the things of light
Dec. 6th, 2007 04:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ultraviolet9a >> the things of light
TITLE: the things of light
AUTHOR: ultraviolet9a
SPOILER: Season 2 finale two-parter for SPN, for 3.01-3.04, spoilers for everything on Ats.
ultraviolet9aSPOILER: Season 2 finale two-parter for SPN, for 3.01-3.04, spoilers for everything on Ats.
GENRE: Gen. Might have slight undertones of slash on Angel’s part, cuz, hello! Vampire. Also, xover with Angel the series.
CHARACTERS: Angel, Sam Winchester, reference to other canon or not characters.
SUMMARY: The black car crossed the roads and the other black car followed.
RATING: PG 13.
FEEDBACK: Dude…duh.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t want to own them. No, really. But, hey, I wouldn’t say no to borrowing for a while.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t want to own them. No, really. But, hey, I wouldn’t say no to borrowing for a while.
NOTE: It’s not my fault. Suddenly the image of both these gloriously built beings jumped in my mind, so hey. I’m weak, alright?
NOTE2: betaed by shiny hiyacynth.
hiyacynth.We wait for the light, but behold obscurity;
for brightness, but we walk in darkness.
-Isaiah, Chapter 59, Verse 9
There’s this hunt in Idaho. A coven of witches, sacrificing teenagers. Something about needing pure blood to preserve the holy pool of wisdom. Or some other asinine thing. There’s nothing supernatural about them, just three ladies with bats in their belfries. Sam lingers with the gun in his hand, but it’s Angel’s sword that ends all dilemmas about cops and turning them in.
“What?” Angel asks as Sam looks at him. “How many more kids do you want to see dead before you stop looking at me like that?”
“Like what?
Angel doesn’t reply. He cleans his sword on a dark red sacrificial vest and then starts wiping away fingerprints and traces.
.:::.
They don’t talk about it. They take separate rooms. Both pay in cash.
When morning breaks and Sam has his bag over his shoulder, he finds Angel leaning against the hood of his car, holding hot coffee.
Just a nod, craftsman to craftsman.
It starts out like that, anyway.
.:::.
The black car crossed the roads and the other black car followed.
.:::.
Motel soap and shampoo always smell the same under that veneer of lemon or pine or musky goodness. Cheap. Everything smells cheap, but Sam’s grateful if it smells clean. It’s a small comfort.
The only expensive smell is Angel’s, even when he’s soaked in blood and sweat or grime. A scent not exactly of neatness, just something untouched by time, the smell of a statue. Sophisticated and luxuriant perfumes, along with cotton and silk shirts and a black leather jacket. It doesn’t smell like Dean’s leather. Doesn’t feel like Dean’s leather at all. Sam’s grateful for that too.
.:::.
They take out a werewolf. A banshee. A couple of demons. When Angel’s car gets barbecued by a pyromaniac ghost, Sam is torn between tears and laughter. Cuz it’s ridiculous, really, ridiculous that he’s so very much relieved that it was Angel’s car that was the target, not his. Not Dean’s. His hand caresses the steering wheel. The other hand cradles the phone to his ear.
Angel only sighs. Then slides wordlessly next to Sam in the Impala.
“Sam,” Bobby says over the phone. “Sam…”
“I’m fine, Bobby,” Sam says. “I’m…fine. Don’t worry, alright?”
“Take care, boy, you hear me?”
He hangs up.
Angel’s phone never rings.
“There’s a couple of demons to the east,” Sam says. Angel nods.
“Let me drive. You had a long day.”
“No,” Sam says, teeth clenched. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel.
They move on.
.:::.
When they find a motel, Sam asks for a double room. Angel is surprised. He never shows it. He understands shadows. Understands solitude. Can feel Sam’s eyes comforted by his presence in the next bed. Not his presence, he knows that. That’s alright. He’ll take what he can get.
.:::.
Time runs differently now, so differently Sam barely notices. He doesn’t keep count. No use. One day he thinks he’ll look in the mirror and he won’t remember what’s it like to have been young. Won’t remember any passing at all.
