bigapplesauce | don't get lost in heaven, they got locks on the gate [open to multiple]

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don't get lost in heaven, they got locks on the gate [open to multiple]

Existence without form or breath or shape is disorienting, the spread of atoms over a plane he doesn't recognize, with the repeated dissolutions and reshapings of an indistinct self. At one point there was pain, and the unspooling of himself into light and purpose, and for a long while there is only amorphous drifting. He hits barriers, dissonant and frequent, where once he should have crossed from one plane to another, one reality to the next, in an effortless slide of energy across the universal boundaries. It is difficult to define emotional state outside of the human context - he only knows that he is not human - but it is a state of affairs that generates confused distress.

Temporal sequencing becomes a problem.

Awareness, too, is difficult to achieve. Gradually he is able to pull together the various components that comprise himself and reshape them into something capable of perception, but doing so strikes him with a revelation disconsolate, and that is that there are no Others here - no Ancients, nothing, simply an empty plane of shifting light and bottomless dark. And he is alone.

He knows he did this, and it was for a reason. But he finds he cannot remember anything, not immediately, and when the memories trickle back with his concentrated effort they are unfiltered and unstructured and unordered until finally he can impose the alien concept of linear time upon the thing, and fully interpret what he is in comparison to what he was.

Daniel Jackson.

The name is the linchpin that generates the outward ripples, spreading from that singular point of origin. It triggers the flood of remembrance, the 'gate, Manhattan, the locked-away knowledge that was once sealed in his head but now coalesces seamlessly into the whole of him now. He cannot delineate his form by shape or size or mass, not any longer, but now he remembers, he remembers what it is he can do and how it is he can do it.

He starts small because he must, drifting as a pair of hydrogen atoms while he glimpses the city on a reduced scale. Then he builds to it, the recollection of his shape. Spectrally manifesting was never truly allowed before, but if there are no Others then he is not bound by their laws. He assembles a body that resembles the one that was human and familiar, and projects it. It takes two tries to succeed, three to sustain it for longer than a meaningless collection of seconds, and no matter what he tries he cannot force his shape to manifest with glasses. Apparently his inner self, or however he chooses to define it, does not need them.

He loses track of how many attempts he makes before he can maintain his form visibly for any significant length of time. But finally, in a ragged burst of energy, the bewildered shape of Daniel Jackson reappears in Manhattan, and there he stays.

[ooc: Daniel Ascended back during the Rift Shitfit of September 4th, and he's only just figured out how to Do Things in his new state of being. Right now he's completely intangible and frequently phasing in and out of visible existence. I've added to his handy-dandy reference post as to what he can and can't do in this state. He can also show up LITERALLY ANYWHERE so if you want in on Ascended funtimes just pick a date and a location, or Daniel can pick one, or whatever.]

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"And every demon in Hell was once a human soul."

And if the angels Fall and become human, with little human souls, than it's easy to extrapolate what happens to them, too. A fate worse than death, worse than humanity-- becoming something twisted and evil, something that would have been hateful in their Father's sight. The very demons that angels fought against were sometimes made up of their own brothers and sisters, twisted up beyond recognition.

History repeats itself in strange little parallels. The first war between Lucifer and Michael was a civil war, angel against angel; the last, angels against demons, and there were still former angels on the opposing side. Are they any less the angels' brothers just because they lost their Grace?

Edited 2015-05-29 20:53 (UTC)

"Really cheery universe you got there, isn't it?" A universe full of indifferent Ancients and apotheosizing intergalactic conquerors wasn't exactly always pleasant, but at least they skipped - usually - the hellfire and brimstone. Usually.

It would be easy to dissipate, drift elsewhere - but it's not a situation he necessarily finds pleasant, and even if making himself physically visible is difficult, this is one of the few places where it's been somewhat easier. With Lucifer. It's not a connection he likes to admit exists at all, and yet - here they both are. Devil and - whatever Daniel is, because he honestly isn't sure. Ascended, but improperly, in a state of perpetual incompletion. Thanks, Rift.

