#honeylocusttree

Extinguish

(Bruce Banner is a soft-spoken, gentle man.

Bruce Banner is a monster.

Bruce Banner is a man with an untreated mental illness.

Bruce Banner doesn’t exist.)

Renunciate

(Bruce Banner is a soft-spoken, gentle man.

Bruce Banner is a monster.

Bruce Banner is a man with an untreated mental illness.

Bruce Banner doesn’t exist.)

Tatterdemalion

(Bruce Banner is a soft-spoken, gentle man.

Bruce Banner is a monster.

Bruce Banner is a man with an untreated mental illness.

Bruce Banner doesn’t exist.)

Summary: The Winchesters are two of the most dangerous serial killers ever known. Henriksen’s job is to bring them in. But things don’t always go to plan. Spoilers: Victor/FBI-related plot points.

Warnings: Disturbing imagery, CHILD ABUSE, gore, violence, captivity, hallucinations, bugs, human degradation, language, etc.

This is a bit cut out from my fic Abroad, featuring a few angels.

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“This is a terrible plan,” Castiel said, and Uriel smacked his flaming sword against his thigh in frustration. “What part of ‘laying siege to Hell’ are you having trouble with, here?” he demanded, and Castiel folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “The part where we get over the walls by piling up the bodies of our own forces and running up them,” he snapped. “It’s the worst plan since Zadkiel started his ‘reward the righteous with time-shares in Miami’ scheme.” “Have you looked at those walls? Because those are some pretty big walls. One might even say they are damned big walls, Castiel.” “We are supposed to be laying siege, here. You can’t do that without forces. And how can walls be ‘damned’?” he snapped. “We need to get over them!” “There are other ways to get over walls than by slaughtering your own troops!” “Then what do you suggest?!” “We could damn well build a ladder!” the angel of Thursday snarled, and by this time they were quite close, noses nearly touching, the air around them crackling and sparking. “What could we possibly build a ladder out of?” Uriel nearly shrieked, and Castiel flung his arms out, nearly slicing Uriel’s nose off in the process. “What about all these bones?” A pause. “We’re…going to build ladders out of bones?” “You work with the materials you have available,” Castiel said grimly, and kicked at a skull, sending it rolling and skittering down the hill toward the gates. The nearest gates. The service entrance, actually. Uriel followed its trajectory, and squinted at the unholy light visible above the walls. “Do you think they even know we’re here?"