeing to feel none of that, and Balthazar wondered if Castiel felt it too.
Beside him, Castiel was thoughtful, and for a time Balthazar let him be. Let him feel the joy of discovery that he had felt when he was new to solid matter, discovering its endless limitations. He didn't miss the way Castiel's eyes curiously took in the buildings and the people they passed. Balthazar knew his brother well, and he knew that Castiel was already prevaricating. He was arguing with himself, most likely, but he was also procrastinating because deep down he wanted to stay.
The kind, loving brother that Balthazar was he would make it easy for Castiel.
"Then you have to remain," Balthazar grinned. "To ensure I'm not causing trouble."
"You won't return?" Castiel asked.
"Not before I must," Balthazar said, then clarified when Castiel turned to him in alarm, "I mean, not before I have duties I must attend to." Words were so imprecise.
Castiel made no reply, which Balthazar took for agreement.
Suddenly, Castiel stopped walking and it was so abrupt that Balthazar almost tripped over his brother. Castiel caught his arm deftly as he stumbled, limbs tangling fascinatingly together, and Balthazar discovered the warmth of touch.
"Down there," Castiel said, and his voice was quiet and reverent. Castiel tilted his head towards a narrow, shabby alleyway that ran away from the street they'd been following. "Down there is our brother."
In surprise that he had not noticed Balthazar let the effects of the wine bleed away from his veins and his mind and he saw it; that warmth and familiarity that felt like Heaven and their Father.
He smiled and took Castiel's hand. "Then let us celebrate in his honour."
Balthazar had a plan, and this time he would not fail.
***
In all the world, Rome's lights shone the brightest. Its streets bustled with thousands and thousands of humans and Balthazar marvelled at how many of them there were. How they stacked themselves on top of one another, enclosing their lives within tiny spaces bound by flimsy walls, joined together by cut-stone pathways, held in society by clothes and words and adornment.
The noise, when Balthazar slipped into a new vessel- a young thing, eager and curious- was like nothing he had ever heard before. It was loud, not the righteous, soaring chorus of Heaven but a cacophony of different, dissonant sounds. There was laughter, anger, joy, disillusionment and everything in between. It was overwhelming and it was intoxicating, so different from the praises and the glories of Heaven or the clash and call of the battlefield. This was better and Balthazar was sure he could get drunk just from tasting all this emotion.
No one even noticed his arrival. No one gave him a second look as he filled this small human form, hiding himself away easily among the smell and the smoke and the mass of humanity around him.
This time Balthazar took interest in the appearance of his vessel, but he had no understanding of human aesthetics and couldn't decide if this new human was unappealing or whether everyone around him was too drunk to notice one way or another.
It did not surprise Balthazar that he could still feel a lingering inebriation in the body's mind as he entered him, legs unsteady and face warm. The vessel's stomach was already filled with sweet wine. It was night here too and everyone thought of nothing but drinking and women and men and sex.
He was in some kind of drinking establishment, leaning up against a wall stained red with wine and black with scuffed shoes and smoke from oil lamps. There was a cup in his hand, half-full, and Balthazar knew then that this vessel was made for him. Balthazar grinned gleefully, tasting the wine- warm and spiced and strong- and revelled in the atmosphere around him; debauched, unruly, fun.
There was a woman pressing a man up against a wall in the far corner, kissing him zealously, wetly, and Balthazar watched as the man's hands found the folds of her dress, stroked the curves of her body. Perhaps he should have sought out a female vessel because the way the woman moaned into the man's mouth as he caressed the shape of her chest made Balthazar long to understand that sensation. But that wasn't how it worked; no angel chose a vessel so much as they chose one another- a fit- regardless of physical appearance.
They were drunk. It was obvious from their laughter, the sloppy aim of their kisses and the unsteadiness of their hands. Beside Balthazar too, slowly sliding sideways along the wall, was a man too drunk to remember what he was doing, too caught up in his own hazy oblivion to notice the world around him. It wasn't as though this world made any sense anyway, made up of shouting, people pressing in on all sides, elbowing each other out of the way in an effort to reach what Balthazar guessed was where you acquired the alcohol. Not a single one of them was sober. Not one of them pious or even close, and Balthazar grinned into his cup. He had no doubt that this was why Castiel had not followed him sooner; none of these humans could ever suit him as a vessel.
Upright, dutiful Castiel. Where in all of Rome would he find such a vessel? The thought made Balthazar laugh, and the drunken man beside him laughed too.
"Oh, my friend," Balthazar said and leaned in closer so that the man might hear him over the noise. "Your liver hates you."
"Liver?" the man slurred, sliding further down the wall, unable to keep himself upright. "I like liver." He smiled dreamily then promptly passed out.
"Too bad," Balthazar sighed, straightening. "I was going to buy you a drink."
Instead, Balthazar bought wine with money he didn't have for two young professional ladies at the bar in exchange for stories of their very worst customers. They had bright, gleeful smiles and Balthazar was blessed with tales of uniquely shaped human appendages and men chased from their beds by jealous wives with kitchen knives. Balthazar learned that ejaculating too soon was a disgraceful thing, that he would surely not have such a problem, and that there were reduced rates for handsome men such as himself.
"Perhaps I could pay you in kind," Balthazar offered. "I can perform miracles, you know."
"The only miracle I wish to see from you," an even, irritated voice said from behind him, "is to find some sense of propriety."
Balthazar grinned but didn't turn around. "Castiel!" Such a serious, scolding tone could only have come from his brother. "I'm so pleased you made it!"
The ladies were blinking at Castiel in a way that made Balthazar turn to face his brother curiously. He was not disappointed.
"Why, brother," he announced gleefully, wrapping his warm, human hands around Castiel's upper arms. "You have outdone yourself."
No wonder the women were looking at Castiel like he might be an edible thing; somehow his brother had gone and found himself the most smooth-faced, wide-eyed soldier Balthazar had ever seen.
In the colder parts of the world Balthazar had seen humans wearing long cloths wrapped around their legs and their heads but there was none of that here and Balthazar was glad for it. The arms and the legs of Castiel's vessel looked powerful and toned, well-used. A fighting man, Balthazar was sure. A foot soldier.
It wasn't a warm evening and Balthazar could feel the coolness of Castiel's skin. Even in the thick, heady atmosphere of the tavern, Castiel still managed to smell glorious, of spice and grass and night air. His dark hair and his dark eyes suited him and Balthazar found himself greeting Castiel with almost as much amorousness and lust as his newfound human friends, wanting to taste.
