Too Long Away, Leverage/SPN, R~ish
Feb. 3rd, 2010 06:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Leverage/SPN
Title: Too Long Away (Part One)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Eliot (as Azrael, angel of death)
Rating: R~ish, for language, some violence
Word Count: ~2500
Summary: Azrael has been away from home a long time, but when the pain of a brother calls out to him, he comes to the aid of Castiel and Bobby, and finds himself embroiled in a war that is not meant to be, pulled into an apocalypse that goes against everything he knew to be true. When he discovers the reason, there will be no going back to the simple life of Eliot Spencer.
A/Ns & Warnings: This is not what I'm supposed to be writing, and I'm hoping that with this part out of my head, Azrael!Eliot will leave me alone to work on the stuff I need to be working on. Yes, there will be more. Yes. Yes. But first to finish my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_haiti fic and my novel sequel, and a couple of fics people bought. Some violence here, but mostly off screen. That will change in future chapters. I mean. It's Eliot. As the Angel of Death. Violence is kind of a gimme.
The ground here was once sacred, he can feel it even through the destruction that ravages the earth. Blood has been spilt here. The blood of angels and demons and humans, alike. The air reeks of sulfur and copper and salt.
He steps over upturned graves and broken stones that once marked the final resting places of honorable men and women, warriors in the fight of good and evil. There is a reason that this battle took place here, on ground sanctified since before time.
He turns to survey the remains of the day. The sun is setting and darkness crowds in around the few stones still standing. Smoke cloisters in valleys and clings to the bodies of the fallen. The sounds of suffering and dying ruffle the breeze, calling to him.
He has been too long away.
He moves with care, and those in need are released as he passes until he feels the lingering presence of one of his own. He pulls himself inside the human body that contains him, folds himself down into the cramped space and turns toward the crumpled body that lays beside a broken wheel chair.
The trench coat that covers him is coated in blood, much of it coming from the human shell his brother also wears, more of it coming from the human that lies beside him. Both are broken, bleeding, though neither so close to the veil that they will slip away behind it without the aid of time.
His boots crunch on gravel as he draws closer and squats beside them, reaching out one hand for his brother's shoulder. Startlingly blue eyes open at his touch, widening in recognition as they focus. "Azrael?"
The voice is little more than a whisper, the vocal chords stripped bare from screaming to the heavens for assistance, screams that reached him though he was far from the heavens, and drew him here…drew him back.
"Castiel." He speaks it as affirmation, as strength and promise. He has been too long away. Fury washes through him as the destruction around them presses close.
This is not what was meant to be. This is perversion.
He lifts his hand to Castiel's human face, urging healing to the body that bears him, though the angel within will take much more to put right again. Castiel clings to him, his hand, pulling him close. Azrael can see in his eyes his concern for the humans in his charge. His eyes track to the right, to the one nearing death slowly beside them.
With a long sigh, Azrael acquiesces to Castiel's desire and lays a hand on the other as well, closing his eyes and willing them away from this place of death and decay.
He has learned the pleasure of simple things. Where once he had known the pleasure of the cleansing summer rain, now he closes his eyes and lets the warm water of his shower flow over the skin.
He has not had to exert himself this way in years. Living as he has, among the people quietly, he has learned many things, has grown an affection he had lost in the long years away from humanity.
He towels himself dry and dresses in the familiar clothing. It is comforting, in its own way, though once he found it restrictive and small. His vessel is a strong man in his own right, and not unaccustomed to dealing death.
He is not ready to return, but he knows now that he must.
The human is waking and Azrael opens the door of the bathroom. Castiel is still laying on the one side of the bed, his vessel healed, though Azrael can feel the damage still within him.
The human is sitting up, his hands running over his body as if expecting to find himself still broken. He looks at Azrael, eyes narrowing. "You do this?"
Azrael raises an eyebrow. "I would expect some gratitude."
He looks to Castiel, and then back. "What about him?"
"Angels are not as easy to heal as humans, Robert. It will take some time."
"Time we ain't got." He moves his toes, grins a little, though he tries to hide it. "You did all of it."