Time never ran for Angel, not really. It does now, in the slow tick tack of his heart. It’s not the comfort he imagined it’d be.
.:::.
They change location a lot. The hunt demands it.
Sometimes their room is clean and humble, sometimes full of dust and a stain of God knows what on the edge of the sheet or a burn hole. Rust under the plumbing and a crack on the wall. For one use only. It feels like what Sam’s life should have been.
When he almost steps on a kitten outside his door, he picks it up.
“I spent my one life,” he whispers. “How many have you got left?”
The kitten, smaller than his palm, grey and soft-eyed, replies with a profound meow.
Sam laughs. Then turns his head, and Angel is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him, as still as a statue. Then Angel’s fingers rub the kitten’s head.
He says, “Let’s go”.
They take the kitten with them.
They call him Bruce Wayne. Bruce spends his time meowing and sleeping on Angel’s lap.
Sam still won’t let him drive.
.:::.
Sam almost dies on a hunt. He swallows his own blood, feels the world running cold, then blacks out. Angel patches him up the best he can, shoves him in the back seat and drives like hell on wheels to the nearest hospital. The kitten meows pathetically in the front seat, trying to get in the back, and Angel spends half his time telling Sam to not fucking fall asleep, you hear me? and the other half shoving Bruce back in the front seat.
When Sam sneaks out of hospital in a week’s time, Angel is waiting with the Impala and Bruce. The engine is running. Sam slides in the passenger seat and doesn’t say anything. Bruce curls on his lap.
After that, they split driving hours.
.:::.
They move in darkness a lot. Angel’s clock will never adjust to human, but, he thinks, it’s darkness that seeks them, not the other way round.
They match scar by scar, inch by inch. And they can’t always be silent in the dark. Not when blood ties them.
Sam is Cordy and Connor wrapped in one, and Angel is still dreaming of deep, endless water, and knives through throats. Sometimes Sam will whimper or cry out in his sleep, and Angel will wake up and his voice will have a thick Irish brogue.
“What’s ailing you, Sam?”
“Fire.” Sam chokes down a sob. “He was on the ceiling.”
There’s nothing Angel can say to that. He carefully takes Bruce in his palm and shifts him to Sam’s bed. Watches Sam pet the kitten till he falls asleep again.
Bruce purrs happily.
.:::.
“I was dead once”, Sam says.
“So was I,” Angel replies. Dark hotel rooms, filled with dust and memories of similar places, string of moments all the same. Angel is wearing a white wife beater. Smoke comes from his mouth, curls upward. No reason to be clean-cut now. No reason to try so hard. There is nothing to prove. No one to prove it to.
Men have codes about how to touch. Angel is past that, has been for years. What he needs is warmth. He dumps the cigarette butt in a half-empty cola can. His chin leans on Sam’s shoulder, his hand finds Sam’s stomach. It’s a very subtle invitation, then not so subtle when his hand moves to touch firm skin.
“No,” Sam says.
It reminds Angel of Wes.
He doesn’t move. Yet the shift is there: not an invitation, just companionship.
Solidarity.
“I knew a guy like you once,” he says. “Book-smart. Kind. Lost his one love.”
“Well,” Sam says. “We got that in common.”
“And?”
“And I knew a guy like you,” Sam says. “Martyr syndrome.”
Then he leans against Angel and a shiver passes through him. Sam’s crying.
“I miss him, Angel. God help me, I miss him.”
Angel is too old, and he’s seen so much that tears seem futile. Sam can’t help it.
“I was in Hell once,” Angel says.
“Was it bad?” Sam asks.
Angel wants to lie. Can’t.
“Yes. Cuz you couldn’t even hope to die and be released.”
“How did you get out?”
“A portal opened.”
“How can we open another? In the cowboy cemetery maybe?”
“It’s suicide,” Angel says. “And it means unleashing more into this world. Don’t waste your life, Sam.”
“Waste is only when something is worth living for,” Sam says. “And the world can go fuck itself. I want him back.”