Castiel's surprised, scandalised expression served only to make Balthazar want this one, human thing even more.
"Drink, Castiel," he insisted, pushing his own cup into Castiel's hand. Castiel looked down at the wine dubiously. His brother really needed to loosen up. "You take everything so seriously. It won't kill you, or maim you, or darken your Grace with sin, or cause you to Fall into the pits of Hell."
Balthazar should know. He'd drunk more than any human could stomach and his Grace felt no different. If anything he was lighter, glorying in the freedom and the debauchery around him. This was the gift of humanity and Balthazar loved it.
"We're celebrating." Balthazar ordered more wine and the two ladies giggled and stroked at Castiel's arms and Balthazar's face, and through all of it Castiel looked terrified.
"You faced the hoards of Hell, the legions of Lucifer," Balthazar laughed, "And you quake at the sight of amour."
"I do not quake," Castiel replied defensively, and he cautiously took a sip of his drink as though he were trying to prove it. Castiel had never liked being called a coward. It was a start.
"You quake," Balthazar teased. "And I quake," he went on, pulling the two women close with arms around their waists, "at the sight of all this beauty. I would like to try it all. Should you like to help me?"
They arched their bodies into his, the dark haired girl- whose name was Hostia and who had earned a living as a prostitute since she was a child and who sometimes, despite everything, could find joy in her work- smiled and slid her hand along Balthazar's thigh in a way that made his vessel react with definite interest. Balthazar was certain they would be very happy to assist.
"This is unseemly," Castiel hissed, leaning in closer to Balthazar. In the crowded space of the room they were already almost near enough to touch, hemmed in on all sides by warm, inebriated humans. When Castiel bent even closer Balthazar felt his brother's breath against the sensitive skin of his own borrowed face and it seemed so very intimate.
Angels had no concept of space, of having a physical presence, of being closer or further apart meaning anything different, but this lesson in proximity was intensely distracting.
"Then I am a very great fan of being unseemly."
Balthazar grinned in response, kissed each woman in turn, slow and gentle, tasting the wine and the wetness of their lips. Learning how to fit himself to their mouths, meeting their tongues with his own, and enjoying most of all Castiel's shock and surprise. They were greedy, took all Balthazar gave and in their minds Balthazar saw how they wanted this, what they liked, all the plans they had for later.
In their imaginations there were walls against their backs and Balthazar's face between their legs. Balthazar sunk into their fantasies, let himself be taken along with their arousal, almost laughing when he saw Castiel in their imaginings fucking them with an enthusiasm Balthazar had only ever seen Castiel express in battle.
"Balthazar." Castiel's embarrassment was delicious. There was no doubt that he too saw himself in their minds, saw exactly what Hostia imagined Balthazar doing to him.
Balthazar licked his human lips and tasted salt and spice.
"But wouldn't you like to try it, Castiel?" Balthazar turned to look at his brother, away from the soft kisses of lips. Instead, Hostia found new sport in licking the side of Balthazar's throat and oh but it was divine. Balthazar threaded his fingers through her dark hair and felt the softness of it.
"No," Castiel denied. So upright, held as still and immovable as a soldier on parade amongst this wash of human bodies, flowing around him, arching into each other, kissing and pressed together. Dear Castiel couldn't have stood out more if he'd tried.
But Castiel hadn't, Balthazar noted, looked away. Nor had he forced Balthazar to leave. His brother had always been fascinated by humans and Balthazar could sense Castiel's interest in their movements and their thoughts, the lives being lived around him. Balthazar understood how overwhelming it all was. He felt it too. The world was different in almost every way from anything either of them had ever experienced before. Physical. Touch. Weight. Endlessly contradictory, ever-changing emotion and choice.
It was easy to slip his hands inside the second woman's loose dress, a long, blue expensive thing. Her chin tasted as sweet as her name, Verina, even though she called herself Nidia and no one had used the name of her birth for many years. Her skin felt warm and smooth and Balthazar reached down further, found the round weight of her breasts. Castiel's eyes followed the movement, looking away only when Hostia lightly touched a hand to his arm, petting him as though she were trying to calm him, whispering words into Castiel's ear that promised pleasure and joy and anything he wanted.
"Your friend," Verina said quietly. "He's shy for a soldier." She looked at Castiel curiously, her beautiful eyes wide.
"He is," Balthazar agreed. She wanted to taste Castiel and Balthazar wanted to taste him too. He wanted to taste it all; Castiel's body mixed with the aftertaste of Verina and wine on his tongue. He wanted to slide into each of them in turn right here with strangers all around them, sweating and wet and slipping together in the enclosed space, the four of them pressed together. Just the thought of it was almost too much. It stirred a tightness in Balthazar's stomach, constricted his breath, his eyes dilating and skin flushed with blood. This was better than the cold. So, so much better than the cold.
"This isn't-" Castiel cut himself off as Hostia pressed her face against his neck, breathed against his skin with red lips. It was impossibly lascivious, lustful, profane. It was exquisite how these human women- such small, transient creatures- stirred emotion and sensation that Balthazar had not known he was capable of feeling. He wanted Castiel to experience it too, so Balthazar leaned in, couldn't- didn't want to- stop himself from taking Castiel's mouth for himself. Balthazar wasn't gentle like the women because Castiel was a warrior and wouldn't understand such care. Instead, he pushed hungrily up against Castiel's dry, cold lips as he'd seen others do in lust and anger and desperation. Balthazar tasted night air, blood, Grace, surprise. Castiel didn't pull away. He made no move at all and Balthazar took it as challenge, or interest, it didn't matter which. It was an advantage that Balthazar took, keeping one hand on Verina's breast, reaching out with the other for Castiel's thigh, kissing him and kissing him until Castiel's lips moved in response.
The women sighed and laughed and touched them with fingers and palms and Balthazar could see through their eyes the image they made. Balthazar couldn't work out why more angels didn't do this. All the time. He wanted it all; all the things he'd ever seen humans do to each other in love and lust and sex.
Beneath their touch, infinitely slowly, Castiel relaxed. Hostia and Verina- as small as their worlds were, as little as they understood- still somehow knew how to coax Castiel into returning gentle caresses, into feeling the subtle joy of deft fingers playing through hair or the barely-there brush of eyelashes against a cheek. Their human friends were as infinitely patient with Castiel as they were passionate with Balthazar. He thought he might feel love for them.
