gynvael | abraxas:: INBOX

Somebody showed up from back home
Some thing

It ain't good
Could get ugly, you're gonna wanna know about it just in case

[ There's some time before the next reply comes, as he wrangles first with whatever he needs to with Sam. ]

Horizon?
Nightfall, at yours.

Deal

( That's where he'll be, stiff drink in hand, scowling down at a new addition to the bar's surface whenever Geralt arrives. )

[ Ever punctual, Geralt shows up shortly after nightfall. A handful of places in the Horizon have become a second, third, home to him, and the Roadhouse is one that's rapidly rising to take on that status. He opens the door without knocking, steps inside to find Dean as he expects.

His gaze sweeps over the man—studying, questioning, before landing on the symbol etched into the counter. It means nothing to him—a trident? A pitchfork?—but Dean's evidently ruminating on it.

He slides onto one of the stools. Little time is wasted cutting into why he's been asked here. He picks up the conversation as though minutes, not hours, have passed since their last exchange. ] You said a thing?

( No small-talk on his end either. He lowers himself down onto his elbows, levels Geralt with a look, and flat-out asks: )

How much do you know about the devil?

( Like he's totally expecting that to mean something to Geralt. Seems like he might even be braced for a little incredulity that he's heading off with a well-projected I'm not kidding. )

[ Geralt raises an eyebrow. It's not the first time someone's spoken a term at him with a weight to it that he doesn't quite grasp. ]

Superstition. What folk call devils are often harmless sylvans.

[ Devils do not exist outside of folklore, though occasionally some use it to mean demon or another vague entity they fear, usually one possessing horns. He presumes there's more to it where Dean is concerned. Castiel had told him Dean fought the devil and won with a kind of gravity that suggests Dean accomplished something more significant than simply defeating some goat-like creature in combat. ]

( Congratulations, way to temporarily displace Dean from his dark, laser-focused intensity. There's a little squint, a fleeting pause, and then he recovers. )

Not devils. The devil. Satan. Lucifer. The Morningstar. The OG. Prince of Darkness, inventor of hair metal and D&D.

( You know, that one.

Get on his level here, man. )

[ They are so many fucking levels apart here.

Truthfully, he'd been steering a little towards a demon, of sorts, but now it's his turn to be derailed by the sheer amount of nonsense words that follow. Dean receives a blank look, then a vague lift of Geralt'a hand which implies zero of that means a damn thing to him. (A prince of what?)

The knit of his brows deepens. He pours himself a drink. ] Explain.

W-

( No sorry he's gonna need like two seconds to be mind-blown here. He stands up straight, gestures so sweepingly with his half-full glass of whiskey it's a damn-near miracle it doesn't go splashing over the rim. )

The Devil. You seriously- how does your universe have a Hell if it doesn't have a Lucifer?

( Frankly, it's astounding they've made it this long without having this conversation. Truly a testament to how good Geralt is at not giving a fuck or having extended conversations. )

I don't see the correlation. [ Why are these two things predicated upon each other?

A second, before he adds, ] People call what they don't understand many names. Realms where demon-like entities or monsters might've originated. Doesn't mean anything.

[ Until recently, these realms weren't even thought to exist anymore. They should've been destroyed in the Conjunction. That's what he interprets Dean's hell as: a twisted sphere, where grotesque creatures exist and where humans in his world seemingly have a predilection towards being sucked into—in death or otherwise.

But it carries no implications beyond that. It's just a place. Another sphere. A particularly shit one. ]

( Two second long uncomprehending stare. )

Hold up. Let me- let me see if I'm getting this right.

( Pause for emphasis, and a nice little level hand gesture to accompany it. )

This whole time... for months... I've been talking to you about... Angels. Demons. Heaven. Hell. The basic... multiversally accepted afterlife system.

( Big ol' sweeping gesture — the whole nine. )

We've practically been speaking two different languages? Is that what's happening right now? That's not a- a thing where you're from?

