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delicataleWell well! This was a struggle and went through many changes. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stjarna1984, sirona_gs and tailoredshirt gave me the most precious help, and more.
Steve is Angel, part of an Army. PG-13 for a little bit of violence here and there. I do not intend to offend anyone.
As he marches through the forest, machine gun held high in front of him, Steve can feel his men following, their faith in him almost blinding, and it makes more sense than Steve could explain to his men, considering what he is, what he represents. Steve doesn’t turn around, trusts them at his back, and walks into the fire, smelling blood and fear.
***
They’ve been doing it for years, hundreds of years. A handful of them: Angels, thrown on Earth a long time ago, fighting through all sorts of different wars, watching all sorts of different men fall for their causes. They’re not peacekeepers; they’ve always been part of an army, even Upstairs. They fight, punish, set things right.
And here at least they are part of the mess Mortals made, and their mass of feelings. They can make better sense of all the little pictures instead of just the big, ominous one that makes them all look so guilty.
Steve loses himself in between them, learning their habits and sharing their laughter, their tears. All of this Upstairs would never really see if they didn’t want to look closer; all of this they’d condemn anyway.
***
There’s nothing he can do when one of his men falls. He could, but he’s not allowed - Death is a natural process that he cannot interfere with from here.
He sits by his soldier, his tan looking sickly against the starched sheets of the combat hospital bed they managed to drag him to. Steve watches his brother-in-arms lie there, machines beeping around him, lost between consciousness and sleep, between life and death. It’s a choice he made, and he was aware of the consequences, even if they were terrible.
***
Sometimes he dreams about Upstairs, about his life as it used to be, before he was dropped on Earth without an explanation. He realizes it should feel like home, and yet, he doesn’t miss it. He doesn’t yearn for it when he wakes up.
Whether it’s here or Upstairs, a war is still a war.
***
Steve gets used to it. He lives through so many wars, leads so many men, it’s second nature to him, almost entirely who he is.
He still remembers the night he picked up his very first weapon, the fury of emotions inside him tearing him apart. He remembers the feel of calm when he held the weight of it in his arms for the first time.
He’s not human, he’s not a machine. He’s somewhere in between, he’s nothing else but this.
***
Steve follows Hesse all the way to Hawai’i, because he can, because it’s a mission, because he’s been following Hesse for years, almost from the moment he joined the Navy SEALs. He hasn’t seen any of the others in about twenty years, but he assumes they’re okay. He would know otherwise.
Everything changes in Hawai’i. Suddenly he has the opportunity to witness another kind of fight, a day-to-day one, to protect civilians close-up and not from afar. He never looked for it; he didn't know it was there to find. And it makes sense, to stay here, to find a home in the mess of his own life.
***
Danny is like no one Steve has ever met. He doesn’t obey, first of all, compared to all of the men Steve has worked with for the past few hundred years; soldiers, the military and its discipline ingrained inside them. Danny doesn’t care about any of that. Headstrong and loud, he butts heads with Steve from the get-go, talks about rightful procedure and not kicking doors in; he punches Steve in the face but makes sure his hair looks right first. He’s a thousand kinds of different from what Steve knows, yet the main reason for his fight is similar to that of most of the soldiers Steve has met.
Steve stops fighting so hard.
***
In Hawai’i, Steve witnesses a kind of love he’s never really seen since being dumped on Earth. He finds it overwhelming; he’s so used to being a soldier that he’s forgotten the point of all he’s doing -- but he finds it again. The point is Grace jumping into Danny’s arms and hugging him so tight he can’t breathe for a second. The point is Danny’s smile as he wipes a bright blue shave ice smudge off Grace’s chin. Most of the heavy fighting happens far away so that this can go on. So that soldiers can be allowed to go back to their families and witness this.
So that anyone can witness this.
***
One day, Grace is eleven, and she gestures for Steve to lean close to her.
“You know, I can see them. Sometimes, in the right light,” she whispers, looking over Steve’s head, seeing something the rest of the world cannot. Steve smiles, his stomach twisting when she slips her hand in his. He can see home in the freckles on her face.
