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Title: Birds of Passage
Author: neotoma
Artist:cashay
Genre/Pairing: (slash & drama)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~61,000
Warnings/Spoilers: gore/animal sacrifice, gore, implied past abuse, gore/torture, homophobia/transphobia, set post-S5 SPN/ S1 Jericho
Summary: Lucifer is back in his Cage, but one averted Apocalypse doesn't mean much in the face of another, more human one. Sam Winchester, the Archangel Gabriel, and a man millennia out of his own time have wandered into a small Kansas town, where they get to deal with tree thieves, suspicious sheriffs, shady characters, political in-fighting, looming starvation, and the occasional pagan deity passing through. It's just one damn thing on top of another after The End of the World. [Crossover with JERICHO (tv series)]
Prologue – I will lay my burden in the cradle of your grace
Hrafn woke in the night, in the time between beauty sleep and second sleep, in the midnight time when people stirred and talked and made love, but there was none of that for him anymore. Instead, there was his bed full of the völva's cats and no one else. He didn't blame the other members of the household for shunning his company – his wife was dead, and he himself unnaturally alive and now prone to fits of uncanny knowledge. Even without the accusations that had brought him to Gjaflaug Völva's service, he was too strange for a woman to lie with anymore, and his surrogacy for the old völva during the feasts too disgraceful. But he had heard a voice calling to him in his dreams, so he slipped out of his booth at the end of the house, and pulled on shoes and dress, his blue cloak lined with cat-skin, mittens and cap, before slipping out through the door.
The night was dark, with the moon only a sliver, most of its face hidden and shadowed.
"Hello?" he called out to the night, to the dis or elf or land-spirit that had been singing in his dreams for days now.
'Hello, Hrafn Friththjófsson,' came the reply, in a voice that rang inside his skull, echoing and re-echoing like the clash of blades in battle, like the roar of a river in full flood. 'Thank you for coming...'
"I haven't agreed yet, spirit," Hrafn said. "I want to see you. As you are, not as you appear in my dreams, pretending to be my kin."
The spirit didn't reply for a moment, and Hrafn wondered if he had offended it. There was not much he could do to an elf, he thought, but they were said to be touchy and prone to taking offense at the least mis-step.
'All right,' it spoke finally, and the sky was suddenly vibrant, full of light and the sound of mighty wings.
Hrafn fell to his knees in shock, astonished. "Oh. So beautiful..."
The spirit laughed, 'Is that all I have to do, show myself and you fall at my feet? I was expecting... something else.'
Hrafn frowned, and sat back on his heels. "I can go back to bed, if you'd like?"
'No! No, don't do that. I need you.'
"Then don't mock me, spirit."
'My name is –' the spirit trumpeted a sound that had Hrafn wincing at its shrieking jangle. But he could feel the meaning behind it.
"'Asvald'? Your name is 'Godly power'?"
'Yes. I am Might-of-God, who stands in His presence at His left hand, his Messenger and his Scourge.'
"Impressive. If I knew which god you were talking about."
'I'm talking about the Father. The Creator!'
Hrafn looked askance at the spirit that hovered in the sky. "Tyr?" he asked.
'...no.'
"Then I don't know your god."
The spirit made contracted in on itself, like a fire guttering in the wind, like a man hunching his shoulders.
'I need your help, Hrafn Friththjófsson of the Fox Clan.'
Hrafn recoiled. "I have no clan anymore. I have nothing, not to have, and not to give, Asvald servant of no god I know."
The spirit uncoiled from its wheel in the sky, its light expanding, warming Hrafn as it asked, '...If I gave you something, then I could have your help?'
Hrafn laughed at the spirit. "You know nothing of mankind, do you?"
'I know enough. You want something, I want something. We give to each other and we both get what we need. That's how it works between humans, right?'
"What I want, Asvald, is my life to be different, for my wife not to be dead, to not be thought a draugr, to be free to live and die as a man, and not as my fate has made me. Can you change the past, spirit?"
'No, I can't change the past, I can't change destiny.'
"No one can, for the day and hour is set." Hrafn looked up at the spirit; it seemed sad, somehow, as it hung above him, brighter than the moon and the northern lights combined. "I will die twice, and soon."