And Angel understands it. Understands how Sam is more shadow than light these days. He’s been there. He’s still there.
Shanshu didn’t happen with a big bang. Just one night Angel woke up to the beat of his own heart. And realized there was no one to call. He won’t call Connor.
Angel is a man now. Not a better man, not the man he hoped, the man of redemption. Just a man, all dark and light as it were. They didn’t tell him that when he started his crusade. They didn’t tell him that when he got his soul back, there would still be the part that was dark. A mix. Him, not him. Sense of scent, sense of hunt, there, always there.
His hand is still on Sam’s stomach. He can’t help it. He inhales, takes in Sam’s smell, coming off his neck’s hollow.
“If you bite me, you might die,” Sam says.
“Why?”
“Dead man’s blood.”
Angel wants to tell him that he’s not a vampire anymore. And that Sam’s not dead either.
He doesn’t want to lie.
Bruce, a bundle of muscle, cunning and still surprisingly soft eyes, stretches on the armchair and starts licking his paws.
.:::.
“Oh my, my, my,” the crossroad demon says. She’s wearing a petite blonde and Angel wants to roll his eyes. “The great Angelus, at my bidding.”
She sighs. Purrs. Angel wants to tell her that Bruce can purr better.
“I had such a crush on you, Angelus,” she says. “Lord, we all did. You were so imaginative…for a lesser demon.”
“I’ll sign you a fucking autograph,” Angel says. The cigarette butt moves around his fingers. It reminds him of Spike. It’s comforting. “My soul for Dean’s.”
She looks at him, cocking her eyebrows.
“What’s Dean to you?”
He shrugs.
“You gonna do it, or what? Imagine, having my soul at your bidding. I’d be the prize you could show off to all your demon friends.”
“Why aren’t you asking for your own back?” she says. “Poor, poor Wesley.”
His fists clench. He forces them open. He doesn’t want to tell her. Doesn’t want to tell her how Fred is gone, and Spike never wanted to come back, and Wes…he can’t have Wes back without Fred. Can’t. Nor Cordy. Nor Gunn. They’ve earned their peace and he’s in peace with that. But Dean… Dean left Sam behind. And Sam matters.
“My soul for Dean’s,” Angel says. “It’s a good deal. Dean is nobody. I am Angelus.”
She laughs. Her laughter is like silver bells. It reminds him of Dru.
“You’re not Angelus, darling. You reek of humanity. I admired your demon. But now you’re just a soft shell. I don’t need your pathetic little soul.”
He punches her.
She lifts herself off the ground laughing, anger burning in her eyes.
“Careful not to hurt my pretty face,” she whispers. Then punches him back.
When Angel comes round he’s alone at the crossroad. He gets in the car and drives back to the motel.
.:::.
Sam throws a fit (don’t you dare go, don’t you dare die on me too, don’t you dare leave me you goddamned son of a bitch), and, oh, it’s all fucked up, it always is, because Angel is DeanJohn, and Sam’s like a sonbrother like SpikeConnorWes all in one and it hurts. It hurts bringing it all into the light.
Because Angel knows what Sam is only now learning: for them is not light and shimmer, no glow or sparkle, no matter how much they reach out. Theirs is the kingdom of darkness and everything they touch turns to ashes. They know.
Angel knows. Feels darkness twisting his gut and dancing to the thumping of his heart. Nothing’s changed. And Sam… maybe there’s still hope for Sam. If Angel can fix what’s broken.
.:::.
“He wouldn’t let me do it,” Sam says. “He said I couldn’t. All I had to do was say yes. But…he…”
“He wouldn’t have wanted you to do it.”
Sam hangs his head. In the shadow of their room, he looks like a man thrice his age.
“You would have lost him in the end either way,” Angel says.
“How the hell do you know?”
But Angel does. He remembers. Solitude is like a big cloak he can never shed.
“Devil’s deal,” he says. “Trust me. I know.”
Then he takes a dark red box out of his shoulder bag.
“What’s this?” Sam asks, as Angel opens the box. It’s so white, it almost lights up the room.