“I’m glad, Gracie.”
***
One day Steve wakes up and realises that the weight of weariness that has been accumulating on his shoulders for decades has lifted, like a miracle overnight. Try as he might, he can't recall the desperation that once drove him -- or maybe he can, because he'll be thrice damned if he will let anything happen to his newfound home, the family that's woven itself around him. People seem to care about him as much as he does about them. It's a strange, novel concept for Steve to wrap his brain around.
He finds he likes it.
***
When one of the Angels he used to fight alongside comes to visit, it’s a surprise that is welcome and scary at the same time. He’s just like Steve used to be before - before Danny, before Grace, before he realized that Mortals were not only about death and destruction, but were protecting something, something worth the risk.
He’s lean and hard, all muscles and desperation, and Steve can see the angry flap of his wings as he talks, wishes he wasn’t the only one witnessing it. Danny seems wary of him, shaking his hand with a perturbed look on his face.
Steve still invites him to stay, for as long as he wants to, and gets back to work with Danny, trying not to think too much about it.
***
They get the call a week or so later, suspect white male 6'3'', carrying a machine gun, shots fired down at Pearl City.
There is a pool of blood on the ground, and in the middle, slightly off-centre, the Angel sprawls like a broken puppet, chest ridden with lead and breath escaping faster than he can draw it.
He tries to smile at Steve, teeth a shade of red that looks nothing short of ghastly. Punctured lung, for sure, but he can heal, it's nothing, "Come on."
"Nah, Steve. I'm done. I've had enough, man. I'll see you when I see you."
"See you, brother," Steve says after a breath, watching the light die in the Angel’s eyes. Steve shouldn’t be sad; he's going home.
Still, his wings flex in mourning. Behind him, Danny draws in a sharp breath. Steve wants to think that it's the Angel’s death that's the cause, but something tells him his days of peaceful hiding might just be over.
***
Danny says nothing in the car, nothing at HQ, not a word to anyone, until Chin and Kono hightail it out of there, knowing something is brewing. Steve lets his head drop when Danny walks out of his office again, looking at him.
“Do it again.”
Steve raises his head, sharply. He wasn’t expecting that; nor does he expect the soft, slightly worried look on Danny’s face. He flexes his wings, hard against each other, almost painful to him. The move makes him shudder but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Danny’s face, sees the wonder spreading over his features.
He knows how it looks, to Danny. A flash, just an instant of seeing Steve’s wings, large and powerful at his back. A second of light, like a ripple in the water, for anyone focusing hard enough, wanting to see.
“When Grace told me you were an angel, I thought she meant something like a superhero, not that she was talking literally. I - Steve. What the hell?”
“Don’t you have Grace tonight?”
“Yes, I do, but Steve, we need to talk about this.”
“We can talk later. Go spend the evening with your daughter, Danny.”
Steve doesn’t have the strength to explain, not right now, not when everything hurts and he’s just lost his brother. He knows he’ll have to tell Danny more, but right now he can only hope Grace will soften the blow of the discovery.
***
"Can you help her?" Danny says, voice rough and desperate.
"Danny, I don't even know what's wrong with her," Steve says, trying for reasonable even though it's not something Danny can understand right now.
"Meningitis," Rachel says from behind him, and Steve turns to find her drawn and pale where she lowers herself into the waiting room chair. "It's serious; not desperately so, however."
Danny stares at her, hopeful and irritated at once. Steve slips around the corner when he hears the familiar bickering start up, pads inside Grace's room and stops at the head of the bed, staring down at her. She is so small, tucked underneath the sheets. He lays a hand on her forehead and closes his eyes.
Her brain is swollen, yes, but not much, and he can feel it going down already, influenced by the good stuff that doctors have her hooked up on. She'll be fine in a few days, but try telling that to her terrified father.
"I knew you were an angel," Grace rasps, opening her eyes a touch, but they flutter back closed before he can answer.