'What do you mean?' the spirit asked.
"Gjaflaug Völva is old. She is fading. When she dies, they will tie me to her chariot because no other völva is as strong as she, and they think I am a draugr."
'...tie you to her chariot? But if she's dead, won't someone else own that?'
"Her chariot that she will ride in her grave, spirit," Hrafn growled. Did the spirit know nothing? "She will take her best horses, her chariot, her staff and all her best treasures into death, so that she will not be tempted to walk afterward. All her treasures, and me."
'That would kill you!' Asvald protested.
"They think I am draugr, that I am already dead and walking! They will bury me with the völva just for safety."
'I need you alive!'
"Then you will be disappointed. I'm not alive, not even now. I am draugr, walking and dead. Ask anyone."
'Hrafn, you're alive now. If you come help me, you'll be alive long after the völva is dead. And no one will bury you in a chariot, not while you're still breathing.'
Hrafn stared up at the spirit.
"Is that a promise? A promise you can keep, Asvald?"
'Yes, it's a promise, and yes, I can keep it."
"If you promise, that if I help you and you take me away from here, away to where no one knows me and no one thinks I'm dead, then I will do whatever you need, for as long as you need."
'It will be hard work, and stranger than you can imagine, and you may not like any of it. I will be closer to your than your brothers, than your wife, and you will not be able to leave me.'
"But I will be free of this life, of this doom?" Hrafn asked.
'Yes, you will be free of this life. Your doom will be my doom, for as long as I am with you.'
"That sounds... wonderful," Hrafn said, and scrubbed his face against tears. He looked up at the spirit in the air. "Yes. Whatever you need, Asvald, yes."
'Thank you,' the spirit said, and flowed down out of the sky, twisting and coiling around Hrafn like a cauldron full of snakes. At first, it was merely close, then tight and then burning pressure. Hrafn closed his eyes and endured as Asvald flowed close, over Hrafn's skin, and then under it.
The pain was indescribable, and Hrafn went away under it, in darkness and dreams.
He stayed under for a very, very long time.
Next
Author: neotoma
Artist:cashay
Genre/Pairing: (slash & drama)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~61,000
Warnings/Spoilers: gore/animal sacrifice, gore, implied past abuse, gore/torture, homophobia/transphobia, set post-S5 SPN/ S1 Jericho
Summary: Lucifer is back in his Cage, but one averted Apocalypse doesn't mean much in the face of another, more human one. Sam Winchester, the Archangel Gabriel, and a man millennia out of his own time have wandered into a small Kansas town, where they get to deal with tree thieves, suspicious sheriffs, shady characters, political in-fighting, looming starvation, and the occasional pagan deity passing through. It's just one damn thing on top of another after The End of the World. [Crossover with JERICHO (tv series)]
Prologue – I will lay my burden in the cradle of your grace
Hrafn woke in the night, in the time between beauty sleep and second sleep, in the midnight time when people stirred and talked and made love, but there was none of that for him anymore. Instead, there was his bed full of the völva's cats and no one else. He didn't blame the other members of the household for shunning his company – his wife was dead, and he himself unnaturally alive and now prone to fits of uncanny knowledge. Even without the accusations that had brought him to Gjaflaug Völva's service, he was too strange for a woman to lie with anymore, and his surrogacy for the old völva during the feasts too disgraceful. But he had heard a voice calling to him in his dreams, so he slipped out of his booth at the end of the house, and pulled on shoes and dress, his blue cloak lined with cat-skin, mittens and cap, before slipping out through the door.
The night was dark, with the moon only a sliver, most of its face hidden and shadowed.
"Hello?" he called out to the night, to the dis or elf or land-spirit that had been singing in his dreams for days now.
'Hello, Hrafn Friththjófsson,' came the reply, in a voice that rang inside his skull, echoing and re-echoing like the clash of blades in battle, like the roar of a river in full flood. 'Thank you for coming...'
"I haven't agreed yet, spirit," Hrafn said. "I want to see you. As you are, not as you appear in my dreams, pretending to be my kin."