[ His glass pauses at his lips. Mm—

The reality is, he didn't question Dean closely solely because it translated well enough into his comprehension. The specific terms were of little consequence. The concept, in relation to Dean, is what was important—and that part, he understands. That part, he understands a bit too well. ]

No. [ The reply comes plainly. He could explain, he supposes, about Lady Death, or the nothingness that comes after the fog, if that is indeed a thing, because who the fuck knows? Even the wraiths can't tell him. He isn't certain what he believes. That nothing special in particular waits, perhaps.

One day, eventually, he'll learn the answer. That, he is certain.

He considers. ] Does it matter for what you want to tell me?

( No.

Dean's face falls abruptly, comically flat. He stares at Geralt like he's personally responsible for disco, soggy cereal, and parking tickets. You've gotta be kidding him. This whole time, and you didn't think to mention-

You know what?

It's fine. This is fine.

He sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and slowly lowers himself back down onto his stool behind the bar. Considers the question, whether or not he can get around this whole conversation, and ultimately (begrudgingly) decides: )

Yes. ( His hand flops back down onto the bar top with a thunk, and no small amount of resignation. ) Okay, I guess I'm doing this. I am the absolute worst friggin' person on the planet to be giving a theology lecture. I mean, for starters, I didn't even believe in this crap until they started shoving it fist-first down my throat, but whatever. We'll stick to the high notes.

( Maybe establish the basics here first. )

Where you're from, do you guys have a god, or gods, or some... big supreme omniscient whoever that created the universe? How'd your whole... everything start existing?

[ Geralt mostly looks back in return. Then he finishes taking a drink. Admittedly, he was hoping the answer to that was No. He isn't—it isn't that he doesn't care about theology. He simply finds it has little bearing on his life. He spent a portion of his boyhood in a temple. Some lessons, he's kept with him. Important ones. Others...less so.

Though Destiny has truly sunk her claws into him, but that's neither here nor there. He doubts Destiny is what Dean is referring to.

In any case, Dean will need to start from the ground up. Geralt possesses some grasp of an omniscient singular god only as a result of those in Abraxas who made attempts to explain it. (And Christmas.) That's the extent of his knowledge. ]

Some common folk have their beliefs. As far as historians are concerned, the origin of our...everything, is difficult to trace due to the Conjunction of the Spheres. It displaced the universe itself. Spilled monsters and humans alike onto the Continent. Sent the world spiralling into a dark age.

[ The usual. A couple thousand years—not even—is nowhere near enough time to fully study the state of how things came to be and how things once were. Beyond the Conjunction, nothing else has been recorded with surety. There are books upon books, though. Scholars do love to write down every theory that crosses their minds. ]

( Ho ho ho, Merry what in the name of pagan Jesus is the conjunctivitis of the spheres? For about one point five seconds, he looks like he wants to ask. Then immediately decides against it, because wow they already have too much to get through without getting lost in the weeds about Geralt's freaky weirdo sphere universe. )

Great. ( He says cheerfully. ) Forget all that crap, because it's totally different. Time for a history lesson.

( Glad they got that out of the way. Here we go. )

Once upon a time there was nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. No-existo. Except for God apparently, don't ask me how that works, I don't know, I'm just the messenger. Something about phenomenal cosmic power beyond comprehension, older than time, whatever. Anyway, God was like let there be light, and bam, wouldn't you know it, there was light, and all of a sudden stuff existed. Dude created the multiverse. Terrible decision, one out of five stars on the Yelp review, totally screwed the pooch on that one.

( Oh, Geralt. Buddy. Hopefully most of this is comprehensible, Dean probably should have outsourced for this explanation. )

Second order of business, God made angels. Like Cas, except... for the most part, every other angel is this totally devout worker bee soldier type. They follow orders. Don't ask questions. Roll along with God's whole plan. Next thing you know, God's like this is boring, where are the strippers? So he creates Earth. Humans. Gives them free will. Says, go nuts, fellas, and tells his angels to love them more than God.

( Pause.

You with him on this so far? )

Edited 2022-06-14 05:59 (UTC)

[ Dean is absolutely correct. He is the worst fucking person to be giving this lesson. Lesson being a generous term, by the way. Julie explaining Christmas with the lambs and the virgins was less confounding. (Marginally.)

