Fic: Straw Dogs (SPN; Castiel)
Pure indulgence on my part, trying to marry Taoist ontology with the Judeo-Christian tradition. Spoilers for all of season four.
Castiel, men and angels. PG-13.
Heaven and Earth are not kind:
The ten thousand things are straw dogs to them.
- Lao-Tzu
Straw Dogs
On the first day in the garden, the woman Eve cast newly minted eyes over Creation: the night and the day, clouds and oceans, all things that flower and scuttle and swim. On that day she named each of them, the things which had no name, named them as God named her, according to her whims. Names for the sightly, names for the precious, names for that which she found pleasing.
When the Host of Heaven came to visit her, obedient and swift, speaking in their angelic tongue, Eve clamped her hands over her head, fell to the earth and wailed in distress. Their voices were not beautiful, nor was their sight pleasing to her eyes. Lightning, she spat, harsh sounds like globs of blood from her lips. Fire. Damnation.
The Host turned their faces, disgusted by her convulsions.
Let us stay away, they said. Clearly, we are not meant for her to know.
But they are God's chosen after all, said the Host, we should learn more about them. Or at least try to converse...
Incredulous, they stared at the one who spoke: We, learn from them? Shall we lower ourselves to their base and inadequate throat-noises?
Oh, this is ridiculous, said he. He stretched out his wings, which were blinding even to the Host, a glorious, pure white. She called us 'Lucifer'. Light-bearer. From now forth this is what I will be named. And man will know me.
Thus, with a name, the Host was first divided. One became two. Two became three. Three then became the many.
So the angels were made by God, but brought into being by Eve.
'Castiel' has no equivalent in the angels' own language.
They call one another brother, a vestige from the endless time before the conflict, which in their tongue means simply you who is an indistinguishable part of me. Brothers all, from the highest archangel to the lowest cherubim, except now, they all know just who they are talking about.
The Fallen, of course, deserve no such token of kinship. They are known in Heaven only by their earthly names.
On opposite ends of the earth they touch down. Many thousands of human years it has been since they last walked the ground.
Anael picks a pebble out from between her sandaled toes and frowns at the dirt road behind her, teeming with mules, dirty children, and wild, hungry dogs. 'They think that the stars and heavens all revolve around them,' she complains, aware that her brothers are listening, 'and that the Sun itself is hostage to their meaningless comfort.' The humans pay no attention to the old woman muttering nonsense to herself.
Castiel, elsewhere, tries to look away from the flash of the copper knife as it is brought down. The dark river of blood under torchlight. He tries, and fails. The smell of burning entrails and excreta is sickening. 'They think that heaven can be appeased by sacrifice,' he whispers, 'and demons can be negotiated with.'
When coming together to make their reports, both scouts agree that man has sensed that evil runs free and rampant in the world. Gabriel scoffs, hearing this. 'Well, at least they are not completely deficient.'
A prophet dies, crucified. His archangel does nothing to stop it.
'All in good time,' Raphael says calmly, thumbing through Anael's records of the prophet's speeches. 'It's Lucifer's move.'
'Tell me, Cas. Honestly, if I don't make it, what's gonna happen to me? Or Sam, or you, for that matter? Is Heaven gonna let us in?'
The angel feels his vessel heave a ragged sigh.
'Honestly? Heaven is no place for mortals, Dean.'
THE END
25 May 2009
Castiel, men and angels. PG-13.
Heaven and Earth are not kind:
The ten thousand things are straw dogs to them.
- Lao-Tzu
Straw Dogs
On the first day in the garden, the woman Eve cast newly minted eyes over Creation: the night and the day, clouds and oceans, all things that flower and scuttle and swim. On that day she named each of them, the things which had no name, named them as God named her, according to her whims. Names for the sightly, names for the precious, names for that which she found pleasing.
When the Host of Heaven came to visit her, obedient and swift, speaking in their angelic tongue, Eve clamped her hands over her head, fell to the earth and wailed in distress. Their voices were not beautiful, nor was their sight pleasing to her eyes. Lightning, she spat, harsh sounds like globs of blood from her lips. Fire. Damnation.
The Host turned their faces, disgusted by her convulsions.
Let us stay away, they said. Clearly, we are not meant for her to know.
But they are God's chosen after all, said the Host, we should learn more about them. Or at least try to converse...
Incredulous, they stared at the one who spoke: We, learn from them? Shall we lower ourselves to their base and inadequate throat-noises?
Oh, this is ridiculous, said he. He stretched out his wings, which were blinding even to the Host, a glorious, pure white. She called us 'Lucifer'. Light-bearer. From now forth this is what I will be named. And man will know me.
Thus, with a name, the Host was first divided. One became two. Two became three. Three then became the many.
So the angels were made by God, but brought into being by Eve.
'Castiel' has no equivalent in the angels' own language.
They call one another brother, a vestige from the endless time before the conflict, which in their tongue means simply you who is an indistinguishable part of me. Brothers all, from the highest archangel to the lowest cherubim, except now, they all know just who they are talking about.
The Fallen, of course, deserve no such token of kinship. They are known in Heaven only by their earthly names.
On opposite ends of the earth they touch down. Many thousands of human years it has been since they last walked the ground.
Anael picks a pebble out from between her sandaled toes and frowns at the dirt road behind her, teeming with mules, dirty children, and wild, hungry dogs. 'They think that the stars and heavens all revolve around them,' she complains, aware that her brothers are listening, 'and that the Sun itself is hostage to their meaningless comfort.' The humans pay no attention to the old woman muttering nonsense to herself.
Castiel, elsewhere, tries to look away from the flash of the copper knife as it is brought down. The dark river of blood under torchlight. He tries, and fails. The smell of burning entrails and excreta is sickening. 'They think that heaven can be appeased by sacrifice,' he whispers, 'and demons can be negotiated with.'
When coming together to make their reports, both scouts agree that man has sensed that evil runs free and rampant in the world. Gabriel scoffs, hearing this. 'Well, at least they are not completely deficient.'
A prophet dies, crucified. His archangel does nothing to stop it.
'All in good time,' Raphael says calmly, thumbing through Anael's records of the prophet's speeches. 'It's Lucifer's move.'
'Tell me, Cas. Honestly, if I don't make it, what's gonna happen to me? Or Sam, or you, for that matter? Is Heaven gonna let us in?'
The angel feels his vessel heave a ragged sigh.
'Honestly? Heaven is no place for mortals, Dean.'
THE END
25 May 2009