"You want the wheelchair back?" Azrael asks, falling into the familiar speech pattern of his vessel. Eliot understood people like this, and Azrael had long since learned to let him speak to earn the trust of those around him.
He swings his legs down to the floor and stood, testing them, dancing when they held him. "It's 'bout damn time." He moves to Castiel and Azrael jumps, ready to defend his brother, but the human holds up both hands. "Just checking on him. Saved my life back there."
"His vessel is repaired, but he needs rest."
"So, which one are you?"
Azrael looks at him, trying to decide how to answer him. He decides to give him the truth, for it is clear that this human is accustomed to dealing with their kind. "You would know me as Azrael, though in this vessel I am called Eliot."
"Eliot?" He raises and eyebrow and crosses his arms. "Azrael…that makes you what? An archangel?"
"Was. Lately I've been…" He looks up to meet the human's eyes. "Less than angelic."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I have been in this vessel a long time, Robert—"
"Bobby."
Azrael inclines his head in acceptance. "Bobby. That suits you." He sighs and picks up the trails of his thoughts. "Eliot has been my home for many years." He lets Eliot bleed through again, sensing Bobby would relate more to the southern charms of his voice than the eloquent words of an angel. "I needed space. It's easy to get out of touch up there."
Bobby snorts. "Is that what you call it? Plum crazy, if you ask me. The lot of you. Starting the goddamn apocalypse because they were bored? And who was minding the business while you were off finding yourself?"
His pocket starts ringing and Bobby pulls his cell phone out, snorting in surprise. He flips it open and waits a half beat before growling into the phone. "Where the hell are you?" His face darkens and he turns away, rubbing a hand through his facial hair. "You okay? Dean?"
Bobby nods. "Yeah, okay. Lay low. I'll get to you." Bobby closes the phone and looks to him. "So, now what?"
He shrugs, a human gesture that feels uncomfortable, but conveys his meaning well enough. "I only came for him." He rests a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I heard his pain."
"I should think so." Bobby says. "The way they were torturing him. Blew out every window for miles I'm guessing." He looks around them, though Azrael can not guess what he's looking for. "Where are we?"
"I brought you to safety." He realizes seconds after the words leave him that Bobby is looking for something more specific. "Boston."
Bobby frowns at him. "For any particular reason?"
Again, Azrael shrugs. "I live here?"
"In Boston?" Bobby asks, then shakes his head. "Nevermind. So, I need to meet up with the boys. Don't suppose you can juice me back to South Dakota?"
"You shouldn't go home. You're place is watched by both sides of this chaos." He searches through the ether for the boys Bobby means, but can't find them. "I suppose Castiel marked them both so that angels can't find them?"
"Yeah, that bastard Zechariah is hunting hard, trying to get Dean to give up his meat suit."
"I have been gone too long. This is not what is meant to be. I can not believe that the others have allowed this, that Michael would be party to this."
"Believe what you like, pal. All the evidence says it's really going down. Lucifer walks the earth and so far things ain't going so good."
"Do you know where the Winchesters are?" Azrael asks.
"I ain't telling you. No offense, but I don't know which side you're playing."
Azrael draws himself up, indignant. "Watch yourself, I am not like the other angels you may be used to dealing with."
"You don't scare me, Azrael, Eliot…whoever the fuck you are. I thank you for the mojo, and my legs. I've got a long bit of driving ahead of me."
He stops Bobby before he's gotten two steps away. "I ain't planning on hurting you, old man, but there's more than one reason they call me the angel of death." He turns Bobby to face him. "If you want to stop this apocalypse and save your friends, you will show me where they are so that we can protect them."
"We?" Bobby asks and Azrael grins, or maybe it's Eliot's grin, he's never really sure anymore.
"I've gotten used to having folks around."
Bobby's eyes track to Castiel and back.
"He will be safe. This building is well warded against prying eyes. And we won't be gone long. Close your eyes and picture clearly in your mind the place where we are going. I will take us there."
He lifts two fingers, not that he needs them, but humans seem to need to touch to let go enough to be transported. Bobby hesitates, then huffs and closes his eyes. "Oh for Pete's sake…"
The image forms and Azrael touches his forehead, sending them spinning off and dropping them outside a dusty town gas station someplace in Texas. Bobby clutches at him as his legs wobble on the landing.