“Orb of Thesulah,” Angel replies. “You can summon a soul from the ether in it.”
He bows his head.
“When I made my own devil’s deal, I had resources you can’t even imagine. Before it all went down, I had them made.”
One was for Wes. The other for Spike. The third for Fred (hope springs eternal). The fourth for Gunn. Just in case… just in case…it all went down. He lost them.
“And the fifth?”
“The fifth was for me,” Angel says.
“Was?”
He weighs it in his hand.
“Was. I don’t need it anymore.”
“What do you…”
“I don’t need it,” Angel says. “The fifth one is for your brother.”
Bruce moves around their legs. Angel shuts the Orb back in the box, then takes the cat in his arms, lets his fingers caress the soft fur.
“I don’t think Dean’s soul can be summoned from here,” he says. “But Dean’s in Hell, and he’s not weaselling out of any deal, so I think that if he’s stolen out of Hell and sent into the light, the demon can’t do much about it.”
“Why?” Sam asks.
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me. Why?”
Angel shrugs.
“Some things are worth dying for.”
“Dean is nothing to you.”
“I lost a lot of people because they were nothing to someone,” Angel says. “It doesn’t work this way.”
“I know. I’m not afraid to die either.”
“You won’t die”, Angel says.
“I won’t?”
He shakes his head. “No. You’re not coming with me.”
“He’s my brother.”
“It’s suicide.”
“It’s suicide for you, too.”
Angel shrugs.
“I’ve had more lifetimes than any man should, Sam. It doesn’t matter.”
“I can’t let you do that, Angel. I can’t have you bearing my cross.”
“No cross, Sam. Just facts. You’ll never find Dean. But I’ve been to Hell before. I know my way.”
“It wasn’t the same Hell.”
“All hells are the same,” Angel replies.
“If Dean is released… then maybe I will die,” Sam says. “And I’m not afraid to, but Dean didn’t want this.”
“Don’t worry,” Angel says. “If you die then you’ll go to Heaven. And you’ll find your brother and father and mother.”
“And you,” Sam says. “I’ll find you.”
Angel doesn’t reply. He can’t tell him how there is no Heaven waiting for him. No Heaven at all. And not even thirteen souls can change that, let alone his tainted one.
But maybe…maybe he can stay in shadows if he can push others into the light.
His fingers move over Bruce’s fur.
“Let’s do this.”
.:::.
The black car crossed the roads. And the ghosts followed.
The End.
SIDENOTE: That whole “the black car crossed and the other black car followed” is a shout-out to yes, yet again, Roland of Gilead. I can’t help it. Really.
Also, this was written before 3.05. So you can either view it as AU or accept what I did: if the CRD was telling the truth and she was simply working for someone else, it makes sense that there isn’t only one CRD around. So there.
If you noticed, it started off very specifically and then started narrowing down into scenes between them. Like, starting off with something embroidered and ending up with the fabric. That “narrowing” was done on purpose. Because the “embroidered” part is when they don’t know much about each other yet, and then the more the relationship progresses the more I strip…stuff off. Don’t ask me why. I just liked it.
Also, the POV shift is kind of intentional. I started off with Sam and then switched to both and then more to Angel. I just wanted an omnipotent narrator sort of thing. I’m not sure if it worked, but well. I’m learning.
Title taken from this Dylan Thomas poem. Seriously, guys, some writer/poets just shift the way I view the world. He’s one of them.
(Also, dude, I just don’t seem to shut up about why I write what I write. Sorry.)
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Date: 2007-12-06 04:33 pm (UTC)The Dylan Thomas poem is causing deep thinky thoughts. This is all your fault, Violet!
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Date: 2007-12-07 01:50 pm (UTC)AND YEEEEI. I'm so glad the damaged gah people appealed to you.
Oh yes. Dylan Thomas is just...most of his poetry is just... too perfect. Too deep, too amazing in concept, too much of everything. *le sigh*
that was good
Date: 2007-12-06 04:53 pm (UTC)Re: that was good
Date: 2007-12-07 01:50 pm (UTC)So Great
Date: 2007-12-07 12:09 am (UTC)Re: So Great
Date: 2007-12-07 01:55 pm (UTC)The thing is, that I can slash Angel and Spike (and Wes) and it makes perfect sense, but in my head I can't slash Sam and Dean. At all. SO. Uhm.