***
Steve is sitting on his beach when he hears Danny walk closer, sit next to him. It’s a struggle not to lean into him, but Steve restrains himself, takes a deep breath, wondering if it’s here that everything ends. They’ve not seen each other in a few days, between an Angel dying and Grace getting sick, but maybe now is the perfect time for them to talk.
“You know, it explains a lot. It doesn’t explain your fondness for guns, though.”
“Habit. I’ve been fighting wars for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Long.”
Danny draws in a sharp breath, and Steve shivers when he feels Danny’s hand on his back, traveling high up to his shoulder blade.
“It’s like they’re not really there.”
“Because they’re not.”
Danny nods, leans close, his nose against the curve of Steve’s shoulder.
***
The first time Danny kisses him, Steve thinks this is one of those impossible things in the universe. Something this amazing, something that by rights should destroy whole worlds, it can't be this, just a kiss, something that Mortals do all the time, everywhere they can get away with. Danny's lips are warm and alive against Steve's, even when Steve stands there slack-jawed, bowled over by the feel of it.
After Steve doesn't move for almost a full minute, Danny makes to lean back, pull away, and that's when Steve snaps, surges forward, pins Danny to the wall and puts their lips together again, maps the contours of Danny's mouth, raises a shaking hand to run a thumb over the line of Danny's jaw.
And then Danny's lips part, and it's as though there are lights and sounds and urgency exploding in Steve's chest, and his hands are shaking, and his legs are unsteady, and every piece of him is focused on Danny as they kiss, his mind blown.
It feels right.
***
It’s easy enough to identify, the feelings inside his heart that make it feel like it’s bruising, but in the right way. He rubs knuckles over its spot in his chest from time to time when they’re at work, and when he’s watching Danny walk into his bedroom. But what is hard to decipher are the feelings coming from outside, from Danny and Chin and Kono and Grace, making him feel part of something that fits snugly around him. Not something so much bigger than him.
He’s been part of an army, of many armies. And now he’s part of a family.
***
In retrospect, Steve probably made his decision a while ago. He probably made it the moment Danny told Steve, in the darkness of the bedroom, that he loved him.
***
It's not easy. It's not meant to be. If it was, everyone would be doing it. Or maybe it is, and the others just haven't found the proper motivation. It's all a matter of biology and physics. The wings are mostly cartilage, and a well-timed wrench snaps it in half like a twig.
The pain is so bad that he retches his dinner down the toilet after his left wing.
He actually passes out after his right goes, too.
And then there is darkness.
***
Are you sure? says the voice in his head. Steve thinks of Danny, of Danny waking up next to him in the morning and falling asleep sharing his pillow at night; he thinks of Grace and Chin and Kono and yes, even Rachel; and then he thinks he's never been more sure of anything in his life.
***
“I’m Mortal,” Steve tells Danny over breakfast. It comes out in a rush of breath and dread, and it’s like his heart is beating so much faster than it used to. “I ripped off my wings.”
Danny doesn’t say anything for a while. He just looks at Steve with his spoon mid-way to his mouth. Then he goes off on a rant, words and words of anger and desperation and fear.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m Mortal’? What the fuck does that mean, you ripped off your wings? Are you okay? Fuck.”
Danny drops his spoon with a clatter, pushes back his chair and rounds the table in half a second flat before he leans in to check Steve’s back, as if he’s expecting blood, or bandages, something substantial. There is nothing, not even lumps of bone. Steve is completely, utterly human.
“I’m Mortal, Danny.”
Danny pulls Steve in a hug, trembling as he keeps Steve close.
***
Another one of the Angels visits. He tells Steve he’s become a story, now, a secret Angels pass along to each other -- the Angel with a machine gun that ripped his wings off for the Mortal he loved.
***
The fact of the matter is, Steve thinks as the years go by, he's never known completeness, not like this. He thought he knew what he wanted, that what he had was enough, was sure of it. But he knows, now, that this, Danny and the rest of his family, this is everything.
stjarna1984, sirona_gs and tailoredshirt gave me the most precious help, and more.Steve is Angel, part of an Army. PG-13 for a little bit of violence here and there. I do not intend to offend anyone.
