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ratherastory) wrote2011-03-17 12:31 am
ratherastory) wrote2011-03-17 12:31 am
Entry tags:
Prologue —Penance
Master Post
Prologue —Penance
It's almost a relief to find himself before God. To be awash in his Father's presence, even though Gabriel has spent the last several thousand years trying to avoid anything to do with his family. In the end, though, he has always known that there is no escaping God. He's somewhat surprised to find he still holds the form of his vessel, but in a way he's glad, because it's familiar and feels right, even now ―he even thinks of himself using male pronouns, as he has for centuries. His grace is a dim, distant thing ―almost an abstraction― but he still feels like himself, and he's grateful for that. He holds himself very still and tries not to clench his hands, eyes downcast.
“Thy will be done,” he says softly.
God doesn't speak, as such, but words make themselves known nonetheless.
Do you believe I should punish you, child?
“Aren't you going to?”
There's expectant silence. God doesn't answer to anyone, especially not his prodigal son.
“Yes.”
And why should you be punished?
Gabriel has become accustomed to inhabiting a vessel that experiences emotion. His eyes sting and his throat closes up, and for a moment he's too overwhelmed to even contemplate answering.
“Father, please don't... please just tell me what you're going to do.”
Child, I wish you to speak for yourself.
“I left. I forsook my duties, my responsibilities. My family. I turned my back to you, Father, and hid myself from your sight.”
And you think these are the worst of your sins?
“It was as close as I could come to falling without doing so.”
What of the rest?
For a moment Gabriel doesn't know what his Father is talking about. What worse sin is there for an angel than to disobey God? Than to fall from grace? He feels a tremor in the air around him, and cold begins to seep into his body, along with a host of memories ―sounds and images, scents and textures, and the tremor spreads to his limbs until he's quaking. There is death all around him, the terrified screams of the dying, sobbing and begging. When he looks down his hands are covered in centuries' worth of blood, some old and clotted under his fingernails, some fresh and crimson and dripping from his fingertips.
“Oh, God,” he chokes, goes to his knees as tears start spilling down his cheeks.
These are my creations, my children just as much as you are mine, Gabriel. What think you now of your choices?
Gabriel can't answer. He deserves death a thousand, a hundred thousand times over. He stays on his knees, hands at his sides, choking on sobs that keep welling up from somewhere so deep inside himself he can't identify what it is.
Gabriel.
God is infinitely patient. He's waiting for Gabriel to do something, to say something, but it's been so long since he's been his Father's herald, so long since he's been the embodiment of the Word of God, that Gabriel doesn't know what his Father's will is any longer. All he can find in himself now is an endless font of tears.
Gabriel, your work is not done.
He looks up, surprised, even though God isn't right there before him, technically. He can't see Him.
“I can't... I can't make this right. I can't bring back the people I've murdered.”
They are my charges now, child. You need not concern yourself with the past, save to learn from it. I see your remorse, and I accept your gift of it. Will you accept your penance?
For the first time in thousands of years he feels a glimmer of hope. “Yes, please. Anything.”
This is not a charge to be taken lightly, child. This is your responsibility for as long as I choose. Do you understand?
He swallows hard. “I understand. What do I have to do?”
Stand, and receive what is given you.
His knees are all but giving out, his legs turned to water, but he pushes himself to his feet, shaking. There's another shimmering feeling, and the blood disappears from his hands. A small bundle appears in his arms, wrapped in a pale yellow blanket, and he almost drops it, catching himself just in time.
This soul will be returned to its earthly host, when your task is done. You must help restore it to what it was. Your salvation ―your continued existence― is inextricably linked with it. Life for life, Gabriel. You must not fail.
He nods wordlessly. Pulling back a corner of the blanket, he's almost surprised to see a baby there ―but for the fact that he really ought to have expected it. Life for life, he tells himself, and it all makes sense now. The baby mewls softly, then opens cloudy blue eyes to stare at him, and he feels his heart skip a beat as he recognizes the bright soul he has cradled protectively in his arms.
