game of god, snippet from chapter 26
Someone sounded like they were having a bad day on Twitter showed up in my mentions and was wishing for another chapter. I can’t do that, but I can do this, so: snippet from Chapter 26.
When you’re ready, you will turn to look upon it waiting for you on the shore, believing you powerless before it, and you will pick up your sword
*****
Castiel assists Chess, Kurt, and Lois with the transfer of the patients to the third floor, where the largest of the rooms that Nate helped repair has been prepared for their care. Ichabod’s resources are limited, but everything that could be done was done, and fortunately, they’d been able to scavenge a great deal from the remains of the town’s former hospital, including equipment that until this week had been in storage.
Despite the powerful sedatives that were used to induce sleep, all three are restless, only marginally aware of their caretakers, just enough to fight them, their full attention on whatever it is that haunts their minds.
After the patients’ new restraints are secured, Dolores and Sree check the patients a final time while Valli introduces him to Sasha, a young African-American woman from among the refugees who was in her junior year in college for a nursing degree when Kansas was zoned. Just as importantly, she’s familiar with what they’re doing; her mother was a registered nurse who specialized in this type of long-term care and she volunteered at her mother’s hospital throughout her teens and did an internship there after her sophomore year due to her exemplary academic performance.
“She’s been with Lewis at the YMCA,” Valli says as he takes Sasha’s confidently extended hand, relieved when she shakes firmly with a smile that only flickers with nothing more ominous than surprise (and also doesn’t jerk away, very encouraging). "If you want to tell her how great Ichabod is–you know, during regular times–do that; we’re trying to keep her.“ Seeing Dolores beckon, Valli excuses herself. Sasha laughs, smoothing down her immaculate scrubs, dark hair expertly pinned under a surgical cap like the rest of the medical staff. "It’s nice to finally meet you, Castiel,” she says, and he can hear the light edge of a very familiar Southern drawl barely flattened by linguistic exile in the Midwest. "I’ve heard a lot about you.“ "It was only one Hellhound,” he says, and her mouth twitches "You’re originally from Georgia?“
Her smile widens. "How’d you guess? My accent?” He nods. "Most people in the Midwest can’t tell the difference. Been to Georgia recently?“ "I lived there for almost two years,” he answers, matching her drawl from memory, and she laughs in delight. “South of Atlanta.” “Athens,” she says, checking on the medical staff as they finish final preparations. "Kansas State offered me a better scholarship than UG, so here I am.“
He nods; it might have also saved her life. Atlanta had been a surprise (at least, to those not gifted with clairvoyance); Croatoan was identified in sixteen hospitals almost simultaneously and by then, it was already too late. Using Alicia’s experience as a timeline, there’s a very good chance that her hospital was test run for Croat infection and probably identified the inherent weakness of infecting people (infants) who wouldn’t leave the hospital for at least twenty four hours (or forty-eight if they had excellent insurance). It also probably told them exactly how long it would take for local and Federal response to the situation and exactly how it would be handled; that would be very useful information indeed.
"I have to admit,” she says lightly, “staying and finishing my nursing degree here–unofficially–is tempting.” Reading for tone, Castiel suspects her current town of residence is not to her taste. "Ichabod is very pleasant,“ he agrees, remembering his responsibilities. "But if you are at all fond of killing monsters as well as medicine, Chitaqua would also be an excellent choice. We will be recruiting for a new class once Amanda is done with this one–” “Are you trying to steal the girl I’m trying to steal?” Dolores demands with a scowl that doesn’t reach her eyes, and Sasha starts to giggle. "At least wait until I finish her education, how about that?“ "I suppose that’s fair,” he admits. “Are you ready?”
“Just about. Sasha, do me a favor and double check us; I want your approval before we start.” “Got it,” she says with a nod to Castiel, and with Valli in attendance, verifies the IVs as well as the patients. Dolores, he sees, has a stapled stack of papers, the front page a checklist.
“Dummy’s guide to long term care,” Dolores explains. “She couldn’t write up an entire manual, but she got us pointed in the right direction; she’ll be in charge here. I gave her a crash-course on the drugs we’re using, but her internship was a godsend; the hospital actually did two of these, and her mentor not only worked both, but let her scrub in and lectured before and after. She has all her notes at her place, plus books; I already promised to send a battalion to take her to get them when this is over.”
“I’ll take her myself if possible,” Castiel offers. “I’ll consider this a request to Chitaqua; I don’t think Dean will object. Will there be any problems with the town? If she’s their only medical professional–”
“She’s not,” Dolores interrupts, and something in her voice reminds him of the tone in Sasha’s. "Practicing there, anyway.“ "Okay, we’re a-go,” Sasha says.