"Sorry. Haven't done that in a while," he murmurs, looking around them. "Last time you were unconscious."
"I almost was again." Bobby quips before pointing toward a run down motel. The only sign of life is the flickering "vacancy" sign and the growling hum of soon to die air conditioner unit. There's one car in the parking lot, a sleek black impala covered in dust parked in front of the door with the number nine on it.
Bobby leads the way. He knocks.
A gruff voice from inside calls out. "Who is it?"
"It's Bobby, open up."
The door opens and the man on the other side looks Bobby over, eyes widening, then splashes water in Bobby's face. Bobby sputters. "I'm me, ya' idjit. Let us in."
Azrael steps over the salt line. It isn't their only defense. In fact, their wards are remarkably good. He turns as the taller of the two stands. He can sense them now that he's in the same room…the markers of who they are resounding, calling out to him.
"Who pulled you out of your chair?" Dean asks Bobby, though his eyes are on Azrael.
"This guy." Bobby hooks a thumb in his direction. "Says he's Azrael."
"As in the Angel of Death, Azrael?" Sam asks, moving closer.
Azrael feels his pocket vibrate and digs out his own phone. "Excuse me one minute." He lifts the phone and thumbs the button to take the call. "Yeah? Nate, now isn't a good time." He listens for a minute, then exerts the tiniest amount of influence. "Remember the promise you gave me? I'm calling it in." Nate backs off immediately. He knows what has to be at stake if Eliot is cashing in on that promise. "I'll call you soon."
"The Angel of Death takes phone calls?" Dean asks.
"From friends, I do," he answers. "Friends who call me Eliot."
"Eliot, the Angel of Death just doesn't have that same ring to it."
He smiles at Dean. "No, it doesn't. But I've gotten used to it." He settles his phone back into his pocket. "Now, we should go."
"Go?" Sam asks, stepping closer now.
"It isn't safe here." He crosses his arms. "I can't protect you here."
"No offense, buddy, but we don't need you protecting us. We already have our own guardian angel." Dean huffs and goes back to the bed where he was cleaning his guns before they arrived.
"Have you seen him lately?" Azrael asks.
"Castiel is…he was hurt pretty bad." Bobby supplies. "Saved my life, actually."
"Where is he?"
"At my place."
"Your place?" Sam forces a laugh. "Like, a condo or something?"
"I have a flat, in Boston." He glances over his shoulder. "And we have some trouble headed our way." He can feel them, a group of demons on the hunt for Lucifer's vessel. It wouldn't be long before they were discovered.
"How bad?" Sam moves to the window.
"Enough." He isn't ready to be drawn into open battle against either side. His thought was merely to protect the vessels for Armageddon until he can figure out how this happened. "At the very least, I can offer you a rest, unhindered. In my home you will be untraceable by any means."
"In your home. In Boston." Dean is skeptical, but Bobby snickers.
"You both need a good, long sleep." Bobby crosses his arms. "And he did heal me."
Dean still looks skeptical, but he can feel a sense of hope from Sam who looks at his brother for the final approval. "You trust this guy?" Dean asks Bobby who shrugs.
"Bout as much as I trust anyone that ain't the two of you."
He can feel it the moment Dean gives in. "Okay, but—"
Azrael doesn't give him time to finish, touches each of them and reaches out to encompass the room, the car, wrenching them out of one place and dropping them neatly into his. The building creaks as the new room settles into place. It takes him a moment longer to incorporate their wards with his own.
When he opens his eyes, the three of them are staring at him. "What? I didn't have a guest room."
"So you just…brought one with you?"
"It's easier than making one from nothing." He moves to the door. "Make yourselves comfortable. I need to check in with some friends. There's food and beer in the kitchen. Castiel is resting, in my room down the hall. I suggest you not try to touch him. Let him heal."
He's tired, the extra effort of the day has been draining. For all the time he's been here, in this body, he has seldom had need to let his true nature out this much. He stands in the middle of his living room, closes his eyes and listens.
His brothers are scrambling to understand what has happened, he traces along the lines, trying to find the beginning. What he finds startles him. He opens his eyes. "I really have been gone too long."