The spirit didn't reply for a moment, and Hrafn wondered if he had offended it. There was not much he could do to an elf, he thought, but they were said to be touchy and prone to taking offense at the least mis-step.
'All right,' it spoke finally, and the sky was suddenly vibrant, full of light and the sound of mighty wings.
Hrafn fell to his knees in shock, astonished. "Oh. So beautiful..."
The spirit laughed, 'Is that all I have to do, show myself and you fall at my feet? I was expecting... something else.'
Hrafn frowned, and sat back on his heels. "I can go back to bed, if you'd like?"
'No! No, don't do that. I need you.'
"Then don't mock me, spirit."
'My name is –' the spirit trumpeted a sound that had Hrafn wincing at its shrieking jangle. But he could feel the meaning behind it.
"'Asvald'? Your name is 'Godly power'?"
'Yes. I am Might-of-God, who stands in His presence at His left hand, his Messenger and his Scourge.'
"Impressive. If I knew which god you were talking about."
'I'm talking about the Father. The Creator!'
Hrafn looked askance at the spirit that hovered in the sky. "Tyr?" he asked.
'...no.'
"Then I don't know your god."
The spirit made contracted in on itself, like a fire guttering in the wind, like a man hunching his shoulders.
'I need your help, Hrafn Friththjófsson of the Fox Clan.'
Hrafn recoiled. "I have no clan anymore. I have nothing, not to have, and not to give, Asvald servant of no god I know."
The spirit uncoiled from its wheel in the sky, its light expanding, warming Hrafn as it asked, '...If I gave you something, then I could have your help?'
Hrafn laughed at the spirit. "You know nothing of mankind, do you?"
'I know enough. You want something, I want something. We give to each other and we both get what we need. That's how it works between humans, right?'
"What I want, Asvald, is my life to be different, for my wife not to be dead, to not be thought a draugr, to be free to live and die as a man, and not as my fate has made me. Can you change the past, spirit?"
'No, I can't change the past, I can't change destiny.'
"No one can, for the day and hour is set." Hrafn looked up at the spirit; it seemed sad, somehow, as it hung above him, brighter than the moon and the northern lights combined. "I will die twice, and soon."
'What do you mean?' the spirit asked.
"Gjaflaug Völva is old. She is fading. When she dies, they will tie me to her chariot because no other völva is as strong as she, and they think I am a draugr."
'...tie you to her chariot? But if she's dead, won't someone else own that?'
"Her chariot that she will ride in her grave, spirit," Hrafn growled. Did the spirit know nothing? "She will take her best horses, her chariot, her staff and all her best treasures into death, so that she will not be tempted to walk afterward. All her treasures, and me."
'That would kill you!' Asvald protested.
"They think I am draugr, that I am already dead and walking! They will bury me with the völva just for safety."
'I need you alive!'
"Then you will be disappointed. I'm not alive, not even now. I am draugr, walking and dead. Ask anyone."
'Hrafn, you're alive now. If you come help me, you'll be alive long after the völva is dead. And no one will bury you in a chariot, not while you're still breathing.'
Hrafn stared up at the spirit.
"Is that a promise? A promise you can keep, Asvald?"
'Yes, it's a promise, and yes, I can keep it."
"If you promise, that if I help you and you take me away from here, away to where no one knows me and no one thinks I'm dead, then I will do whatever you need, for as long as you need."
'It will be hard work, and stranger than you can imagine, and you may not like any of it. I will be closer to your than your brothers, than your wife, and you will not be able to leave me.'
"But I will be free of this life, of this doom?" Hrafn asked.
'Yes, you will be free of this life. Your doom will be my doom, for as long as I am with you.'
"That sounds... wonderful," Hrafn said, and scrubbed his face against tears. He looked up at the spirit in the air. "Yes. Whatever you need, Asvald, yes."
'Thank you,' the spirit said, and flowed down out of the sky, twisting and coiling around Hrafn like a cauldron full of snakes. At first, it was merely close, then tight and then burning pressure. Hrafn closed his eyes and endured as Asvald flowed close, over Hrafn's skin, and then under it.
The pain was indescribable, and Hrafn went away under it, in darkness and dreams.
He stayed under for a very, very long time.
Next
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