Four visits paid upon the Fallen.

Castiel, Sark (/Sydney). PG.
A crossover between Supernatural and Sark of Alias and 'Abide'-verse (reading that and 'Creatura' might be helpful, if not necessary).



No, vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.
- Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being



GLANCE OFF PARADISE


down like you mean it

'Which one of them,' inquires the young man, all innocence, brushing non-existent lint from the immaculate fold of his shirt collar before placing both hands in front of him, 'might you be?'

He is looking directly at Castiel. Not the body that Castiel is bearing, but at him, glimpsing across a distance impregnable and fatal to humans, as if an angel walking into his train compartment like he was overdue for a lunch meeting was no more than he expected.

Which, coming from the fourth best strategist Heaven has (or, more accurately, had) ever produced, might not be so far fetched, actually. (The best, it goes without saying, was Lucifer.)

When Castiel gives his name, the young man's only reaction is the loud rap of a finger against the table-top, like pulling the invisible trigger on a gun.



Another two seals lost, four of the Host extinguished in their defense. Exhaustion, a familiar inhabitant in the set of Castiel's wings, now had company in the thick tracks of demon blood polluting his feathers and the unembellished plates of his armour. Rest and vanity he could ill-afford, given the circumstances.

Raguel's ink-black eyes gave off a ferocity that was almost (dare he call it) infernal as she measured the assembled company.

'That is quite enough of that,' she snapped, speaking as one of the Seven, which meant that she spoke for all of them. It took a lot to get Raguel to admit that a fight was going badly.

'Castiel,' she said, marking him out with a word, the orders to come like a direct issue from the Throne of Heaven. 'You are the closest to the physical plane. Hurry up and go to him, remind him of his duty to his brethren. Tell him that we have need of his...' Raguel paused, as if what the word was a bad taste in her mouth, '...expertise.'

'At once.' Castiel practically clicked his heels. It wasn't true that angels couldn't lie, they just didn't see much point in making the effort of lying to human; between themselves, they could stoop to just about anything, including the finer points of flattery. He spread his wings, letting the wind fill them, grateful for this one-man mission.

As he descended, Castiel thought he heard Uriel call after him: 'See that you don't fail.'

Or was it fall?

Either one.



He should have known.

Granted, the view from Heaven is quite obscured. But still, he should have known when he saw how the man and the woman were running circles around the Earth, fleet as planes, as borrowed wings. Until, in abrupt unison, they collided with gun-smoke and tongues dripping with acid in another of their duels where nothing was ever settled, merely postponed. From Heaven, where there was an interest in keeping an eye on the younger of the two, it was difficult to tell just who was chasing whom.

'Is that her?' asks Castiel, feeling the vessel lean forward a little in his seat opposite the man, unable to hide his excitement. 'In the next carriage?' He already knows that it is, had sensed the radiance and creative energy coming off her even as he made his way down the train looking for the object of his journey.

The young man in question looked impassive. Bored.

'Why don't you tell me what you think she is.'

'If I do, then will you come with me?'

'No.'

The tone is emphatic, and for a moment there is the vaguest suggestion of a fire's roar behind the word. Castiel sighs at the beauty lost.

'Then you are a coward, Sariel, and you don't deserve her.'

The man doesn't refuse the name, but gives a shrug of the slender shoulders, letting the insult run off his back. 'I've been called worse.'

That was a mistake, Castiel realises, too late. He should not have said that.

Despite Raguel's advice, the fact is that Castiel remembers when Sariel shed his wings (it was all so recent, only twenty-odd years ago), and he remembers that it hadn't been over pride, not exactly. Nor was he like Anna, his strength corroded by doubt and lust. Sariel had stuck it out through so many battles, had led and won countless campaigns, only to tear out his Grace like it meant nothing...

But then what is he doing here, on this train? Following that woman.

Time to change tactics, Castiel thinks.

'But don't you care that this world you have bound yourself to might be coming to an end? Or do you think that Lucifer will spare you and this...Sydney Bristow...just because you chose not to take sides?'

The young man pretends not to hear.

'Castiel... Castiel...' he says, as if trying to place where he has heard it before. He touches a finger to his lip and frowns, feigning deep thought. 'I've been listening to the talk around the water-cooler, and the word is that, all the piling up of weapons aside, on both sides of the fence, the seals didn't start getting broken good and proper until you delivered Dean Winchester from the Abyss. So, in a way, Castiel - and do correct me if I'm mistaken - it was you that started this war; a war which, might I add, can't be such a disaster for the Guy upstairs if all they sent to summon me back to the front was a glorified messenger bird.'

His smile extends all the way up to his pale blue eyes, and as the train enters a tunnel, the carriage lights are reflected in such a way that they appear almost to glow.

'And I'll let you in on something else,' Sariel says. His voice becomes softer, a man sharing a confidence, and he points a forefinger toward the ceiling. 'God doesn't have a side. You think there is no God in Hell? When you plucked Dean Winchester from the rooms of torment, that was His will. And when the demons amassed for their retaliation, that was God's will as well. Call me a spoilsport, but at least when I fight down here,' he delivers a sharp tap to the laminate on the table, drawing Castiel's attention to the burn scars, nicks and stains imprinted on the solid surface, 'I can pick and choose any side I want without somebody telling me that the alternative is outside of God's plan. What is betrayal but just another choice that He has given us?'

Castiel is not aware of giving the vessel an order to stand, but here he is with his fists clenched at his sides. 'I... I cannot listen to this.' Don't fail, don't fail.

'Your hearing is as selective as ever, then.' Sariel smirks, unimpressed. 'So here is my official answer for you - listen carefully. You can tell your superiors that I have made my bed, and now I will lie in it. Come what may, death, hell or the apocalypse, I will never rejoin the Host.'

'Then we will take Sydney,' Castiel states simply. He hoped to avoid this, but it is the one last card he has to play. It is as disturbing as it was to him the last time, when he threatened Dean Winchester with his brother's death. 'Hide her, or destroy her. You might feel differently were your Grace to be truly irretrievable. Lose her and you would cease to be Sariel. You remember what it was like to forget yourself? Remember what it was like before you found her?'

Sariel's lips are pursed so tightly they could cut glass; the words gritted out. 'Careful. You are out of your jurisdiction, Watcher.'

'Are you sure about that? As long as you have her, you can always go back, reclaim your powers. You'll always be a little more than human. Separated from her, you will surely go to your grave as Julian Sark - and that moment might be sooner than you think.'

And then Sariel does what Dean Winchester never did, and laughed.

'I would happily die if it meant I could see Him do that. And it would have to be Him, neither angels nor demons have the power to unmake what He made. You can tell Michael, or Uriel, or whichever of them sent you, that I said that.'

'That is your final reply?'

'It is.' Sariel, or Sark, stands and opens the door to his compartment, signalling that the conversation is over. 'And Castiel? When you meet Lucifer, as I have a hunch that you will, tell him that I say hallo.'

Castiel looks wordlessly at the door, and disappears.



He doesn't go far.

In his opinion, his entrances have vastly improved from when he first adopted this body. When he shows himself to Sydney Bristow a second later, no windows or doors fall victim to his inexperience, and while a gun is being pointed at him, at least she hasn't fired it yet.

Castiel considers how he might phrase this.

'Fear not, Sydney. I bring you a message. Our Lord and God has a task for you that none else can perform.'


31 December 2008