Title: Too Long Away (Part One)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Eliot (as Azrael, angel of death)
Rating: R~ish, for language, some violence
Word Count: ~2500
Summary: Azrael has been away from home a long time, but when the pain of a brother calls out to him, he comes to the aid of Castiel and Bobby, and finds himself embroiled in a war that is not meant to be, pulled into an apocalypse that goes against everything he knew to be true. When he discovers the reason, there will be no going back to the simple life of Eliot Spencer.
A/Ns & Warnings: This is not what I'm supposed to be writing, and I'm hoping that with this part out of my head, Azrael!Eliot will leave me alone to work on the stuff I need to be working on. Yes, there will be more. Yes. Yes. But first to finish my
help_haiti fic and my novel sequel, and a couple of fics people bought. Some violence here, but mostly off screen. That will change in future chapters. I mean. It's Eliot. As the Angel of Death. Violence is kind of a gimme.The ground here was once sacred, he can feel it even through the destruction that ravages the earth. Blood has been spilt here. The blood of angels and demons and humans, alike. The air reeks of sulfur and copper and salt.
He steps over upturned graves and broken stones that once marked the final resting places of honorable men and women, warriors in the fight of good and evil. There is a reason that this battle took place here, on ground sanctified since before time.
He turns to survey the remains of the day. The sun is setting and darkness crowds in around the few stones still standing. Smoke cloisters in valleys and clings to the bodies of the fallen. The sounds of suffering and dying ruffle the breeze, calling to him.
He has been too long away.
He moves with care, and those in need are released as he passes until he feels the lingering presence of one of his own. He pulls himself inside the human body that contains him, folds himself down into the cramped space and turns toward the crumpled body that lays beside a broken wheel chair.
The trench coat that covers him is coated in blood, much of it coming from the human shell his brother also wears, more of it coming from the human that lies beside him. Both are broken, bleeding, though neither so close to the veil that they will slip away behind it without the aid of time.
His boots crunch on gravel as he draws closer and squats beside them, reaching out one hand for his brother's shoulder. Startlingly blue eyes open at his touch, widening in recognition as they focus. "Azrael?"
The voice is little more than a whisper, the vocal chords stripped bare from screaming to the heavens for assistance, screams that reached him though he was far from the heavens, and drew him here…drew him back.
"Castiel." He speaks it as affirmation, as strength and promise. He has been too long away. Fury washes through him as the destruction around them presses close.
This is not what was meant to be. This is perversion.
He lifts his hand to Castiel's human face, urging healing to the body that bears him, though the angel within will take much more to put right again. Castiel clings to him, his hand, pulling him close. Azrael can see in his eyes his concern for the humans in his charge. His eyes track to the right, to the one nearing death slowly beside them.
With a long sigh, Azrael acquiesces to Castiel's desire and lays a hand on the other as well, closing his eyes and willing them away from this place of death and decay.
He has learned the pleasure of simple things. Where once he had known the pleasure of the cleansing summer rain, now he closes his eyes and lets the warm water of his shower flow over the skin.
He has not had to exert himself this way in years. Living as he has, among the people quietly, he has learned many things, has grown an affection he had lost in the long years away from humanity.
He towels himself dry and dresses in the familiar clothing. It is comforting, in its own way, though once he found it restrictive and small. His vessel is a strong man in his own right, and not unaccustomed to dealing death.
He is not ready to return, but he knows now that he must.
The human is waking and Azrael opens the door of the bathroom. Castiel is still laying on the one side of the bed, his vessel healed, though Azrael can feel the damage still within him.
The human is sitting up, his hands running over his body as if expecting to find himself still broken. He looks at Azrael, eyes narrowing. "You do this?"
Azrael raises an eyebrow. "I would expect some gratitude."
He looks to Castiel, and then back. "What about him?"
"Angels are not as easy to heal as humans, Robert. It will take some time."
"Time we ain't got." He moves his toes, grins a little, though he tries to hide it. "You did all of it."
"You want the wheelchair back?" Azrael asks, falling into the familiar speech pattern of his vessel. Eliot understood people like this, and Azrael had long since learned to let him speak to earn the trust of those around him.
