justforspite: (Jenny B&W)
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Like you didn't know there would be fic here :)

Post Lucifer Rising.
Rated PG13-R for language

The Winter Queen

Chuck felt his house shake and rumble knowing the archangel stationed to protect him was now on his way to tearing Castiel a new one. Glancing to the angel next to him, Chuck wasn’t sure if it was fear he saw in Castiel’s eyes. His gaze seemed to take everything in; every flicker of light, every mote of dust that eased from his old ceiling. Placing his hand on his shoulder, Chuck hoped to give him strength, confidence maybe. Comfort?

Castiel looked to the prophet for one cold hard second and a minute’s worth of conversation passed between them. Chuck removed his hand.


An archangel. He’d never faced down an archangel. Hell, he’d barely even glimpsed one before and that was thousands of years ago. Castiel was well aware he was merely a lieutenant in this army and they were the four-star generals. Surprisingly, he wasn’t afraid, as much as he should be. He knew this had been a suicide mission the second he’d helped Dean. He was ready and he only had one final part to play before it was all over. He was just buying time and he’d purchase with his life.

“What’re you gonna say?” The Prophet asked.

With a grumble, Castiel simply said, “Nothing.”

Chuck only nodded and realized the look he saw hadn’t been fear, it was determination. This was the end, wasn’t it? His stomach grumbled and his first thought to the cause was gut-wrenching anxiety but a moment later he realized he was just hungry. He was going to die in the middle of an epic battle between the hosts of the Lord and his mind was pondering guacamole nachos. Yeah, humanity was worth saving, why?

Then . . . it was gone.

The wall they’d been facing vanished into complete nothingness. There was no rubble, no splinters, not even ash. The wall was just gone and the blinding white light washed over them.

“Fucking piece of shit pencil pusher!” They heard a female voice scream moments before a severed head was tossed in through the hole in the wall. The head rolled towards them and Chuck yelped, skittering back behind Castiel onto whose shoe the head came to a rest.

“Zachariah,” Castiel breathed, awe tearing through the resolve on his face. He was dead. There were only a handful of angels strong enough to kill Zachariah and none of them had been seen in millennia.

Whipping his head up back to the light he saw a figure silhouetted there.

“This!” She said, coming closer to them. “This is why bureaucrats never should have been allowed in the Corps.”

“Holy—” Chuck began but the light suddenly went out and dark spots flooded his vision.

“Finish that sentence and I’ll have to gut you for blasphemy,” she said, her voice as cold as ice. Chuck bit his tongue and just stared at her. She was just shy of six feet tall. Her dark blonde hair was twisted and braided into a science-fiction masterpiece. She wore . . . steel. Blue-grey steel smoothed and fashioned into skin-tight armor. She moved as if it were latex. On her back he could make out the shape of two sword hilts. It was her eyes though, her eyes that forced Chuck’s focus away. They were pure mirrored glass that reflected his soul. Locking gaze with her was like being overwhelmed by every single life-event ever experienced. The weight of his failures soon overwhelmed his achievements and he had to turn away.

She looked away from him and narrowed that soul-seeking stare onto Castiel. He returned her gaze, his eyes seeing through his vessel, his own shortcomings and triumphs teetering on the scale of his conscience.

A moment passed. Then another.

“I am not ashamed of what I’ve done,” he finally said, his voice low.

“Really?” She asked, looking down onto Zachariah. “Neither was he,” she kicked the head across the room, the bones making a sickly crunch.

“Who are you?” Castiel asked.

“She kinda looks like Tricia Helfer—” Chuck peeped. The Archangel turned her gaze on him and Chuck could have sworn he felt his toes singe. “Shutting up now.”

“Where are the Winchesters?” She asked.

“I’m not—” Castiel began when she took a menacing step towards him.

“Child,” she said between her teeth, “This, right here?” She gestured, seeming to take in the whole world with the motion. “Not a game. You can tell me or I can get it from your mind, pick one.”

He didn’t answer. His resistance only lasted a moment before her hands were at his temples, her soul-reflecting eyes glowing bright. Castiel screamed, pulling away from her but her grip was too strong. Her burning stare brought him to his knees as all his memories flooded up and through him, from the depths of his soul and into hers like a vortex.

“You,” she whispered, drawing out all she needed, “were the only one amongst them doing God’s will.”

She released him, letting him drop bonelessly to the floor. She flashed to a frozen and horrified Chuck. “Prophet?”

“Yes, ma’am!” He shrieked.

“Milk and honey. Feed him,” she said. Reaching behind her she pulled her blades from the scabbards on her back and crouched down low like a runner about to sprint. “We’ll have words about the escorts later,” she warned and simply dissolved.

He peed, just a little.

“Who the hell was she?” He choked.

From his place on the floor, Castiel fought the onslaught of nausea that rolled through him. She’d taken everything that was him and in the process only left her name at the door.

“Gabriel,” he breathed, his entire body trembling. “That was the Archangel Gabriel.”

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June 2009

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