Angels were ageless. They had all the time in all the universes and Balthazar was certain he could do this forever.
Through every tentative touch, every time Balthazar passed his tongue over Castiel's lips his brother gave no indication of feeling anything more than cautious curiosity, his responses unsure and hesitant. It only made Balthazar's kisses more furious, digging his fingers into the muscles of Castiel's vessel. Beautiful, fine muscles that Balthazar wanted to see naked beneath him.
You want too much, Balthazar, Castiel spoke to his Grace and finally, tragically pulled away. Balthazar could still feel Castiel's breath, cool against his damp lips, when he said quietly, urgently, "Another approaches."
"Shit." Hurriedly, Balthazar disentangled himself from Verina's fine bosom, kissed Hostia's cheek in blessing and apology. They clung to him, disappointment warring with anger at losing a night's wage. But before he could explain or free himself, not having the heart to simply disappear, there was Anna standing in the tavern doorway. The fury roiling in her Grace matched perfectly the stormy look on her vessel's stern face, steely grey eyes taking in the debauchery around her. She was dressed in the body of a tall, powerful man, so imposing that several patrons backed away at the sight of him. Predictably, Anna found them instantly and Balthazar felt the weight of her gaze.
The other patrons cleared a way for her as she strode into the room, sensing her authority and temper, and Balthazar wondered if it would help if he offered her a drink. Anna, too, loved humanity and Castiel still held a mostly-filled cup. The wine would be cold by now.
"Castiel," she greeted, stepping close to them in the small space, and then more sharply, "Balthazar."
Balthazar tried desperately not to think of what Anna and Castiel would taste like together. From the icy look she gave him Balthazar was certain she'd heard anyway.
"I am waiting," she said, "for an explanation."
"Celebration." Balthazar took the cup from Castiel's hand, held it up to Anna. "In future times, humans will celebrate this day with copious drinking and over-zealous eating and a million billion children will be born in September as a result of-"
"They are human," Anna interrupted. "Neither of you have received orders."
Despite her scowling it was impossible to miss the way her eyes slid away to take in their surroundings. She lingered on the shape of the humans, on the way they moulded themselves together, at a woman leaning up against the tavern's counter licking wine from another woman's mouth and chin.
"We haven't not received orders," Balthazar hedged. In Anna's distraction she didn't hear and Balthazar ignored Castiel's warning glare.
Anna had never been to Earth either- as far as Balthazar knew- and he remembered how overwhelming, how exhilarating human senses were when you first came to feel them.
"Sister." Balthazar touched the bare flesh of her arm. She wore clothes much like Castiel's; another soldier, but with more adornment and a long, heavy cloak covering her back. Balthazar wondered what the texture of the fabric would feel like covering their bodies. He let his fingers caress her skin and the thought and the gesture gained her full attention. Now there was more curiosity than anger in her eyes and in her Grace. "We are celebrating," Balthazar repeated and took a drink of the wine, cold spices warmed in his mouth and he arched upwards to kiss Anna. She really was very tall.
Much, much more quickly than Castiel had done she kissed back, pushed into Balthazar, drank down the wine. And much, more quickly she pulled away.
Suspiciously, she studied Balthazar. "This is a human greeting?"
"Yes, that's exactly it." Balthazar could see that she didn't believe him for an instant but she wanted more anyway. She wanted to stay, too. Balthazar could see it in the way she touched her fingers lightly to her vessel's lips. The way she breathed in the scent and the soul of this place. She wanted to stay even more than Castiel did. But then she blinked, tilted her head upwards and Balthazar knew it was their siblings she heard.
"We will return to the garrison." It was a direct order and Balthazar obeyed without question, as he always had, hands falling away from Hostia and Verina's. He left them with his affection and his gratitude and all the protections and blessings he could summon in the space of a breath. Reluctantly, Balthazar following Anna out into the dark, away from warm bodies and touch and wine. It was absence and loss and Balthazar had never felt that before, either.
Castiel followed beside him, restless and filled with uncertainty.
It was near dawn by now- the sky aflame with purples and reds- but this was Rome and even at this hour many revellers still filled the streets, vomiting, fucking, fighting, sleeping on the hard stone cobbles. The three angels walked in silence past them all to quieter, narrower back alleys bordered by poorly built hovels that smelled of urine and misery. Poverty, Balthazar remembered.
It was here that Anna chose to stop. "We will return, and we will not speak of this." She didn't order them not to return. She didn't reprimand them.
That should have been their first indication that something had changed.
***
No one sang praises to their Father, the Mighty, to His glory and to hope for mankind anymore. There was no garrison to return to and very little to celebrate and yet still, two thousand years later, Balthazar managed to find reason.
On the exposed, uppermost floor of an incomplete apartment block in downtown Rome Balthazar raised a cup of warm, spiced wine to the city. It was cold and loud where he could hear the thrum of cars, the steady pounding of music, humans talking and arguing and singing drunkenly. Below them, below foundation built upon foundation and layers of dirt and time hid the crumbled remains of a thermopolium.
"Once," Balthazar announced, "I kissed a girl and she liked it."
"Only one?" Castiel replied dryly and Balthazar scoffed, mock-affronted.
"You, Cassy, have been spending far too much time with those Winchesters."
"I have," Castiel agreed.
Always, always Castiel was thinking of the war and Balthazar found himself wishing for that night, long ago, when Castiel had let Balthazar kiss him. Sort of kiss him.
"I didn't know what it meant," Castiel said, looking down at his cup. He hadn't taken a single sip.
Balthazar downed his own drink, let the warmth and the taste spread through him. Small, simple things were all he could hope for now. He said, "You still don't."
There was no reply, not that Balthazar had expected one. Too many things weighed down on them now. Too much time; Hell, Heaven, humanity, burdens none of them were ready to bear. There was no one to tell them to go home, to go to bed, to do as they were told and Balthazar wondered if this whole mess wasn't just the result of mass angel puberty.
Maybe Anna had seen it coming. Maybe Anna had been the only one with the sense to take freedom for herself before it became a poisoned thing. A curse. Maybe that was why she had fallen.
But Balthazar was not one to wallow.
"Anna probably fell because of that one perfect, searing kiss." He smiled at the memory. "She knew what it meant." She probably had, more than any of them. For two thousand years she'd watched humanity and with every passing age she'd smiled more sadly.