Possibly, the only thing that's helping is Geralt's long years of listening to people rambling bullshit while dispensing useful information buried somewhere in there. There is not a lot of coherent information in what Dean is saying, but there is some. It's—

He takes another drink. Tops his glass. Does not rub his temple, though he considers it.

Should've known, in truth, this would be more complicated than a quick update on what had Dean so concerned as to pull him into the Horizon to talk. Still. A story is a story. He's learned how to parse stories.

Geralt makes a vague affirmative sound. Go on. ]

( Great, clearly they are 100% simpatico and Geralt is unquestionably on the same page. No further questions, your honor. Moving on: )

God made like an assload of angels, hundreds, but the only ones that matter right now are the oldest. Archangels. Four of them. Some of the strongest entities in the universe. Strong enough to level the planet if they wanted to. The second angel God made... ( Vague gesture with his glass. Geralt can probably connect that dot, but he'll do it anyway. ) Lucifer.

( Hence the cliff's notes on Christianity. )

For the first time in the history of- well, history, an angel rebelled against God. Totally flipped him the finger, said screw this, screw humans, not happening, those things suck and anyone who's on board with them can eat my ass. Shockingly, this did not go over great with big guy upstairs. God created Hell, and threw Lucifer into a cage in the deepest pits of it. Hell basically became the punishment dimension. Good people die, they go to Heaven, hang out with angels, have eternal peace and paradise, eat orgies and candy bars, whatever. Murderers, rapists, dictators, dudes who wear jeggings? They wind up in Hell. To really paint you a picture of how bad this dude is, he's basically the father of all demons. Bad guy goes to hell, Lucifer screws with their soul until it breaks, turns black, loses all semblance of humanity, becomes twisted, pure evil, and next thing you know, the first demon is born.

( Because at least they're both in relative agreement that demons are Bad and generally a Big Deal. )

I told you I screwed up somebody's apocalypse. It was Lucifer's. He's here. The good news is angels, especially archangels, need specific human vessels to use all their power. The one Lucifer's wearing isn't his, so he's not at full strength, but even without it... what he's capable of with just a fraction of his juice...

( He shakes his head slowly.

Leaves that ominous sentiment hanging for Geralt's imagination to fill in the blanks. )

Edited 2022-06-14 06:53 (UTC)

[ At a certain point, Geralt has learned to take information presented to him at face value because doing otherwise would be too much of a fucking mess. For example, now. Even so, he can't help levelling the flattest stare at Dean throughout this increasingly absurd...tale.

It isn't that he fails to understand it. In the strictest sense, he does understand. Dean's hardly a master poet, but the story is not especially complex. It holds the familiar beats of any story. What is baffling to him is that Dean seems to wholeheartedly believe this is, what. Actually how their world came to being? That people are weighed and judged by these creatures based on their misdeeds? Perhaps the smallest grain of truth lies somewhere in there, in that—

Demons do prey on the desperate, do they not? He thinks of Voleth Meir, of the man Nadine calls Flagg. He's not so certain it's truly to do with the measure of one's heart. Maybe all it is, is that those who commit certain acts, for certain reasons, are most likely to have fallen prey to these demons at some point. Seems easy to do, when demons run amok in a world that according to Dean barely believes in them. Between this thing Dean calls god and Lucifer—to him, it all sounds like people being stolen by otherworldly beings, perhaps when they're at their weakest. On the cusp of death, for one.

A long stretch of silence passes. Geralt is aware that, at the crux of the matter, Dean is trying to tell him that a powerful demon has made its way into this sphere and that it may become a problem. He's aware that what's foremost on his mind is not the point. But it lingers. ]

So this god is the reason demons even exist in your sphere. When he chose to trap his creation in another world. [ He peers carefully at Dean. Finds another piece slotting into place. ] I know Castiel laid siege to this realm. I saw it, when we crossed paths. Is that what he was preventing? You, from becoming a demon?

