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slyprenticeI've been working on and off on this fic for a while. It's still completely a rough draft as I've done next to no edits on it - I'm just trying to get it written - but I thought I'd post the prologue to try to inspire myself to write more...
Title: Untitled -so far-
Author: Prentice
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: blasphemy, religious content, etc.
Fandoms: Brimstone, Supernatural
Spoilers: Brimstone Complete Series, Supernatural Seasons 1-4
Pairings: Devil/Ezekiel, Dean/Castiel, implied past Sam/Ruby
Summary: (No summary thus far, I'm still writing it!)
Notes: This is a mixture of Brimstone and Supernatural lore but really doesn't closely adhere to either one.
"The taste of blood was heavy on his tongue, rousing with it images of pain and blood, trickling through his consciousness with knife sharpness until he trembled with fear and regret, washing away all goodness that was or ever could be."
The longer you're in Hell, the more it becomes a part of you. Literally.– The Devil, Pilot, Brimstone
November, 2000
When Ezekiel Stone steps off the 3-2 bus from Los Angeles, he doesn't think about the fact that he's two days ahead of schedule or that he just sent another demon cum escapee from Hell back to its fiery depths. It's hardly worth thinking about, anymore. Yeah, it's one less tattoo on his body, one less brand, and yet another step on his road to redemption, to life, but everything's changed now, hasn't it?
A hundred and thirteen of the most vile creatures that escaped from Hell down to eighty-two with yet another hunt looming in the near future even after three years of fighting and searching and all of it, all of it, had changed. In one instant, one sentence: Rosalyn Stone is happy to announce her upcoming nuptials to a Mr Todd Browning, M.D., of Los Angeles.
Everything changes. Wasn't that the saying? Wasn't that what Lucifer kept telling him?
Everything changes, Detective. People live, get older, die, but you don't Ezekiel. You just stay the same. I gave that to you. Your second chance. Don't forget.
As if he ever could, as if – for one second – he could have ever pretended, especially now, with every reason to fight left behind to remarry, to live, to have children. Ros was lost to him, now even more than before and there was nothing he could do about it.
Except keep fighting.
September, 2008
The hands on him trembled, reverent and without shame, ghosting over torn flesh and blood, mending the broken parts of him with soothing touches and love. The thing that had once been him, the pale ghost of a soul, quivered and shook, screamed into darkness, cried out for more, waiting for redemption as the demon that consumed him fought against the comfort and the sharpened wings that held him so tenderly.
'Fight, Dean Winchester,' a voice whispered to him, strong and sure. 'Fight with me.' And so he fought, ripping at the shattered bits of himself, the wrongness that clung to him like a second skin, tearing it out, ignoring the pain. He didn't want to be a monster. Didn't want to burn in darkness, forever being something else, something vile, something twisted.
But it hurt. It damaged. It burned.
Blood poured from eyes, ears, and mouth, crimson rivers that seared his flesh, charred and blackened down to bone, even as the demon howled, exultant in the pain. Now you're mine, it shrieked, mine, mine, mine.
'Don't listen,' the voice murmured, sweet and sharp, kissing bloodied wounds with gentle coolness. 'Don't give up. Fight, Dean. '
Blood rained down, above and below, falling from him and on him. Coppery salt drops that sizzled and boiled. 'Fight, Dean.'
The demon screamed, clawing at him, trying to control with blood and pain and fear. Mine, mine, mine.
Cool lips, feathery soft, against his own and a tongue sliding between them, tasting of warmth and a light that didn't burn. Strong hands, careful against his skin, curling around his arms, securing, as wings unfurled, slashing into demon flesh. 'Fight, Dean. You can do it.'
NO!
Pain lanced through his soul, tearing him apart.
'I believe in you.'
Light that shinned and jig sawed the pieces back together, mending it back to what once was.
MINE!
Powerful, unyielding arms lifting him, sheltering him, from what was down below as the last twisted bits fell away like ash.
'I love you, Dean.'
Warmth of heart, mind and soul, cradling him like a child, while radiance shines around him and perfect lips touch his own then fade.
'Now...breathe.'
November, 2008
The Earth trembled beneath his feet as he moved; brittle and terrified, screaming in agony. Lucifer, the one they called The Morning Star, who ripped his grace and his goodness from himself and fell beyond the heavens, beyond the Earth, into the deep darkness of eternal night, smiled and rejoiced. Another seal had been broken, another barrier had been lifted, and soon, so soon, would he be free.
To walk the Earth and destroy the Heavens. To set free his burdens and cradle to him the child of his own creation, to hold him in his arms and caress his ink-blooded skin. To have his Ezekiel and his grace and rule this world of his Father's creations. Forever.