It was the anniversary of the birth of their brother and the death of their sister and Balthazar turned to Castiel. He was more or less the only thing Balthazar had left in all the universes any more. With a thought he refilled his cup, stolen from a dusty museum in Baia, and raised it. "To Anna."
"Anna," Castiel echoed and this time he drank and he drank deep. In a fit of insanity, because this was all too depressing and lonely and morbid, Balthazar leaned in and kissed Castiel. This time it was not hungry. There was no unquenchable lust. Instead, it was to feel companionship again. To remember what they had once been. What all the angels had once been; close. Together. Loyal. Castiel tasted of wine and hopelessness and burgers.
Fucking Dean Winchester.
When Castiel kissed Balthazar back it wasn't with curiosity but with resignation, emptiness, and it was all Balthazar could do to wrap his arms around his brother and not cry like a five year old. Where emotion, movement, every aspect of the physical world had once felt new and fascinating and like freedom, now it felt like a prison they'd built for themselves. Like decay.
"I wish," Balthazar said into Castiel's hair, against the cold skin of his neck. "I wish we'd slept with Verina and Hostia." He remembered their youth and their bright souls. They'd had good lives. They'd lived long and well. Balthazar has seen to that. Now their bones were dust.
"And Anna," Castiel added quietly, his voice muffled by the fabric of Balthazar's jacket, his Grace hidden beneath layers of Earth and betrayal and guilt.
Balthazar held him more tightly and pretended there was still time for them, too.
.End.
Comments and concrit warmly welcomed and appreciated.
Title: Renascence
Rating: R
Words: 6,125
Summary: SPN, (Anna/)Balthazar/Castiel(/OFCs). Originally written for disterra for the spn_balthazar fic exchange last year and then somehow forgotten about and left to languish on my memory stick.
Many thanks, as ever, to cienna for the beta.
.Renascence.
The singing of praises to their Father, the Mighty, to His glory and to hope for mankind was great and everything- it wasn't that Balthazar was complaining- but after surprising a bunch of shepherds with a few tunes and Gabriel swaggering about like a preening warrior and the birth of The Son of the Most High everything that came after was kind of a letdown. Back to work. No holiday for you, and Balthazar had seen the kind of holiday the remembrance of this most exultant event would become a couple of thousand years down the line. All he got was a slap on the back for a job well done and a get back into formation, Balthazar, you hopeless excuse for an angel.
It didn't seem fair somehow. Shouldn't they get to celebrate the birth of their new brother too? Once, long ago, when their Father was still forming the world and fashioning angels from the air and igniting stars throughout the universe there has been jubilation, dancing, a really damned good party. That had been such a very long time ago, and so very much had changed since the First War, but still.
As he crept from the barracks late into the after-watch it wasn't disobedience he told himself. It was his very duty to celebrate. His Holy Father had made him this way. It wasn't his fault that Earth called to him; things that weren't so much forbidden as scorned, thought below them, especially by the likes of Uriel and Raphael who would absolutely have his head if they found out what he had determined to do. Balthazar had seen human love and he had seen human intoxication- joy of the Lord and Life brought about by nothing more than a drink- and Balthazar wanted to taste.
There were others who felt it too. Balthazar had seen the way Anna smiled at the humans, and he had seen the way Gabriel made fun of them, and he had seen the way Castiel watched them.
It was to Castiel that Balthazar went, because Gabriel was an ass and Anna was too puritanical and would want to do good. The great thing about Castiel was that you could never guess how he was going to react to anything. Oh, he was a simple creature when it came to smiting demons: all kill, destroy, kill kill kill. But there was more to him than that. There were times, in the Peace, when he had looked away from the Glory of their Father to Creation around him. He had been delighted at the invention of writing and knowledge and took to magic as though their Father had gifted him with it himself. Which, actually, he probably had. But anyway, Castiel was every bit the Heavenly Warrior and obedient soldier but he was also curious.
Beyond duty, there were pretty much only two things that Castiel ever did: training and watching humanity. To his relief, Balthazar found Castiel doing the latter, because tempting him away from training was impossible without a formal order or seven.
"You know they have a word for people like you," Balthazar told his brother, coming to rest beside him. "Or at least, they will have," he added thoughtfully.
"And what is that?" Castiel asked, because he trusted far too easily and never saw it coming.
"Stalker. Creepy creeper. More than one word, in fact!"
Castiel shifted his wings in irritation. "Anna and Gabriel and you watch them too," he said defensively.
"Not this much." That wasn't exactly the truth of it, but Castiel didn't need to know that. Balthazar had a plan. "Wouldn't you like to walk amongst them?"
Castiel watched human lives pass, watched how they moved and spoke and he looked thoughtful.
"I might," Castiel prevaricated. Balthazar understood why; none of them knew if it was even allowed anymore. Back in the day there were some pretty strict rules that Balthazar was glad he wasn't around for.
There was a softness, a longing in the way that convinced Balthazar there was no might about it.
His ruthless, ferocious warrior brother turned into a doting cherub in the face of humanity. It made Balthazar want to laugh, and he would have if laughing wouldn't have completely ruined his plan.
Instead, he turned to Castiel and said seriously, piously, "I am to deliver a message."
The suspicious look Castiel gave him in reply might have offended him if he was any other angel, but Castiel knew him too well. And Balthazar was lying, after all.
"Is that so?" Castiel said.
"To Earth," Balthazar nodded.
Now he came to it, it did seem unbelievable. Neither of them were archangels, or even close, and the idea of giving the task of delivering the Divine Message via a foot soldier was perhaps unlikely. Still. Balthazar persisted. "I am to go forth and tell them to celebrate?"
Balthazar knew that Castiel had been watching the humans for far too long when he rolled every one of his eyes. "And who decreed this?"
"Anna?" Balthazar tried.
"We're not going to Earth without orders, Balthazar," Castiel shook his head sternly and Balthazar had not thought his plan would fail this badly, nor this quickly. It was a curse, Balthazar thought, that angels could not lie like humans could. It was also a tragedy, Balthazar chuckled to himself, that he might not get to lie with humans that night.
"I'm going," Balthazar said stubbornly, and he would he decided, with or without Castiel. "I'm going to celebrate the birth of our brother, like we used to."