He swings his legs down to the floor and stood, testing them, dancing when they held him. "It's 'bout damn time." He moves to Castiel and Azrael jumps, ready to defend his brother, but the human holds up both hands. "Just checking on him. Saved my life back there."
"His vessel is repaired, but he needs rest."
"So, which one are you?"
Azrael looks at him, trying to decide how to answer him. He decides to give him the truth, for it is clear that this human is accustomed to dealing with their kind. "You would know me as Azrael, though in this vessel I am called Eliot."
"Eliot?" He raises and eyebrow and crosses his arms. "Azrael…that makes you what? An archangel?"
"Was. Lately I've been…" He looks up to meet the human's eyes. "Less than angelic."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I have been in this vessel a long time, Robert—"
"Bobby."
Azrael inclines his head in acceptance. "Bobby. That suits you." He sighs and picks up the trails of his thoughts. "Eliot has been my home for many years." He lets Eliot bleed through again, sensing Bobby would relate more to the southern charms of his voice than the eloquent words of an angel. "I needed space. It's easy to get out of touch up there."
Bobby snorts. "Is that what you call it? Plum crazy, if you ask me. The lot of you. Starting the goddamn apocalypse because they were bored? And who was minding the business while you were off finding yourself?"
His pocket starts ringing and Bobby pulls his cell phone out, snorting in surprise. He flips it open and waits a half beat before growling into the phone. "Where the hell are you?" His face darkens and he turns away, rubbing a hand through his facial hair. "You okay? Dean?"
Bobby nods. "Yeah, okay. Lay low. I'll get to you." Bobby closes the phone and looks to him. "So, now what?"
He shrugs, a human gesture that feels uncomfortable, but conveys his meaning well enough. "I only came for him." He rests a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I heard his pain."
"I should think so." Bobby says. "The way they were torturing him. Blew out every window for miles I'm guessing." He looks around them, though Azrael can not guess what he's looking for. "Where are we?"
"I brought you to safety." He realizes seconds after the words leave him that Bobby is looking for something more specific. "Boston."
Bobby frowns at him. "For any particular reason?"
Again, Azrael shrugs. "I live here?"
"In Boston?" Bobby asks, then shakes his head. "Nevermind. So, I need to meet up with the boys. Don't suppose you can juice me back to South Dakota?"
"You shouldn't go home. You're place is watched by both sides of this chaos." He searches through the ether for the boys Bobby means, but can't find them. "I suppose Castiel marked them both so that angels can't find them?"
"Yeah, that bastard Zechariah is hunting hard, trying to get Dean to give up his meat suit."
"I have been gone too long. This is not what is meant to be. I can not believe that the others have allowed this, that Michael would be party to this."
"Believe what you like, pal. All the evidence says it's really going down. Lucifer walks the earth and so far things ain't going so good."
"Do you know where the Winchesters are?" Azrael asks.
"I ain't telling you. No offense, but I don't know which side you're playing."
Azrael draws himself up, indignant. "Watch yourself, I am not like the other angels you may be used to dealing with."
"You don't scare me, Azrael, Eliot…whoever the fuck you are. I thank you for the mojo, and my legs. I've got a long bit of driving ahead of me."
He stops Bobby before he's gotten two steps away. "I ain't planning on hurting you, old man, but there's more than one reason they call me the angel of death." He turns Bobby to face him. "If you want to stop this apocalypse and save your friends, you will show me where they are so that we can protect them."
"We?" Bobby asks and Azrael grins, or maybe it's Eliot's grin, he's never really sure anymore.
"I've gotten used to having folks around."
Bobby's eyes track to Castiel and back.
"He will be safe. This building is well warded against prying eyes. And we won't be gone long. Close your eyes and picture clearly in your mind the place where we are going. I will take us there."
He lifts two fingers, not that he needs them, but humans seem to need to touch to let go enough to be transported. Bobby hesitates, then huffs and closes his eyes. "Oh for Pete's sake…"
The image forms and Azrael touches his forehead, sending them spinning off and dropping them outside a dusty town gas station someplace in Texas. Bobby clutches at him as his legs wobble on the landing.