As he marches through the forest, machine gun held high in front of him, Steve can feel his men following, their faith in him almost blinding, and it makes more sense than Steve could explain to his men, considering what he is, what he represents. Steve doesn’t turn around, trusts them at his back, and walks into the fire, smelling blood and fear.
***
They’ve been doing it for years, hundreds of years. A handful of them: Angels, thrown on Earth a long time ago, fighting through all sorts of different wars, watching all sorts of different men fall for their causes. They’re not peacekeepers; they’ve always been part of an army, even Upstairs. They fight, punish, set things right.
And here at least they are part of the mess Mortals made, and their mass of feelings. They can make better sense of all the little pictures instead of just the big, ominous one that makes them all look so guilty.
Steve loses himself in between them, learning their habits and sharing their laughter, their tears. All of this Upstairs would never really see if they didn’t want to look closer; all of this they’d condemn anyway.
***
There’s nothing he can do when one of his men falls. He could, but he’s not allowed - Death is a natural process that he cannot interfere with from here.
He sits by his soldier, his tan looking sickly against the starched sheets of the combat hospital bed they managed to drag him to. Steve watches his brother-in-arms lie there, machines beeping around him, lost between consciousness and sleep, between life and death. It’s a choice he made, and he was aware of the consequences, even if they were terrible.
***
Sometimes he dreams about Upstairs, about his life as it used to be, before he was dropped on Earth without an explanation. He realizes it should feel like home, and yet, he doesn’t miss it. He doesn’t yearn for it when he wakes up.
Whether it’s here or Upstairs, a war is still a war.
***
Steve gets used to it. He lives through so many wars, leads so many men, it’s second nature to him, almost entirely who he is.
He still remembers the night he picked up his very first weapon, the fury of emotions inside him tearing him apart. He remembers the feel of calm when he held the weight of it in his arms for the first time.
He’s not human, he’s not a machine. He’s somewhere in between, he’s nothing else but this.
***
Steve follows Hesse all the way to Hawai’i, because he can, because it’s a mission, because he’s been following Hesse for years, almost from the moment he joined the Navy SEALs. He hasn’t seen any of the others in about twenty years, but he assumes they’re okay. He would know otherwise.
Everything changes in Hawai’i. Suddenly he has the opportunity to witness another kind of fight, a day-to-day one, to protect civilians close-up and not from afar. He never looked for it; he didn't know it was there to find. And it makes sense, to stay here, to find a home in the mess of his own life.
***
Danny is like no one Steve has ever met. He doesn’t obey, first of all, compared to all of the men Steve has worked with for the past few hundred years; soldiers, the military and its discipline ingrained inside them. Danny doesn’t care about any of that. Headstrong and loud, he butts heads with Steve from the get-go, talks about rightful procedure and not kicking doors in; he punches Steve in the face but makes sure his hair looks right first. He’s a thousand kinds of different from what Steve knows, yet the main reason for his fight is similar to that of most of the soldiers Steve has met.
Steve stops fighting so hard.
***
In Hawai’i, Steve witnesses a kind of love he’s never really seen since being dumped on Earth. He finds it overwhelming; he’s so used to being a soldier that he’s forgotten the point of all he’s doing -- but he finds it again. The point is Grace jumping into Danny’s arms and hugging him so tight he can’t breathe for a second. The point is Danny’s smile as he wipes a bright blue shave ice smudge off Grace’s chin. Most of the heavy fighting happens far away so that this can go on. So that soldiers can be allowed to go back to their families and witness this.
So that anyone can witness this.
***
One day, Grace is eleven, and she gestures for Steve to lean close to her.
“You know, I can see them. Sometimes, in the right light,” she whispers, looking over Steve’s head, seeing something the rest of the world cannot. Steve smiles, his stomach twisting when she slips her hand in his. He can see home in the freckles on her face.