Though there had been less physicality in those days, before, than what Balthazar had in mind now, but the spirit of the thing was the same; rejoicing, praising their Father in all his aspects.
Balthazar so very much wanted to praise his Father in the aspect of alcohol.
It was also true that there was no way Castiel wouldn't follow, if only to try and stop him.
Before Castiel could even think to reach out and grab hold of him Balthazar flew.
***
Having a human body was like nothing Balthazar had ever experienced, and like nothing he could ever have expected.
Physical, actual touch, with hands that were limited in movement by the world around them, by the weight of the sky, by the twist of bones and muscles and skin. It was fascinating and for a long time Balthazar didn't move, becoming aware of the ground beneath his feet, the cool wind against his skin, seeing for the first time colour and shape through limited, human eyes. This body, this vessel, blinked his borrowed eyed and Balthazar realised it had been automatic, instinctual, and was amazed. Shifting weight from foot to foot, balancing, came easily as the muscles remembered how to walk, even if Balthazar had no idea how.
It was dark around him, night time it was called, making it difficult for his human eyes to see clearly. From what he could make out he was walking back and forth beside a long table and there were others around him, watching his movements, their eyes wide and their lips thin. Balthazar saw in their minds that they thought he'd gone mad. That grief would be the death of him. This, Balthazar decided, was a poor place for celebration. None of the humans tried to stop him as Balthazar walked over to the door- a real door- and stepped out onto a narrow street, dimly lit by oil lamps and torches.
Balthazar walked and admired the way his feet and his legs moved and pulled and relaxed, bones rolling in joints.
There weren't many people on the streets with him and those he did see had wrapped themselves in thick skins and furs. They looked at him strangely as he passed and when Balthazar looked down he saw that his arms and his feet were bare and that this was strange. He allowed his body to feel the cold and in an instant the hair along his arms stood on end and his feet felt pain like Balthazar had never felt before. He had felt pain, of course, but it had never been physical in the sense of rough ground tearing at the flesh of his soles, or shivers along his spine that made his back and sides ache. Everything was new and strange and Balthazar loved it.
The thoughts of those around him said, scornfully, Drunkard, and Balthazar thought this an excellent idea.
It wasn't hard to find what he'd been seeking; he could smell sweet-sour fruit and vomit and he could hear the calls and the laughter from a long way off, the warm firelight spilling welcomingly out onto the street when he drew close.
For the first time Balthazar spoke human words and revelled in the way sound rolled from his tongue, rang in his ears, put thought to logic and bound eternity to sand.
With this newfound language Balthazar convinced the publican to hand over his shoes and an old brick-maker to hand over his jacket and the gathered labourers to keep a cup full of wine full for him. Taste was better than even the cold, warm against his lips, warm in his human stomach, and Balthazar thought that he must have drunk at least a whole jar by the time Castiel found him.
Human or angel there was no missing that serious, intense stare that Castiel's visage always favoured. Balthazar looked at his brother's vessel, a young thing hidden away in too many layers with a scowl that looked out of place on his kind face. It occurred to Balthazar then that he had no idea what his own vessel looked like. From the way the women of the tavern lingered, from the tautness of his arms and the roughness of his hands Balthazar thought it was unlikely he was a monstrous sight. It was a curious feeling to realise that how he looked meant something in this world.
"Brother!" Balthazar raised his cup in greeting to Castiel, standing awkwardly just inside the door and looking around with undisguised discomfort.
Around him, his new friends drank a cup to his brother too, waving him over and offering him wine and dates, women, honey.
"We're not staying," Castiel said and his voice was unnaturally low for such a young face. Seeing power there, something else the others around him fell silent, suddenly unsure and afraid. They shied away from Balthazar, thought him a demon or a trickster and Balthazar wanted to curse Castiel for killing the mood. And before he'd even had the chance to get his brother to taste the wine.
"I suppose not," Balthazar agreed amiably. There was too much suspicion in the eyes of the other customers now- not three breaths ago his friends. Humans, Balthazar decided, were fickle and treacherous. He left them behind without regret.
Back out on the street the night had turned even colder and Balthazar saw his breath forming clouds in the air as he spoke, "There are other, better places to see yet."
Castiel's already impressive frown deepened. "We are to return-"
"We aren't to do anything," Balthazar interrupted, and enjoyed how much easier it was to impede speech than it was to interrupt thought. "We're here now. Isn't it incredible? These bodies-"
"We have duties. This isn't sanctioned-"
"Sanctioned," Balthazar scoffed. "Our Father knows all. If he disapproved he would have had us hauled back to Heaven long ago."
"You," Castiel said.
"You what?"
"You would have been hauled back. I am merely here to ensure you aren't causing trouble."
"Oh yes," Balthazar laughed. "I'm sure you are."
They walked without direction, and this too was something that Balthazar had never done before. Always there had been purpose, a goal to be reached, a reason for every action. It was freeing to feel none of that, and Balthazar wondered if Castiel felt it too.
Beside him, Castiel was thoughtful, and for a time Balthazar let him be. Let him feel the joy of discovery that he had felt when he was new to solid matter, discovering its endless limitations. He didn't miss the way Castiel's eyes curiously took in the buildings and the people they passed. Balthazar knew his brother well, and he knew that Castiel was already prevaricating. He was arguing with himself, most likely, but he was also procrastinating because deep down he wanted to stay.
The kind, loving brother that Balthazar was he would make it easy for Castiel.
"Then you have to remain," Balthazar grinned. "To ensure I'm not causing trouble."
"You won't return?" Castiel asked.
"Not before I must," Balthazar said, then clarified when Castiel turned to him in alarm, "I mean, not before I have duties I must attend to." Words were so imprecise.
Castiel made no reply, which Balthazar took for agreement.
Suddenly, Castiel stopped walking and it was so abrupt that Balthazar almost tripped over his brother. Castiel caught his arm deftly as he stumbled, limbs tangling fascinatingly together, and Balthazar discovered the warmth of touch.
"Down there," Castiel said, and his voice was quiet and reverent. Castiel tilted his head towards a narrow, shabby alleyway that ran away from the street they'd been following. "Down there is our brother."
In surprise that he had not noticed Balthazar let the effects of the wine bleed away from his veins and his mind and he saw it; that warmth and familiarity that felt like Heaven and their Father.
He smiled and took Castiel's hand. "Then let us celebrate in his honour."
Balthazar had a plan, and this time he would not fail.
