So sorry about the long time between updates! I've had a crazy month in between getting ready to move, moving, and then getting settled into my new city. I also just started grad school. I'm not sure how often I will update, but I do promise to update! I have half a chapter of Of Fathers and Sons that I will try to work on over the long weekend as well as a start on another chapter of The Transiency of Love, so you guys have that to look forward to. For now, though, please enjoy this!
The Coming of the End
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear.
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there.
-Angel, Sarah McLachlan
He was alone—he was always, always alone. His brothers had turned their back on him, his father was nowhere to be found.
He walked on and on and on. There was nothing but white as far as the eye could see—a white so bright that he could see it as plainly with his eyes closed as with them opened.
Until, suddenly, he was not alone. There was a man there with him in the stark nothingness. A man who even though his face was unfamiliar to him, caused his blood to run cold at his appearance—white eyes gleaming in madness, a blood drenched knife in his hand. The steady drip, drip, drip of blood falling the only noise to be heard.
"Daddy can't hide you forever, pretty little angel," the man chuckled, dragging the knife against his palm. "I so look forward to seeing you again…"
Kurt struggled into consciousness with a plea on his lips. "Please, please, no more—I can't bear it," his voice was reedy and plaintive. "Father, Father, please…"
"What's he saying?" someone asked near him. "Is that…?"
"Enochian?" a gravelly voice filled in. "Yes."
Kurt tried to open his eyes, but they felt heavy, as if they were filled with lead. He was free from pain, but he was just so, so, tired, and he had an ache that he could not place. It was not a physical pain, per se, and yet it hurt, more so than Alastair's torture.
"So, what's he sayin', Cas?" Dean asked. Kurt would have known that voice no matter what state he was in—waking, sleeping, or otherwise—he was so attuned to it even if he had only known it for a short while.
There was a pause before the gravelly voice—was it Castiel? Kurt couldn't be sure—spoke again. "He is calling out to his father—to God."
"So, that light we saw before when he appeared out of thin air was, what, God?" the first person, who Kurt now knew to be Sam, asked.
"Yes. I believe so. I have never been in the presence of God before, but the only creature powerful enough to cause such destruction is God."
"Destruction?" Dean asked skeptically. "I thought God was all about creation."
"Not necessarily," Sam said. "Think back to the Old Testament, Dean. The wrath of God was legendary."
"Sam's right," Castiel said after a moment. "Although much of what was credited to God was actually the work of angels. It was an archangel—Raphael—who destroyed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah."
Dean let out a heavy breath. "And God was what led you here?" he asked.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. My brothers and I felt a jolt of power in heaven, and I was sent to investigate it thinking that perhaps a seal had been broken. When I arrived, I found nothing—"
Dean cut him off. "What do you mean you found nothing?"
"I mean to say that although, only moments before, there had been a warehouse of some sort standing on the ground there was nothing—absolutely nothing—and not only was there nothing there but the blocks surrounding where the warehouse once stood as well. The only building left standing was an old abandoned convent. The power was familiar to me, though I could not place it, so I followed it here. It was only belatedly, when I saw the two of you, that I realized where I was."
"So you're saying that God destroyed an entire block of buildings?" Sam asked.
"Not exactly," Castiel said, slowly. "I used the wrong word before. The buildings weren't destroyed. They simply no longer exist…"
Castiel's words began to fade, becoming softer and softer, until Kurt was once again pulled into the heavy darkness of sleep.
He was alone—always, always alone—wandering the earth, constantly in search of some unnamed thing, watching the rise and fall of empires, watching as the world advanced around him, forever on the outside looking in.
The scene faded into another scene, this time a memory from the previous year, before he joined the Glee club.
It was the first time that he had been cornered by the boys, each one larger than himself, that would become his most prevalent tormenters.
One of the teachers walked by, oblivious to what was going on. "Making new friends, Kurt?" he asked.
Terrified, Kurt said nothing. The teacher continued on his way leaving Kurt behind. The boys, grinning, ransacked his bag before tossing him into the dumpster.
Day after day, this continued. The teachers that did notice the bullying did nothing to stop it. They merely averted their eyes and pretended they saw nothing.
Kurt had not been a religious person, by any means, but after months of being tormented, he found himself praying that someone—anyone—would notice the bullying.
No one ever did.
The scene changed once more.
He was being tortured by the demon Alastair. The demon's knife cut him over and over again, and yet he did not bleed out.
"Handy little spell, isn't it?" the demon asked.
Kurt said nothing as the demon sliced into him once more. "I couldn't have you die on me, now, could I? Wouldn't be much fun if I did that, you see, so now we can continue this until I grow tired of it, or until you decide to tell me what I want to know."
But still Kurt said nothing.
The demon heaved a disappointed sigh. "He's not going to come for you, you know," it said after a minute. "Dean's got a one-track mind. Spent thirty years on my rack, and every single day it was the same thing. Sam, Sam, Sam…. He'll never choose you over his brother, if it comes down to it."
Kurt said nothing to the demon, only continued to pray to his father, a never-ending mantra of "Please, please, please" repeating through his head.
The demon made a disparaging sound. "Daddy's not coming either, kiddo. Face it, no one is coming for you. No one cares."
Lies, Kurt thought. Demons lie.
And yet, now at least, the demon spoke the truth because no one did come. It was only when Kurt was on the brink of death that his father had come for him.
And Dean… Dean had not come at all.
The first thing that Kurt saw when he woke up the next time was Castiel looking down on him from beside the bed where he was sitting with an indiscernible expression on his face.
"Come to finish the job?" Kurt asked after a moment.
Castiel's brow furrowed, and he tilted his head to the side. "Finish the job?" he repeated, slowly, as if Kurt was speaking a foreign language that was just out of his grasp of understanding. "I have not come to harm you, if that is what you are asking."
There was a long pause, during which Kurt allowed his eyes to drift around the room. He had thought, at first, that he was back in the panic room, but he was not. There was a brief moment of panic where he wondered where, exactly, he was until his eyes landed on a familiar duffel bag and an even more familiar leather jacket. This was Dean's room. He was in Dean's bed.
With Castiel sitting beside him.
"Why are you here, then, if not to harm me?" he asked. "I'm still considered a traitor, am I not?"
"You are," Castiel replied quietly.
"So, I'm asking you again, why are you here, Castiel?"
Castiel hesitated before finally speaking. "I'm considering disobedience."