No slashy sequel for this. No sequel at all, probably. Sorry?
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Date: 2007-12-07 12:34 am (UTC)Man, the whole feel of the story was wrapped up in that one paragraph!!!
They're both so lost... So much hurt...
Damn, but I love angst!!! Thank you so much for sharing!
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Date: 2007-12-07 01:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 01:20 am (UTC)I like this very much.
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Date: 2007-12-07 01:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 04:59 am (UTC)It's an excellent crossover. :D
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Date: 2007-12-07 01:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 01:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 01:29 pm (UTC)Great job, sweetie!
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Date: 2007-12-07 01:58 pm (UTC)And oh, sweetie, how about I better count the ways in which you make me feel all shiny?
*hugs*
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Date: 2007-12-07 02:19 pm (UTC)This is very good; it's dark and has such a bittersweet feel. I enjoyed reading it so much.
I loved the kitten addition so much. Bruce Wayne? That's just brilliant. I applaud your ability to include kitten finding without it being saccharine sweet.
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Date: 2007-12-07 04:57 pm (UTC)Also, yei to the Bruce Wayne kitten. And, uhm. I don't do saccharine sweet. It doesn't match my complexion. :)
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Date: 2007-12-07 04:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 05:15 pm (UTC)Oh, Angel. I think I'm going to watch Season One now...
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Date: 2007-12-08 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-08 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-08 07:14 am (UTC)Thank you so much for reading!
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Date: 2007-12-07 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-08 07:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 11:51 pm (UTC)The poetry was lovely, the "stripping" as you say, worked very well. I knew I was going to leave feedback the moment I got to the "the black car crossed the road"- clever, clever. Poetry and chickens.
My poor Angel.
My poor Sammy.
I did get thrown out of the story a bit by the POV switches, but then, I like my POV tight as a too small pair of shoes, so perhaps I am biased.
I really enjoyed this. Thanks so much for sharing it.
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Date: 2007-12-08 07:31 am (UTC)Also? Karmic fic redemption on my part: when I had a very hiccupy dialup years ago (and thus used it mostly for email or work), a friend of mine would always email me docfiles with fics she read and loved, mostly from Ats fandom.
And then, when I got a nice not dialup connection, I got involved in SPN and SPN became my uhm. Working fandom, and most other fandoms were sort of pushed aside.
What I'm trying to say is that Equinox, DOOUL, Manus, and other fics by you were among my favourites. And that your writing is visceral and grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go, whether to punch you in the gut, or have you laughing.
Uhm. Sorry if that was TMI. *shifty*
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Date: 2007-12-08 09:18 am (UTC)Have a good weekend, doll!
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Date: 2007-12-08 09:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 03:43 pm (UTC)Love the "narrowing" down, I like that the focus shifts to single scenes in the end, it makes everything more vibrant and real.
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Date: 2007-12-09 04:52 pm (UTC)And uhm. Let me put it to you this way. Sam can brood, yes? And angst. ANGEL CAN DO IT EVEN BETTER. That's all you need to know about ATS. *giggle*
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Date: 2007-12-11 01:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 03:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 06:43 am (UTC)Cheers ~
Erin
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Date: 2007-12-13 01:36 pm (UTC)http://www.delcarsdungeon.com/mels/images/angel/images/boreanaz5.jpg
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Date: 2007-12-15 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-16 07:38 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2008-01-13 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-14 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-14 10:20 am (UTC)- the perfect mixture of melancholy with a pinch of hope. I truly enjoyed this :)
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Date: 2008-01-14 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-17 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-17 06:20 pm (UTC)I'm glad it worked out. And omg gah. They're all so pretty. *stares at your icon.*
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Date: 2008-01-18 02:21 am (UTC)Amazing.
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Date: 2008-01-18 01:40 pm (UTC)