***
In all the world, Rome's lights shone the brightest. Its streets bustled with thousands and thousands of humans and Balthazar marvelled at how many of them there were. How they stacked themselves on top of one another, enclosing their lives within tiny spaces bound by flimsy walls, joined together by cut-stone pathways, held in society by clothes and words and adornment.
The noise, when Balthazar slipped into a new vessel- a young thing, eager and curious- was like nothing he had ever heard before. It was loud, not the righteous, soaring chorus of Heaven but a cacophony of different, dissonant sounds. There was laughter, anger, joy, disillusionment and everything in between. It was overwhelming and it was intoxicating, so different from the praises and the glories of Heaven or the clash and call of the battlefield. This was better and Balthazar was sure he could get drunk just from tasting all this emotion.
No one even noticed his arrival. No one gave him a second look as he filled this small human form, hiding himself away easily among the smell and the smoke and the mass of humanity around him.
This time Balthazar took interest in the appearance of his vessel, but he had no understanding of human aesthetics and couldn't decide if this new human was unappealing or whether everyone around him was too drunk to notice one way or another.
It did not surprise Balthazar that he could still feel a lingering inebriation in the body's mind as he entered him, legs unsteady and face warm. The vessel's stomach was already filled with sweet wine. It was night here too and everyone thought of nothing but drinking and women and men and sex.
He was in some kind of drinking establishment, leaning up against a wall stained red with wine and black with scuffed shoes and smoke from oil lamps. There was a cup in his hand, half-full, and Balthazar knew then that this vessel was made for him. Balthazar grinned gleefully, tasting the wine- warm and spiced and strong- and revelled in the atmosphere around him; debauched, unruly, fun.
There was a woman pressing a man up against a wall in the far corner, kissing him zealously, wetly, and Balthazar watched as the man's hands found the folds of her dress, stroked the curves of her body. Perhaps he should have sought out a female vessel because the way the woman moaned into the man's mouth as he caressed the shape of her chest made Balthazar long to understand that sensation. But that wasn't how it worked; no angel chose a vessel so much as they chose one another- a fit- regardless of physical appearance.
They were drunk. It was obvious from their laughter, the sloppy aim of their kisses and the unsteadiness of their hands. Beside Balthazar too, slowly sliding sideways along the wall, was a man too drunk to remember what he was doing, too caught up in his own hazy oblivion to notice the world around him. It wasn't as though this world made any sense anyway, made up of shouting, people pressing in on all sides, elbowing each other out of the way in an effort to reach what Balthazar guessed was where you acquired the alcohol. Not a single one of them was sober. Not one of them pious or even close, and Balthazar grinned into his cup. He had no doubt that this was why Castiel had not followed him sooner; none of these humans could ever suit him as a vessel.
Upright, dutiful Castiel. Where in all of Rome would he find such a vessel? The thought made Balthazar laugh, and the drunken man beside him laughed too.
"Oh, my friend," Balthazar said and leaned in closer so that the man might hear him over the noise. "Your liver hates you."
"Liver?" the man slurred, sliding further down the wall, unable to keep himself upright. "I like liver." He smiled dreamily then promptly passed out.
"Too bad," Balthazar sighed, straightening. "I was going to buy you a drink."
Instead, Balthazar bought wine with money he didn't have for two young professional ladies at the bar in exchange for stories of their very worst customers. They had bright, gleeful smiles and Balthazar was blessed with tales of uniquely shaped human appendages and men chased from their beds by jealous wives with kitchen knives. Balthazar learned that ejaculating too soon was a disgraceful thing, that he would surely not have such a problem, and that there were reduced rates for handsome men such as himself.
"Perhaps I could pay you in kind," Balthazar offered. "I can perform miracles, you know."
"The only miracle I wish to see from you," an even, irritated voice said from behind him, "is to find some sense of propriety."
Balthazar grinned but didn't turn around. "Castiel!" Such a serious, scolding tone could only have come from his brother. "I'm so pleased you made it!"
The ladies were blinking at Castiel in a way that made Balthazar turn to face his brother curiously. He was not disappointed.
"Why, brother," he announced gleefully, wrapping his warm, human hands around Castiel's upper arms. "You have outdone yourself."
No wonder the women were looking at Castiel like he might be an edible thing; somehow his brother had gone and found himself the most smooth-faced, wide-eyed soldier Balthazar had ever seen.
In the colder parts of the world Balthazar had seen humans wearing long cloths wrapped around their legs and their heads but there was none of that here and Balthazar was glad for it. The arms and the legs of Castiel's vessel looked powerful and toned, well-used. A fighting man, Balthazar was sure. A foot soldier.
It wasn't a warm evening and Balthazar could feel the coolness of Castiel's skin. Even in the thick, heady atmosphere of the tavern, Castiel still managed to smell glorious, of spice and grass and night air. His dark hair and his dark eyes suited him and Balthazar found himself greeting Castiel with almost as much amorousness and lust as his newfound human friends, wanting to taste.
Castiel's surprised, scandalised expression served only to make Balthazar want this one, human thing even more.
"Drink, Castiel," he insisted, pushing his own cup into Castiel's hand. Castiel looked down at the wine dubiously. His brother really needed to loosen up. "You take everything so seriously. It won't kill you, or maim you, or darken your Grace with sin, or cause you to Fall into the pits of Hell."
Balthazar should know. He'd drunk more than any human could stomach and his Grace felt no different. If anything he was lighter, glorying in the freedom and the debauchery around him. This was the gift of humanity and Balthazar loved it.
"We're celebrating." Balthazar ordered more wine and the two ladies giggled and stroked at Castiel's arms and Balthazar's face, and through all of it Castiel looked terrified.
"You faced the hoards of Hell, the legions of Lucifer," Balthazar laughed, "And you quake at the sight of amour."
"I do not quake," Castiel replied defensively, and he cautiously took a sip of his drink as though he were trying to prove it. Castiel had never liked being called a coward. It was a start.
"You quake," Balthazar teased. "And I quake," he went on, pulling the two women close with arms around their waists, "at the sight of all this beauty. I would like to try it all. Should you like to help me?"
They arched their bodies into his, the dark haired girl- whose name was Hostia and who had earned a living as a prostitute since she was a child and who sometimes, despite everything, could find joy in her work- smiled and slid her hand along Balthazar's thigh in a way that made his vessel react with definite interest. Balthazar was certain they would be very happy to assist.
