crowroad3 (crowroad3) wrote,

Fic: Book of ~

Genre: gen, gospels-ish
Characters: Winchesters, Prophet(s), Angel (s), Darkness, God?
Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers for all of S11, slippery metaphysics

Word Count: 460
Summary: You can break a story’s bones, but you can’t break its heart.

How did the world begin.

Void, form, particle, wave, fish, river, galaxy rolling into two lanes, sloughing; churning, immanent, through heavens and earth; wake.

Maybe the deit (ies), the host unseen, have gone away;

maybe they've come again, or will.

Which story do you want to tell.


Two orphans, the angel says, homeless, adrift. Your sister slept; you let her sleep on the face of the earth before it was earth. It was her bed, deep before it was called, before it was cloud. You slept, nimbi. Curled brothersister front-to-back, void crossed at void where there’d someday be hand; hand-to-hand and the whole of your vessels, universi; loving and loved.

Then came the day that you, father, caught her up, locked her away screaming murder-to-be, when you found you could make, found you could lock, and you looked and you looked and you saw, over the bed’s edge your beautiful, your first form.


Just tell the story as it is, the entity formerly known as trickster says, or would say, were they here to say—

just play your part.


Oh brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, says the prophet, there were two. 

There were two boys, brothers; there were two angels; there were two sources of the world, the word; bound.

That's how it is, no matter how you choose. 

Let me tell you about the vessel; I can do that. Let me tell you about the void and the form, the galaxy and the road.
Here there were two head-to-head curled, day on one's shoulder, night still on the other's brow. One landed in a field of flowers, met the dusk. The other landed in a ditch, met the dawn.

I could tell you about the breaks, the hooks, the hells-- but I won't.

That's how it is, the gospel of the lord.

You can break a story's bones, but you can't break its heart.


Sammy, Dean says, there are monsters in the world.

I wish I could give you, Dean says, and he means before, sky before sky, cloud before cloud,  untouched unmarked unwalked, before there was earth, before there was death.

Tell me another one, Sam says, and his eyes eat up the whole night, give it back marked, with matter,with star.


Which story do you want me to tell.


Two orphans, the angel says, not homeless. Cradled; you know, they were just two.

Just tell the story as it is.

Not given the choice they chose not to, or they would, or they will--

tell me how the world ends, how it begins.

On AO3
Tags: gospels, maybe a story

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