“Cas, check the restraints one more time,” Dolores says. "Sasha, I want you and Valli to observe administration; I’ll be doing it when I can, but I want both of you available in a pinch. Come over here so you can see what we’re working with.“ Castiel verifies the restraints; their struggles are already more determined. As Dolores goes to Beretta, needle in hand, Castiel looks into the drugged, frightened eyes. Instinctively, he reaches for one clenched fist, wrapping it in his own hand, trying to warm the cold fingers, offer comfort. Their awareness is so fragmented, he’s not sure they know anything but whatever horror chases them through their minds. Even if they could understand, he can’t even promise this will be better.
Abruptly, her glazed eyes clear and the chilly fingers move; loosening his grip, he feels her fingers fumble briefly before he realizes what she wants and gently, carefully, laces them between his own, squeezing.
"Do you understand me?” he whispers.
She licks dry, chapped lips, and he sees a barely there nod. For this moment, she can think, and he realizes he has no idea what to tell her, how to ease her terror.
“I am Castiel,” he tells her. "You are being manipulated by a geas–a kind of compulsion.“ He searches her face. "Does it chase you still?” Her eyes widen, and she nods again, her grip tightening brutally around his fingers, grinding bone against bone; he doesn’t care.
“We are trying to make it stop.” How is it, that when he finally understands the value of comfort, he can’t give it? If he were an angel, he could– *Please. Give me something for them; whatever will give them peace, I’ll take it. Whatever will help them, I will say it.**
“You are going to go to sleep now,” he starts helplessly, then stops. "The next time you see it, you will run.“
"Whoa,” he hears Sasha say, and turning his head, he sees Bushmaster and Beard have stopped struggling, looking at him with the same frightened but aware eyes.
“When you see it, you will run,” he repeats. "You won’t stop or look back, not once. Do you understand me?“ They stares at him unblinkingly.
"Before you will be a cliff that overlooks an ocean so vast you cannot see its banks,” he continues, forming the outline of rough cliffs, a crescent of white-gold sand lapped by gentle waves. "Within the ocean is a storm; don’t be afraid, for it will protect you.“ He meets each of their eyes, the image of glass-clear water darkening to deep, churning blue, sky swirling in charcoal and silver shot with lightning. "When you reach the banks, you will go into the water; there you will be safe. It cannot follow you; it has no power there. You can rest.”
Through his mind runs a river painted robin’s egg blue, shallow and peaceful and a monstrous lie; what it offers is not and will never be peace. "When you are rested, look upon the shores; you will see what chases you waiting there. It cannot reach you there.” He can see the shore, the shimmering golden-brown perfection marred by an oily darkness, formless and haunting. It chases you; it never, ever stops. “And if you choose, you can fight it.”
It stares at them all from the shores in its thousands of forms, relentless and mindless and cruel, chasing its victims in the inescapable confines of their very minds; you can run and hide and beg and plead, and it will still find you; sometimes, sometimes you can almost forget, and then it chases you again . It will never, ever stop.
What I fear I neither flee before nor beg for mercy; I kill.
"You can fight it,” he repeats into a curious silence. "And you can win.“ Their attention is a weight all its own, massive, hanging over the entire room; he can no longer feel his fingers in Beretta’s tight grip.
"You will not face it unarmed, not this time,” he continues. "Reach beneath the water; there, you will find a sword, and you will know it as you know yourself, for it is yours. When you’re ready, you will turn to look upon it waiting for you on the shore, believing you powerless before it, and you will pick up your sword.“
For a moment, nothing happens, then first Bushmaster, then Beretta and Beard all nod, eyes wide and fixed.
"When you step on the shore, the battle will begin,” he whispers. “You will not run from it, not this time; you will face it, and you will fight it, and you will *win**.” He squeezes Beretta’s hand and holds the eyes of the other two. "Now close your eyes. You must rest before battle.“
"Now, hurry,” he hears Dolores say as if from a great distance, vaguely aware of them moving around him, but it’s only when Dolores touches his shoulder that it occurs to him he should not be in their way. Standing up, he’s startled by his own stagger, the world swaying before his eyes; almost immediately, Dolores is beside him, leading him to another chair. Shaking himself, he straightens and sees Dolores crouching before him, head cocked curiously.
“Are they–” “They’re going down now, quiet as lambs,” she assures him, cocking her head. "So…angel of the Lord?“ "Once upon a time, long ago and far away,” he answers; the momentary tiredness is gone, replaced with a bright energy he can’t remember feeling since–ever, come to think. “Why?” “‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the mountains, from whence cometh my help’,” she quotes from the Jubilee Bible (not his favorite, but some lovely use of language). “I don’t understand–” He breaks off. “My Father isn’t here.” “His son is,” she answers, taking his hands with a warm smile. "Thank you, Castiel of Chitaqua, for your help this day.“