"This is unseemly," Castiel hissed, leaning in closer to Balthazar. In the crowded space of the room they were already almost near enough to touch, hemmed in on all sides by warm, inebriated humans. When Castiel bent even closer Balthazar felt his brother's breath against the sensitive skin of his own borrowed face and it seemed so very intimate.
Angels had no concept of space, of having a physical presence, of being closer or further apart meaning anything different, but this lesson in proximity was intensely distracting.
"Then I am a very great fan of being unseemly."
Balthazar grinned in response, kissed each woman in turn, slow and gentle, tasting the wine and the wetness of their lips. Learning how to fit himself to their mouths, meeting their tongues with his own, and enjoying most of all Castiel's shock and surprise. They were greedy, took all Balthazar gave and in their minds Balthazar saw how they wanted this, what they liked, all the plans they had for later.
In their imaginations there were walls against their backs and Balthazar's face between their legs. Balthazar sunk into their fantasies, let himself be taken along with their arousal, almost laughing when he saw Castiel in their imaginings fucking them with an enthusiasm Balthazar had only ever seen Castiel express in battle.
"Balthazar." Castiel's embarrassment was delicious. There was no doubt that he too saw himself in their minds, saw exactly what Hostia imagined Balthazar doing to him.
Balthazar licked his human lips and tasted salt and spice.
"But wouldn't you like to try it, Castiel?" Balthazar turned to look at his brother, away from the soft kisses of lips. Instead, Hostia found new sport in licking the side of Balthazar's throat and oh but it was divine. Balthazar threaded his fingers through her dark hair and felt the softness of it.
"No," Castiel denied. So upright, held as still and immovable as a soldier on parade amongst this wash of human bodies, flowing around him, arching into each other, kissing and pressed together. Dear Castiel couldn't have stood out more if he'd tried.
But Castiel hadn't, Balthazar noted, looked away. Nor had he forced Balthazar to leave. His brother had always been fascinated by humans and Balthazar could sense Castiel's interest in their movements and their thoughts, the lives being lived around him. Balthazar understood how overwhelming it all was. He felt it too. The world was different in almost every way from anything either of them had ever experienced before. Physical. Touch. Weight. Endlessly contradictory, ever-changing emotion and choice.
It was easy to slip his hands inside the second woman's loose dress, a long, blue expensive thing. Her chin tasted as sweet as her name, Verina, even though she called herself Nidia and no one had used the name of her birth for many years. Her skin felt warm and smooth and Balthazar reached down further, found the round weight of her breasts. Castiel's eyes followed the movement, looking away only when Hostia lightly touched a hand to his arm, petting him as though she were trying to calm him, whispering words into Castiel's ear that promised pleasure and joy and anything he wanted.
"Your friend," Verina said quietly. "He's shy for a soldier." She looked at Castiel curiously, her beautiful eyes wide.
"He is," Balthazar agreed. She wanted to taste Castiel and Balthazar wanted to taste him too. He wanted to taste it all; Castiel's body mixed with the aftertaste of Verina and wine on his tongue. He wanted to slide into each of them in turn right here with strangers all around them, sweating and wet and slipping together in the enclosed space, the four of them pressed together. Just the thought of it was almost too much. It stirred a tightness in Balthazar's stomach, constricted his breath, his eyes dilating and skin flushed with blood. This was better than the cold. So, so much better than the cold.
"This isn't-" Castiel cut himself off as Hostia pressed her face against his neck, breathed against his skin with red lips. It was impossibly lascivious, lustful, profane. It was exquisite how these human women- such small, transient creatures- stirred emotion and sensation that Balthazar had not known he was capable of feeling. He wanted Castiel to experience it too, so Balthazar leaned in, couldn't- didn't want to- stop himself from taking Castiel's mouth for himself. Balthazar wasn't gentle like the women because Castiel was a warrior and wouldn't understand such care. Instead, he pushed hungrily up against Castiel's dry, cold lips as he'd seen others do in lust and anger and desperation. Balthazar tasted night air, blood, Grace, surprise. Castiel didn't pull away. He made no move at all and Balthazar took it as challenge, or interest, it didn't matter which. It was an advantage that Balthazar took, keeping one hand on Verina's breast, reaching out with the other for Castiel's thigh, kissing him and kissing him until Castiel's lips moved in response.
The women sighed and laughed and touched them with fingers and palms and Balthazar could see through their eyes the image they made. Balthazar couldn't work out why more angels didn't do this. All the time. He wanted it all; all the things he'd ever seen humans do to each other in love and lust and sex.
Beneath their touch, infinitely slowly, Castiel relaxed. Hostia and Verina- as small as their worlds were, as little as they understood- still somehow knew how to coax Castiel into returning gentle caresses, into feeling the subtle joy of deft fingers playing through hair or the barely-there brush of eyelashes against a cheek. Their human friends were as infinitely patient with Castiel as they were passionate with Balthazar. He thought he might feel love for them.
Angels were ageless. They had all the time in all the universes and Balthazar was certain he could do this forever.
Through every tentative touch, every time Balthazar passed his tongue over Castiel's lips his brother gave no indication of feeling anything more than cautious curiosity, his responses unsure and hesitant. It only made Balthazar's kisses more furious, digging his fingers into the muscles of Castiel's vessel. Beautiful, fine muscles that Balthazar wanted to see naked beneath him.
You want too much, Balthazar, Castiel spoke to his Grace and finally, tragically pulled away. Balthazar could still feel Castiel's breath, cool against his damp lips, when he said quietly, urgently, "Another approaches."
"Shit." Hurriedly, Balthazar disentangled himself from Verina's fine bosom, kissed Hostia's cheek in blessing and apology. They clung to him, disappointment warring with anger at losing a night's wage. But before he could explain or free himself, not having the heart to simply disappear, there was Anna standing in the tavern doorway. The fury roiling in her Grace matched perfectly the stormy look on her vessel's stern face, steely grey eyes taking in the debauchery around her. She was dressed in the body of a tall, powerful man, so imposing that several patrons backed away at the sight of him. Predictably, Anna found them instantly and Balthazar felt the weight of her gaze.
The other patrons cleared a way for her as she strode into the room, sensing her authority and temper, and Balthazar wondered if it would help if he offered her a drink. Anna, too, loved humanity and Castiel still held a mostly-filled cup. The wine would be cold by now.