Title: Untitled -so far-
Author: Prentice
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: blasphemy, religious content, etc.
Fandoms: Brimstone, Supernatural
Spoilers: Brimstone Complete Series, Supernatural Seasons 1-4
Pairings: Devil/Ezekiel, Dean/Castiel, implied past Sam/Ruby
Summary: (No summary thus far, I'm still writing it!)
Notes: This is a mixture of Brimstone and Supernatural lore but really doesn't closely adhere to either one.
"The taste of blood was heavy on his tongue, rousing with it images of pain and blood, trickling through his consciousness with knife sharpness until he trembled with fear and regret, washing away all goodness that was or ever could be."
The longer you're in Hell, the more it becomes a part of you. Literally.– The Devil, Pilot, Brimstone
November, 2000
When Ezekiel Stone steps off the 3-2 bus from Los Angeles, he doesn't think about the fact that he's two days ahead of schedule or that he just sent another demon cum escapee from Hell back to its fiery depths. It's hardly worth thinking about, anymore. Yeah, it's one less tattoo on his body, one less brand, and yet another step on his road to redemption, to life, but everything's changed now, hasn't it?
A hundred and thirteen of the most vile creatures that escaped from Hell down to eighty-two with yet another hunt looming in the near future even after three years of fighting and searching and all of it, all of it, had changed. In one instant, one sentence: Rosalyn Stone is happy to announce her upcoming nuptials to a Mr Todd Browning, M.D., of Los Angeles.
Everything changes. Wasn't that the saying? Wasn't that what Lucifer kept telling him?
Everything changes, Detective. People live, get older, die, but you don't Ezekiel. You just stay the same. I gave that to you. Your second chance. Don't forget.
As if he ever could, as if – for one second – he could have ever pretended, especially now, with every reason to fight left behind to remarry, to live, to have children. Ros was lost to him, now even more than before and there was nothing he could do about it.
Except keep fighting.
September, 2008
The hands on him trembled, reverent and without shame, ghosting over torn flesh and blood, mending the broken parts of him with soothing touches and love. The thing that had once been him, the pale ghost of a soul, quivered and shook, screamed into darkness, cried out for more, waiting for redemption as the demon that consumed him fought against the comfort and the sharpened wings that held him so tenderly.
'Fight, Dean Winchester,' a voice whispered to him, strong and sure. 'Fight with me.' And so he fought, ripping at the shattered bits of himself, the wrongness that clung to him like a second skin, tearing it out, ignoring the pain. He didn't want to be a monster. Didn't want to burn in darkness, forever being something else, something vile, something twisted.
But it hurt. It damaged. It burned.
Blood poured from eyes, ears, and mouth, crimson rivers that seared his flesh, charred and blackened down to bone, even as the demon howled, exultant in the pain. Now you're mine, it shrieked, mine, mine, mine.
'Don't listen,' the voice murmured, sweet and sharp, kissing bloodied wounds with gentle coolness. 'Don't give up. Fight, Dean. '
Blood rained down, above and below, falling from him and on him. Coppery salt drops that sizzled and boiled. 'Fight, Dean.'
The demon screamed, clawing at him, trying to control with blood and pain and fear. Mine, mine, mine.
Cool lips, feathery soft, against his own and a tongue sliding between them, tasting of warmth and a light that didn't burn. Strong hands, careful against his skin, curling around his arms, securing, as wings unfurled, slashing into demon flesh. 'Fight, Dean. You can do it.'
NO!
Pain lanced through his soul, tearing him apart.
'I believe in you.'
Light that shinned and jig sawed the pieces back together, mending it back to what once was.
MINE!
Powerful, unyielding arms lifting him, sheltering him, from what was down below as the last twisted bits fell away like ash.
'I love you, Dean.'
Warmth of heart, mind and soul, cradling him like a child, while radiance shines around him and perfect lips touch his own then fade.
'Now...breathe.'
November, 2008
The Earth trembled beneath his feet as he moved; brittle and terrified, screaming in agony. Lucifer, the one they called The Morning Star, who ripped his grace and his goodness from himself and fell beyond the heavens, beyond the Earth, into the deep darkness of eternal night, smiled and rejoiced. Another seal had been broken, another barrier had been lifted, and soon, so soon, would he be free.
To walk the Earth and destroy the Heavens. To set free his burdens and cradle to him the child of his own creation, to hold him in his arms and caress his ink-blooded skin. To have his Ezekiel and his grace and rule this world of his Father's creations. Forever.