Sam Winchester.
~*~
Go to Part 1
Prologue —Penance
It's almost a relief to find himself before God. To be awash in his Father's presence, even though Gabriel has spent the last several thousand years trying to avoid anything to do with his family. In the end, though, he has always known that there is no escaping God. He's somewhat surprised to find he still holds the form of his vessel, but in a way he's glad, because it's familiar and feels right, even now ―he even thinks of himself using male pronouns, as he has for centuries. His grace is a dim, distant thing ―almost an abstraction― but he still feels like himself, and he's grateful for that. He holds himself very still and tries not to clench his hands, eyes downcast.
“Thy will be done,” he says softly.
God doesn't speak, as such, but words make themselves known nonetheless.
Do you believe I should punish you, child?
“Aren't you going to?”
There's expectant silence. God doesn't answer to anyone, especially not his prodigal son.
“Yes.”
And why should you be punished?
Gabriel has become accustomed to inhabiting a vessel that experiences emotion. His eyes sting and his throat closes up, and for a moment he's too overwhelmed to even contemplate answering.
“Father, please don't... please just tell me what you're going to do.”
Child, I wish you to speak for yourself.
“I left. I forsook my duties, my responsibilities. My family. I turned my back to you, Father, and hid myself from your sight.”
And you think these are the worst of your sins?
“It was as close as I could come to falling without doing so.”
What of the rest?
For a moment Gabriel doesn't know what his Father is talking about. What worse sin is there for an angel than to disobey God? Than to fall from grace? He feels a tremor in the air around him, and cold begins to seep into his body, along with a host of memories ―sounds and images, scents and textures, and the tremor spreads to his limbs until he's quaking. There is death all around him, the terrified screams of the dying, sobbing and begging. When he looks down his hands are covered in centuries' worth of blood, some old and clotted under his fingernails, some fresh and crimson and dripping from his fingertips.
“Oh, God,” he chokes, goes to his knees as tears start spilling down his cheeks.
These are my creations, my children just as much as you are mine, Gabriel. What think you now of your choices?
Gabriel can't answer. He deserves death a thousand, a hundred thousand times over. He stays on his knees, hands at his sides, choking on sobs that keep welling up from somewhere so deep inside himself he can't identify what it is.
Gabriel.
God is infinitely patient. He's waiting for Gabriel to do something, to say something, but it's been so long since he's been his Father's herald, so long since he's been the embodiment of the Word of God, that Gabriel doesn't know what his Father's will is any longer. All he can find in himself now is an endless font of tears.
Gabriel, your work is not done.
He looks up, surprised, even though God isn't right there before him, technically. He can't see Him.
“I can't... I can't make this right. I can't bring back the people I've murdered.”
They are my charges now, child. You need not concern yourself with the past, save to learn from it. I see your remorse, and I accept your gift of it. Will you accept your penance?
For the first time in thousands of years he feels a glimmer of hope. “Yes, please. Anything.”
This is not a charge to be taken lightly, child. This is your responsibility for as long as I choose. Do you understand?
He swallows hard. “I understand. What do I have to do?”
Stand, and receive what is given you.
His knees are all but giving out, his legs turned to water, but he pushes himself to his feet, shaking. There's another shimmering feeling, and the blood disappears from his hands. A small bundle appears in his arms, wrapped in a pale yellow blanket, and he almost drops it, catching himself just in time.
This soul will be returned to its earthly host, when your task is done. You must help restore it to what it was. Your salvation ―your continued existence― is inextricably linked with it. Life for life, Gabriel. You must not fail.
He nods wordlessly. Pulling back a corner of the blanket, he's almost surprised to see a baby there ―but for the fact that he really ought to have expected it. Life for life, he tells himself, and it all makes sense now. The baby mewls softly, then opens cloudy blue eyes to stare at him, and he feels his heart skip a beat as he recognizes the bright soul he has cradled protectively in his arms.
Sam Winchester.
~*~
Go to Part 1