“I’m glad, Gracie.”
***
One day Steve wakes up and realises that the weight of weariness that has been accumulating on his shoulders for decades has lifted, like a miracle overnight. Try as he might, he can't recall the desperation that once drove him -- or maybe he can, because he'll be thrice damned if he will let anything happen to his newfound home, the family that's woven itself around him. People seem to care about him as much as he does about them. It's a strange, novel concept for Steve to wrap his brain around.
He finds he likes it.
***
When one of the Angels he used to fight alongside comes to visit, it’s a surprise that is welcome and scary at the same time. He’s just like Steve used to be before - before Danny, before Grace, before he realized that Mortals were not only about death and destruction, but were protecting something, something worth the risk.
He’s lean and hard, all muscles and desperation, and Steve can see the angry flap of his wings as he talks, wishes he wasn’t the only one witnessing it. Danny seems wary of him, shaking his hand with a perturbed look on his face.
Steve still invites him to stay, for as long as he wants to, and gets back to work with Danny, trying not to think too much about it.
***
They get the call a week or so later, suspect white male 6'3'', carrying a machine gun, shots fired down at Pearl City.
There is a pool of blood on the ground, and in the middle, slightly off-centre, the Angel sprawls like a broken puppet, chest ridden with lead and breath escaping faster than he can draw it.
He tries to smile at Steve, teeth a shade of red that looks nothing short of ghastly. Punctured lung, for sure, but he can heal, it's nothing, "Come on."
"Nah, Steve. I'm done. I've had enough, man. I'll see you when I see you."
"See you, brother," Steve says after a breath, watching the light die in the Angel’s eyes. Steve shouldn’t be sad; he's going home.
Still, his wings flex in mourning. Behind him, Danny draws in a sharp breath. Steve wants to think that it's the Angel’s death that's the cause, but something tells him his days of peaceful hiding might just be over.
***
Danny says nothing in the car, nothing at HQ, not a word to anyone, until Chin and Kono hightail it out of there, knowing something is brewing. Steve lets his head drop when Danny walks out of his office again, looking at him.
“Do it again.”
Steve raises his head, sharply. He wasn’t expecting that; nor does he expect the soft, slightly worried look on Danny’s face. He flexes his wings, hard against each other, almost painful to him. The move makes him shudder but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Danny’s face, sees the wonder spreading over his features.
He knows how it looks, to Danny. A flash, just an instant of seeing Steve’s wings, large and powerful at his back. A second of light, like a ripple in the water, for anyone focusing hard enough, wanting to see.
“When Grace told me you were an angel, I thought she meant something like a superhero, not that she was talking literally. I - Steve. What the hell?”
“Don’t you have Grace tonight?”
“Yes, I do, but Steve, we need to talk about this.”
“We can talk later. Go spend the evening with your daughter, Danny.”
Steve doesn’t have the strength to explain, not right now, not when everything hurts and he’s just lost his brother. He knows he’ll have to tell Danny more, but right now he can only hope Grace will soften the blow of the discovery.
***
"Can you help her?" Danny says, voice rough and desperate.
"Danny, I don't even know what's wrong with her," Steve says, trying for reasonable even though it's not something Danny can understand right now.
"Meningitis," Rachel says from behind him, and Steve turns to find her drawn and pale where she lowers herself into the waiting room chair. "It's serious; not desperately so, however."
Danny stares at her, hopeful and irritated at once. Steve slips around the corner when he hears the familiar bickering start up, pads inside Grace's room and stops at the head of the bed, staring down at her. She is so small, tucked underneath the sheets. He lays a hand on her forehead and closes his eyes.
Her brain is swollen, yes, but not much, and he can feel it going down already, influenced by the good stuff that doctors have her hooked up on. She'll be fine in a few days, but try telling that to her terrified father.
"I knew you were an angel," Grace rasps, opening her eyes a touch, but they flutter back closed before he can answer.