"Sorry. Haven't done that in a while," he murmurs, looking around them. "Last time you were unconscious."
"I almost was again." Bobby quips before pointing toward a run down motel. The only sign of life is the flickering "vacancy" sign and the growling hum of soon to die air conditioner unit. There's one car in the parking lot, a sleek black impala covered in dust parked in front of the door with the number nine on it.
Bobby leads the way. He knocks.
A gruff voice from inside calls out. "Who is it?"
"It's Bobby, open up."
The door opens and the man on the other side looks Bobby over, eyes widening, then splashes water in Bobby's face. Bobby sputters. "I'm me, ya' idjit. Let us in."
Azrael steps over the salt line. It isn't their only defense. In fact, their wards are remarkably good. He turns as the taller of the two stands. He can sense them now that he's in the same room…the markers of who they are resounding, calling out to him.
"Who pulled you out of your chair?" Dean asks Bobby, though his eyes are on Azrael.
"This guy." Bobby hooks a thumb in his direction. "Says he's Azrael."
"As in the Angel of Death, Azrael?" Sam asks, moving closer.
Azrael feels his pocket vibrate and digs out his own phone. "Excuse me one minute." He lifts the phone and thumbs the button to take the call. "Yeah? Nate, now isn't a good time." He listens for a minute, then exerts the tiniest amount of influence. "Remember the promise you gave me? I'm calling it in." Nate backs off immediately. He knows what has to be at stake if Eliot is cashing in on that promise. "I'll call you soon."
"The Angel of Death takes phone calls?" Dean asks.
"From friends, I do," he answers. "Friends who call me Eliot."
"Eliot, the Angel of Death just doesn't have that same ring to it."
He smiles at Dean. "No, it doesn't. But I've gotten used to it." He settles his phone back into his pocket. "Now, we should go."
"Go?" Sam asks, stepping closer now.
"It isn't safe here." He crosses his arms. "I can't protect you here."
"No offense, buddy, but we don't need you protecting us. We already have our own guardian angel." Dean huffs and goes back to the bed where he was cleaning his guns before they arrived.
"Have you seen him lately?" Azrael asks.
"Castiel is…he was hurt pretty bad." Bobby supplies. "Saved my life, actually."
"Where is he?"
"At my place."
"Your place?" Sam forces a laugh. "Like, a condo or something?"
"I have a flat, in Boston." He glances over his shoulder. "And we have some trouble headed our way." He can feel them, a group of demons on the hunt for Lucifer's vessel. It wouldn't be long before they were discovered.
"How bad?" Sam moves to the window.
"Enough." He isn't ready to be drawn into open battle against either side. His thought was merely to protect the vessels for Armageddon until he can figure out how this happened. "At the very least, I can offer you a rest, unhindered. In my home you will be untraceable by any means."
"In your home. In Boston." Dean is skeptical, but Bobby snickers.
"You both need a good, long sleep." Bobby crosses his arms. "And he did heal me."
Dean still looks skeptical, but he can feel a sense of hope from Sam who looks at his brother for the final approval. "You trust this guy?" Dean asks Bobby who shrugs.
"Bout as much as I trust anyone that ain't the two of you."
He can feel it the moment Dean gives in. "Okay, but—"
Azrael doesn't give him time to finish, touches each of them and reaches out to encompass the room, the car, wrenching them out of one place and dropping them neatly into his. The building creaks as the new room settles into place. It takes him a moment longer to incorporate their wards with his own.
When he opens his eyes, the three of them are staring at him. "What? I didn't have a guest room."
"So you just…brought one with you?"
"It's easier than making one from nothing." He moves to the door. "Make yourselves comfortable. I need to check in with some friends. There's food and beer in the kitchen. Castiel is resting, in my room down the hall. I suggest you not try to touch him. Let him heal."
He's tired, the extra effort of the day has been draining. For all the time he's been here, in this body, he has seldom had need to let his true nature out this much. He stands in the middle of his living room, closes his eyes and listens.
His brothers are scrambling to understand what has happened, he traces along the lines, trying to find the beginning. What he finds startles him. He opens his eyes. "I really have been gone too long."
