“Steampunk Castiel”
So… no shades this week but I did work on this as a side project of mine. Thought I would share. I have so many SPN/Steampunk ideas and images and stories in my head it is not even funny… I think after the 21Shades is over, I will move onto more SPN/Steampunk. What do you think?
Anyway, here’s a ficlet to go along with the pic:
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The lights illuminating the secluded engine room began to flare blue before bursting apart, thrusting sparks and glass to the floor. A figure appeared at the large bay door, a hiss of steam sighing from overworked gears as the manual locks were forced to open. The man began to walk into the room, his strides slow, careful, and almost robotic.
The first thing Dean noticed were the wings. They were forged from an onyx colored metal that held twin engines that he could not place the origin from. Nowhere had he seen such a design, and he had seen several jet pack and rocket suits to know this was unique. The pointed ‘feathers’ that made up the wings shifted against each other like large, reflective plates. The next thing that Dean took careful note of was the long silver blade attached to a golden gauntlet on the man’s right forearm. Weapon. Definitely.
Dean raised his arm, his own shotgun sling powered up and ready. He was taking no chances. He fired off a blast from his gun-arm and he watched as the salt crystals tore through the tan fabric of the man’s hooded trench coat. The man kept approaching even as Bobby too joined in with his dual-armed twin canons. They were of Bobby’s own design and suited the man very well. They were equipped with a nice concoction of “Kill Everything” bullets; a name Bobby had dubbed and refused to change. They not only contained salt, but also holy-water mud with silver and iron shards tipped in a dead man’s blood.
When the “Kill Everything” bullets did not stop the man, Dean felt a twinge of panic. However, the man did not seem ready for battle. Even his blade was at a loose and static swing, matching his steady gait. The man was soon close enough that Dean could see under the shadow of the coat’s hood. The man was dressed in a normal fashion with a black vest, a crisp white shirt and pants with high boots. A blue triple tie was loosely done around his neck, the color matching his eyes. He could have been an ordinary man, if it had not been for the gauntlet arm and the wings.
When he was close enough that Dean could make out the shadow of a beard on his face, he finally took a step back. At this point, Bobby had stopped firing, and Dean cautiously eyed the stranger.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” His voice was low, gravelly, and too damned calm for Dean’s taste.
“Yeah… thanks for that.” Dean curled his lip tightly, the surreal feeling of being brought back from Hell itself was daunting enough on his system that the very prospect of the thing responsible being right in front of him, was enough to make him break. With a swift motion, he grabbing his Gear-blade from the work table and stabbed the man.
The man didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t scream in pain. For a split second Dean wondered if he was a robotic-man; it would certainly explain a lot. But he watched in shock as he simply looked down, and pulled the blade from his bleeding wound and let it drop with a clatter of metal on metal as it hit the floor paneling. Robots don’t bleed. Then what was he?
As if they had been caught in a small trance with each other, Dean was almost taken off guard as Bobby tried to swing one heavy-loaded arm at the man in a last-ditch effort. While Dean had been surprised by Bobby’s swing, the man had not. He blocked the blow with his own blade. The barrel of Bobby’s gun sparked against the shining silver of the gauntlet blade. With a swift spin the stranger raised his other arm and touched Bobby’s forehead. The bearded man fell to the ground, unconscious. Completing the spin, the man faced Dean again, his beige coat tails stiffly brushing the ground.
“He’s alive. But we need to talk… alone.”
Before Dean could react, the stranger had linked his arm in his own and there was a loud mechanical whine like a jet engine priming. A blue and white explosion of light filled his vision and he felt pulled and yanked through the air. He felt like a kid on a roller coaster. There was air, noise, vibrations; certain senses dulled, other heightened. It was such an amalgam of sensation and stimulus that he was disoriented and could not comprehend what was happening until he managed to open his eyes to see that there was now a good bit of distance between him and the ground below.
He could make out the twinkling lights of the nearby hover-cities and the slow streaking, orange glows of the hover cars and ships as they traveled the sky-ways. Everything was clear and weightless for just a moment, and then he was dropped unceremoniously onto his back. He felt and heard thick metal plating contorting to his weight.
Dean sat up, grimacing as he tried to gain his bearings and saw that he was now on a skiff-type self-automated refueling station high in the sky. The stranger had not yet landed, and as Dean looked up, he was bathed in blue from the wings’ twin engines, still active behind the his back. The glow was unearthly. All engines and floating discs in the world were inherently yellow and orange; the color of fire. And this blue glow was not any fire he had ever experienced. It wasn’t even giving off any heat.
The blue energy powering the engines swirled, as if alive; a sentient energy source tamed within the black metal. As the stranger landed but two feet away from his grounded form, Dean had an urge to touch the swirling energy in his own calloused fingertips. Even being a skilled and cautious Hunter could not take away his love of mechanics and engines. He would give anything in that moment to understand how those engine-wings operated; to find out what powered them.
“W-what powers… your…” Dean pointed to his wings as the blue faded and the engines died down. He felt winded, awestruck, but ultimately frustrated. He did not like being in the dark. He did not like all these unanswered questions.
“Grace.”
“Grace?” He shot back, unsatisfied. “What are you?”
“My name is Castiel,” he replied, not meeting his gaze. His eyes searched around his surroundings, studying carefully as if everything was familiar but not quite recognizable. He was like a tourist looking at monuments he had only seen in photographs and vids.
“Yeah, figured that. What are you?”
There was a pause from Castiel, and Dean felt like he was preparing him for something; something profound. Was he really ready for the answer?
“I’m an angel of the Lord.”
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^_^ What do you think?