( Hey, listen, he gets it. He knows how it sounds — fruit loops, cuckoo for cocoa puffs, all those other delicious sugary cereals that are part of a balanced breakfast. If you'd have told him this crap a few years back, he'd have sliced you some That's Bananas to go with it, but he's seen it. Lived it. Bought the t-shirt. Is the t-shirt, if you think about it. )

No. ( A beat wherein he visibly reconsiders, sways, and relents: ) Yeah, kind of, technically.

( The point of this wasn't really about circling back to his whole deal — not that he's got a problem talking about it. His two percent of reticence mostly comes down to the fact that it adds more complications on top of a concept that's already probably pretty weird for Geralt to wrap his head around.

At the end of the day, it's context. Useful, valid context that might help Geralt understand Lucifer's whole motivation a little better.

A little reluctant elaboration's probably warranted. )

Cas- yeah, I was... I was pretty friggin' near to the outs by the time Cas showed up. I wasn't... ( He falters, then powers on. ) I was close, but that's not why he did his whole rescue mission.

( Which, yeah, okay, he knows the follow-up question is well why then, jackass? He sighs. )

I'm a vessel. Cas got sent down to yank me out, so I could do my wifely duties and let an archangel wear me like a skin suit. Not- not Lucifer. The one that was supposed to fight him. Michael. That was gonna be the apocalypse. The two of them, duking it out on Earth, tearing the planet apart in the process.

[ In the end, the context matters more than anything. It matters because Geralt cannot really give a fuck about some vague conflict, some abstract notion of the end of days, coming. He cares about it as much as he does the Continent's cycle of war, one kingdom toppling another again and again. Blood spills. Cataclysms consume spheres. Monsters tear people apart. These things move like the ocean tide. It's foolhardy to try and stop every grain of sand from being swept away.

But when the threat is personal, it's different. It means something else to him, when there is a someone to protect.

He sets his glass on the table. Yeah. That's what Castiel had implied. ] An instrument of absolution.

[ Somehow, that aspect is easier to swallow. He's been through the same, with Ciri. (Is still going through the same.) Things, people, that want to use another for their own ends—that isn't new. Though he has to ask what it is Dean possesses that makes him the vessel. Or is it just prophecy, written, that no one's ever questioned?

He pauses. ] What are you afraid he'll do?

( He pulls a face at instrument of absolution. )

Okay, Hemmingway, sure.

( If that's what you wanna call it. No need to get all flowery.

(Sorry, Cas.)

That next question's the real one, ain't it? Well, there's the technically correct answer first: )

Aside from whatever the hell he wants? People, humans, they're like roaches to him. I think he'll step on whoever gets in his way. Hell, I think he'll step on them for fun.

( Geralt may not care about vague conflict or war, about abstract people that may or may not exist on the opposite side of the continent, but Dean does.

It's just... selfishly, what he cares about more is answer number two. Confession, admission: )

And I think he's gonna look for the first opportunity to go after people I give a crap about. Cas. You.

( Shut up, don't make a big deal out of it.

Admission number three, the one he feels preemptively guilty for: )

People you care about.

( Ciri — because he knows it'll trickle up. Screw with Ciri to screw with Geralt to screw with Dean. Poison his friendships. Ruin whatever he can, because he can.

He levels Geralt with a serious look, solemn. Intent. )

Listen... now might be a good time to put some distance. Before he has a chance to figure out you exist.

( Get out while you still can. He has to put that out there. Has to make the suggestion. Has to, because it's right, and fair, and smart, and his conscience won't let him get by without doing it. )

[ Mm. So there it is. Is he surprised? No. Who would not prioritize those they care about most? People who believe their duty is to the world first—those people make him wary. There is a thin line between that and falling into the trap of making choices for others, in the name of the greater good. Sacrifices, as Nilfgaard calls it.

But Dean, he understands. ]

Let me worry about them. [ He is not dismissing the concern. It's there. It's there, like every other danger that's faced Ciri from the moment he found her. Before, even. He'll protect her all the same. If it isn't a Lucifer, there will be something else. Besides, Ciri is a force of her own. As long as her secret is safe—

Perhaps in the future, he will consider different. He doesn't know. Geralt's learned to shift with the wind. He's not one to lay plans that span great lengths. But for now, he sees no reason to make any decisions in haste. He does not especially prefer to hide away.