***
Steve is sitting on his beach when he hears Danny walk closer, sit next to him. It’s a struggle not to lean into him, but Steve restrains himself, takes a deep breath, wondering if it’s here that everything ends. They’ve not seen each other in a few days, between an Angel dying and Grace getting sick, but maybe now is the perfect time for them to talk.
“You know, it explains a lot. It doesn’t explain your fondness for guns, though.”
“Habit. I’ve been fighting wars for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Long.”
Danny draws in a sharp breath, and Steve shivers when he feels Danny’s hand on his back, traveling high up to his shoulder blade.
“It’s like they’re not really there.”
“Because they’re not.”
Danny nods, leans close, his nose against the curve of Steve’s shoulder.
***
The first time Danny kisses him, Steve thinks this is one of those impossible things in the universe. Something this amazing, something that by rights should destroy whole worlds, it can't be this, just a kiss, something that Mortals do all the time, everywhere they can get away with. Danny's lips are warm and alive against Steve's, even when Steve stands there slack-jawed, bowled over by the feel of it.
After Steve doesn't move for almost a full minute, Danny makes to lean back, pull away, and that's when Steve snaps, surges forward, pins Danny to the wall and puts their lips together again, maps the contours of Danny's mouth, raises a shaking hand to run a thumb over the line of Danny's jaw.
And then Danny's lips part, and it's as though there are lights and sounds and urgency exploding in Steve's chest, and his hands are shaking, and his legs are unsteady, and every piece of him is focused on Danny as they kiss, his mind blown.
It feels right.
***
It’s easy enough to identify, the feelings inside his heart that make it feel like it’s bruising, but in the right way. He rubs knuckles over its spot in his chest from time to time when they’re at work, and when he’s watching Danny walk into his bedroom. But what is hard to decipher are the feelings coming from outside, from Danny and Chin and Kono and Grace, making him feel part of something that fits snugly around him. Not something so much bigger than him.
He’s been part of an army, of many armies. And now he’s part of a family.
***
In retrospect, Steve probably made his decision a while ago. He probably made it the moment Danny told Steve, in the darkness of the bedroom, that he loved him.
***
It's not easy. It's not meant to be. If it was, everyone would be doing it. Or maybe it is, and the others just haven't found the proper motivation. It's all a matter of biology and physics. The wings are mostly cartilage, and a well-timed wrench snaps it in half like a twig.
The pain is so bad that he retches his dinner down the toilet after his left wing.
He actually passes out after his right goes, too.
And then there is darkness.
***
Are you sure? says the voice in his head. Steve thinks of Danny, of Danny waking up next to him in the morning and falling asleep sharing his pillow at night; he thinks of Grace and Chin and Kono and yes, even Rachel; and then he thinks he's never been more sure of anything in his life.
***
“I’m Mortal,” Steve tells Danny over breakfast. It comes out in a rush of breath and dread, and it’s like his heart is beating so much faster than it used to. “I ripped off my wings.”
Danny doesn’t say anything for a while. He just looks at Steve with his spoon mid-way to his mouth. Then he goes off on a rant, words and words of anger and desperation and fear.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m Mortal’? What the fuck does that mean, you ripped off your wings? Are you okay? Fuck.”
Danny drops his spoon with a clatter, pushes back his chair and rounds the table in half a second flat before he leans in to check Steve’s back, as if he’s expecting blood, or bandages, something substantial. There is nothing, not even lumps of bone. Steve is completely, utterly human.
“I’m Mortal, Danny.”
Danny pulls Steve in a hug, trembling as he keeps Steve close.
***
Another one of the Angels visits. He tells Steve he’s become a story, now, a secret Angels pass along to each other -- the Angel with a machine gun that ripped his wings off for the Mortal he loved.
***
The fact of the matter is, Steve thinks as the years go by, he's never known completeness, not like this. He thought he knew what he wanted, that what he had was enough, was sure of it. But he knows, now, that this, Danny and the rest of his family, this is everything.
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-24 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-24 04:37 pm (UTC)