Kalliel (kalliel) wrote,

Surely You've Seen the Films

I am still so blissed out from TV yesterday and getting to go grocery shopping today, YESSSS. \O/

I love Dean because always. <3333

And Sam because "two out of three" was ridiculously perfect (darkly funny and committed and realistic and heroic, aka Sam).

And Castiel because omg, everything.

And Amara because Amara.

After this business with the police gets sorted out (mandatory counseling and a psychiatric appointment later, her mother fretful and already looking up alternative schooling--those places that take child actors and athletes and kids with behavioral issues that benefit from more one-on-one attention than her public school can provide; if she takes out an extra loan, will that plus the life insurance from her husband cover the tuition? what about these counseling appointments? will there be meds? she should get out those insurance papers, she's not really sure--).

The doctor won't make a diagnosis after this first appointment, is reluctant to diagnose anything with Goldie so young, and maybe it's a freak one-time thing but maybe it's not, it should be but that's not what it sounded like from their meeting, not anymore.

But there are lots of ways to manage these sorts of things. There is reason for hope, says the doctor, when she meets Mom's eyes and there's so much fear there, fear and protection. Terror that she cannot protect her daughter.

It's around this age that these things can begin to present, says the doctor. But these things can be managed; it's not like the movies.

Mom nods, and when they get home--Goldie sullen but unagitated, unincensed--Mom calls her priest. Her priest calls Father Crowley.

And Father Crowley (looking haggard, sweaty and windswept) says, impatient: Forget diagnoses. Dear sweet Goldilocks has no soul.

Mom gasps. But how?

Father Crowley rolls his eyes.

Mum's the word.

Mom does not believe in the animus of the body beyond its soul. She does not believe that. Because if that is true, then Goldie is gone, and this is an impossible thing. It's her daughter, her daughter, her daughter can't be--

She's right here, Mom insists. Goldie's right here, she's here and warm and her soul can't be--

God would never let that happen. Her husband, she's accepted. She held his hand and together they felt him slip away, taking every step toward Heaven in tandem until that final threshold, verse upon verse and prayer upon prayer leading the way. Goldie sang at the funeral. (But Goldie never--and the things she's said, the blasphemies.)

But it can't be. Even if Goldie said she didn't believe, even when--

God does not expel his children. Not her daughter.

Not her daughter.

(Is that what happens when you lose your faith? Does your soul go too?)

That is not, Mom says. Her voice catches. That is no God I know.

Father Crowley scoffs. He seems annoyed, self-absorbed--distracted--self-pitying. She's not sure why Father Patrick sent him here.

Well, it seems you've a choice, he says, acerbically. Lose your daughter, or lose your God. Though at the rate the world's going, you'll probably lose both, so count your many blessings and get kowtowing. Think of it as a head start.

What? says Mom.

And Father Crowley's demeanor shifts. I could have helped you, he says. It's as though this information is only just now dawning on him.

A snap of my fingers and a kiss, he says. I could have helped you. Several world orders ago, I could have helped you.

Then he says something about souls being the cleanest trade in the universe, provided (and he almost growls) you don't eat the profit.

Mom's name is Hospitality, nearly literally, so she doesn't want to throw him out, but she would like him to leave. So she hurries the pleasantries along.

If my daughter's soul is...gone. What do I do? The doctor said--at eighteen, a diagnosis--she said it can be managed--

Father Crowely tuts. Oh, the doctor, he says. Diagnoses. Well, if that's what you want to believe.

Surely you've seen the films.

When I don't have time to write things down, I run little fics in my head to entertain myself. Often these are disgusting H/C things that actually cannot be written because I'd have to set myself on fire afterwards and it wouldn't be fun (both the writing and the subsequent immolation) but sometimes they're little scenes from non-existent cases.

The one in my head right now is some S11 story where Sam, Dean, and Rowena need to hike into the backcountry for Reasons (possibly Book of the Damned hiding place reasons). And while neither of them believe this is a good idea, they're going to do it anyway. But the only things I really know about this story are:

1) Rowena milking the Sam/Rowena innuendoes and casually dropping the fact that she knew Ruby, back in the day. (To what plot end, idk. But probably for Plot Reasons.)

2) As they're just starting out, they park the Impala at the trailhead and Rowena, handcuffed, asks if she can leave her shoes in the car. Cue eyeroll-y Dean, but Rowena actually just genuinely loves whatever crazy expensive, elegant heels she's wearing and very honestly treasures them and doesn't want to mess them up. She takes the entire hike barefoot.

3) They're in the backcountry for longer than expected, and Rowena demonstrates her ages-old ability to snare and cook wild game--not that Sam and Dean are willing to touch that food with a ten foot pole, even though Rowena samples it first to prove she hasn't poisoned it, goodness. And Dean's just like, "Two words. Iocane powder." But Rowena doesn't get the reference.

The problem with head!fic being that you tend to just reimagine the same scenes over and over again, and they don't really do anywhere on their own. XD But I'm kind of into this one, even if it's mostly a non-thing. WHAT DO THESE DETAILS MEAN. WHAT HAPPENS. WHAT'S ROWENA'S CHARACTERIZATION. HOW DOES IT LOWKEY RELATE TO EVERYONE'S CHARACTER ARCS.

Does anyone else do this? I imagine we all must. XD Is it plotfic? H/C? Crack? Smut?
Tags: fandom: spn, i can't watch tv like a normal person, infamati et obliterati, writing

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