And he does not add that them currently includes Dean. ]

Where is he?

[ The territory matters. He has people in each. ]

Edited 2022-06-14 16:07 (UTC)

( Good news, Dean's priority to the world is firmly in second place. It's not healthy, it can be downright screwed up and wrong at times, but his people always come first. The fact that the world is a close second probably wouldn't be all that reassuring to Geralt either, but what can you do, he's a Winchester. All things are his responsibility — and he is absolutely guilty of making decisions on behalf of others at times as a result.

He's not as sorry about that as he should be.

Let me worry about them.

Dean's look lingers for another couple of heartbeats, weighted, assessing. At length, he slowly nods. It's not that he's necessarily lumping himself in with them, but it's the rest of the implication that really hits him: that Geralt's making the choice to stick around despite knowing it could bring him and his into some serious shit.

When people look at Dean, when they get to know him, when they get a glimpse of all the bullshit he's involved in — and they still choose to stay?

He takes that more personally than any normal person should. It matters more than it should. Too much, way too much, but that's Dean Winchester. Unhealthy in his loyalty, and when circumstances align in the right (or wrong) ways, too easily attached to people.

Like hell he's gonna friggin say that, though, he knows he's pathetic and deliberately plugs his mental ears about the whole thing, la la la shut up I don't have emotions go screw yourself. Focus on the monster issue. )

Thorne.

( Lucifer's manipulative, he can lie, but Dean's fairly confident that was true. )

He doesn't know where I am, but it won't take him long to figure it out.

[ Geralt's entire life is defined by being in serious shit. Fuck if he didn't wish it weren't so, but there's no point in pretending otherwise anymore. Not after the lengths he's gone through to keep Ciri safe. And these people, here, they're important to him. Ciri may always be his foremost priority, but he's no intention of turning his back on someone at the slightest hint of danger.

He's hardly free from threats of his own, either. Between the secrets he's guarding for Ciri, his link to Yennefer and the Queen, what he does—Jaskier has already paid the price for it, more than once. So have his brothers. In the end, he senses Dean would not abandon him, if he were to tell him all that there is to know about Cirilla. The thousands of bodies that have been left in her path. Could he be wrong? Maybe. He doesn't think he is.

So. That's all there is to it.

His gaze lingers on Dean for a moment. In a similar fashion, though, he lets most of his thoughts go unsaid. Only a flicker across his expression suggests there is more going on when Dean says Thorne. A demon, in Thorne. Specifically where Yennefer is residing. That's...

He wants to believe she knows better now. But there were a lot of things he wanted to believe about Yennefer, and many of them he has realized he's wrong. ]

Thorne's magic has contained those of a similar kind before, and the castle walls have many eyes. He may not have as much free rein there. [ Now and then, Geralt does, in fact, feel it's unfortunate Thorne is no longer prone to locking away their so-called mistakes in the dungeon. Would be useful, in cases like these. ] What name would he go by, were he to hide his true nature?

( Thousands of bodies might flag some wariness in him, might have him on higher alert, but at the end of the day, she's Geralt's kid. She's good, from what he's seen. What matters is what she does going forward.

Cas swallowed down all the souls of Purgatory, tried to play God, culled heaven and set Leviathans loose on the world. Dean started the apocalypse. Sam released Satan. Everybody gets a mulligan.

He presses his lips flat. Shakes his head. )

I don't know that the eyes in the walls are gonna matter. I really don't wanna know what he's capable of if he starts poking around the singularity. ( Angels might garner a different reaction than the rest of them have so far, who the hell knows. ) As for names... you're right, dollars to donuts he's not gonna go with the usual array. Half the universes here — Sam's, Julie's, practically anyone from any variation of Earth, their religion's the same as mine. They'd recognize it in a heartbeat, and he knows that.

( What in the hell would he go by if not Lucifer, though? )

Nick, maybe? Other than that, could be anything. I might be able to spot it if it's obvious enough, but definitely won't be something you'd recognize, I can just about guarantee that.

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