"Castiel," she greeted, stepping close to them in the small space, and then more sharply, "Balthazar."
Balthazar tried desperately not to think of what Anna and Castiel would taste like together. From the icy look she gave him Balthazar was certain she'd heard anyway.
"I am waiting," she said, "for an explanation."
"Celebration." Balthazar took the cup from Castiel's hand, held it up to Anna. "In future times, humans will celebrate this day with copious drinking and over-zealous eating and a million billion children will be born in September as a result of-"
"They are human," Anna interrupted. "Neither of you have received orders."
Despite her scowling it was impossible to miss the way her eyes slid away to take in their surroundings. She lingered on the shape of the humans, on the way they moulded themselves together, at a woman leaning up against the tavern's counter licking wine from another woman's mouth and chin.
"We haven't not received orders," Balthazar hedged. In Anna's distraction she didn't hear and Balthazar ignored Castiel's warning glare.
Anna had never been to Earth either- as far as Balthazar knew- and he remembered how overwhelming, how exhilarating human senses were when you first came to feel them.
"Sister." Balthazar touched the bare flesh of her arm. She wore clothes much like Castiel's; another soldier, but with more adornment and a long, heavy cloak covering her back. Balthazar wondered what the texture of the fabric would feel like covering their bodies. He let his fingers caress her skin and the thought and the gesture gained her full attention. Now there was more curiosity than anger in her eyes and in her Grace. "We are celebrating," Balthazar repeated and took a drink of the wine, cold spices warmed in his mouth and he arched upwards to kiss Anna. She really was very tall.
Much, much more quickly than Castiel had done she kissed back, pushed into Balthazar, drank down the wine. And much, more quickly she pulled away.
Suspiciously, she studied Balthazar. "This is a human greeting?"
"Yes, that's exactly it." Balthazar could see that she didn't believe him for an instant but she wanted more anyway. She wanted to stay, too. Balthazar could see it in the way she touched her fingers lightly to her vessel's lips. The way she breathed in the scent and the soul of this place. She wanted to stay even more than Castiel did. But then she blinked, tilted her head upwards and Balthazar knew it was their siblings she heard.
"We will return to the garrison." It was a direct order and Balthazar obeyed without question, as he always had, hands falling away from Hostia and Verina's. He left them with his affection and his gratitude and all the protections and blessings he could summon in the space of a breath. Reluctantly, Balthazar following Anna out into the dark, away from warm bodies and touch and wine. It was absence and loss and Balthazar had never felt that before, either.
Castiel followed beside him, restless and filled with uncertainty.
It was near dawn by now- the sky aflame with purples and reds- but this was Rome and even at this hour many revellers still filled the streets, vomiting, fucking, fighting, sleeping on the hard stone cobbles. The three angels walked in silence past them all to quieter, narrower back alleys bordered by poorly built hovels that smelled of urine and misery. Poverty, Balthazar remembered.
It was here that Anna chose to stop. "We will return, and we will not speak of this." She didn't order them not to return. She didn't reprimand them.
That should have been their first indication that something had changed.
***
No one sang praises to their Father, the Mighty, to His glory and to hope for mankind anymore. There was no garrison to return to and very little to celebrate and yet still, two thousand years later, Balthazar managed to find reason.
On the exposed, uppermost floor of an incomplete apartment block in downtown Rome Balthazar raised a cup of warm, spiced wine to the city. It was cold and loud where he could hear the thrum of cars, the steady pounding of music, humans talking and arguing and singing drunkenly. Below them, below foundation built upon foundation and layers of dirt and time hid the crumbled remains of a thermopolium.
"Once," Balthazar announced, "I kissed a girl and she liked it."
"Only one?" Castiel replied dryly and Balthazar scoffed, mock-affronted.
"You, Cassy, have been spending far too much time with those Winchesters."
"I have," Castiel agreed.
Always, always Castiel was thinking of the war and Balthazar found himself wishing for that night, long ago, when Castiel had let Balthazar kiss him. Sort of kiss him.
"I didn't know what it meant," Castiel said, looking down at his cup. He hadn't taken a single sip.
Balthazar downed his own drink, let the warmth and the taste spread through him. Small, simple things were all he could hope for now. He said, "You still don't."
There was no reply, not that Balthazar had expected one. Too many things weighed down on them now. Too much time; Hell, Heaven, humanity, burdens none of them were ready to bear. There was no one to tell them to go home, to go to bed, to do as they were told and Balthazar wondered if this whole mess wasn't just the result of mass angel puberty.
Maybe Anna had seen it coming. Maybe Anna had been the only one with the sense to take freedom for herself before it became a poisoned thing. A curse. Maybe that was why she had fallen.
But Balthazar was not one to wallow.
"Anna probably fell because of that one perfect, searing kiss." He smiled at the memory. "She knew what it meant." She probably had, more than any of them. For two thousand years she'd watched humanity and with every passing age she'd smiled more sadly.
It was the anniversary of the birth of their brother and the death of their sister and Balthazar turned to Castiel. He was more or less the only thing Balthazar had left in all the universes any more. With a thought he refilled his cup, stolen from a dusty museum in Baia, and raised it. "To Anna."
"Anna," Castiel echoed and this time he drank and he drank deep. In a fit of insanity, because this was all too depressing and lonely and morbid, Balthazar leaned in and kissed Castiel. This time it was not hungry. There was no unquenchable lust. Instead, it was to feel companionship again. To remember what they had once been. What all the angels had once been; close. Together. Loyal. Castiel tasted of wine and hopelessness and burgers.
Fucking Dean Winchester.
When Castiel kissed Balthazar back it wasn't with curiosity but with resignation, emptiness, and it was all Balthazar could do to wrap his arms around his brother and not cry like a five year old. Where emotion, movement, every aspect of the physical world had once felt new and fascinating and like freedom, now it felt like a prison they'd built for themselves. Like decay.
"I wish," Balthazar said into Castiel's hair, against the cold skin of his neck. "I wish we'd slept with Verina and Hostia." He remembered their youth and their bright souls. They'd had good lives. They'd lived long and well. Balthazar has seen to that. Now their bones were dust.
"And Anna," Castiel added quietly, his voice muffled by the fabric of Balthazar's jacket, his Grace hidden beneath layers of Earth and betrayal and guilt.
Balthazar held him more tightly and pretended there was still time for them, too.
.End.
Comments and concrit warmly welcomed and appreciated.