"That doesn't matter here," he says, his attention now gliding curiously over the sigils scrawled along the walls. "As soon as I remember how to descend - that's where I'm going."

"I suppose it doesn't. Humans here just die."

They don't go anywhere. Perhaps it's a relief, in a sense, to know that there's nothing waiting after death and having the certainty that whatever brief existence they have is all there is. No encores once the curtain falls.

The Devil watches Daniel look at his sigils, and even though he probably has little idea what they mean-- unless Enochian is among his many languages-- he should at least be able to see the lines of power they weave, making a safe harbor of this small area. Lucifer has always been good at wards and sigils and other subtle uses of his power; Gabriel learned his tricks from somewhere.

"Is it useful, though, to return to being human?" he asks, and it's not a dishonest question. "You need to understand the Rift to click your ruby slippers, Daniel, and humanity doesn't do you very many favors on that front."

"It's better that way," he says with an unfailing, mournful certainty. The hum of power buried in the symbols is foreign to him, threaded brightly with the same kind of source energy reminiscent of that which radiates from Lucifer or Gabriel, but it's wholly unfamiliar compared to his own. The sigil he hadn't even had time to draw on his new apartment door is seared into his head, the one built to keep Lucifer out, however little good it'll do him now.

"I wasn't meant for this, not here." He'd first Ascended because he'd assumed he could make some sort of difference on the higher plane - but he can't even make a difference here. The Rift is unrelenting as ever, and he can't even figure out how to access a fraction of the abilities he should be capable of wielding.

"Join the club," Lucifer says. "Do you think that Gabriel and I are any more suited to it?"

Bitch, bitch, bitch, Daniel.

"You're in a better position now than you ever were as a human to find a way past the Rift and out of this universe. What can you hope to do as a man that would even remotely get you towards that goal? Learn to play the long game, Daniel Jackson."

A little discomfort doesn't supercede the advantages of the form he's in. And, since Gabriel seems to have exactly zero interest in finding a way past the Rift, having another being around that's willing to pull his own weight wouldn't be a bad thing. Sure, Lucifer might have liked to see Daniel descend, simply out of personal interest, but he's more valuable Ascended than not.

"You think I can do anything like this?" Communicating with anyone besides the more perceptually-aware has presented its own level of difficulties when that should be a no-brainer for an Ascended being. Breaking out from the little Rift-imposed bubble over Manhattan is another beast entirely. Not that he really wants to try with Lucifer prowling Manhattan, because the last thing they all need is a way for the Devil to get loose into the world. The Rift isn't good for a lot of things but if there's one thing he can appreciate, it's the fact that it's got Lucifer on something of a restraining bolt. It's uncomfortable, painful at times to have such a sharp awareness of the Rift shrouding the city, but it's worth it if it means the Devil doesn't get free reign of the place.

"I mean, I'll be honest here," he says, even and candid. "If I did find a way out, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't tell you."

The Devil smiles indulgently at Daniel Jackson, entirely unoffended by his assertion.

There are many things that Lucifer doesn't like about the Rift-- it narrows his powers and constrains him to a small location, among other things. But, despite all these annoyances, it has ultimately done him a great favor. It brought him to this other universe right when he was in the process of falling back into Hell, but before the door slammed shut again.

The Rift, in essence, rescued him. It gave him the possibility of finding a way back to his own universe that didn't involve him being trapped in his Cage, but with big brother Michael stuck inside. And that would be a fitting thing, letting big brother have a taste of the Cage that he'd left Lucifer to rot in for all those millennia.

"I can be patient, Daniel. There are ways out of every cage, even this one, and I have all the time in the world to find it. I don't need you to cooperate with me, though it certainly wouldn't hurt either of us if you did."

Edited 2015-05-29 22:58 (UTC)

"I can think of a lot of ways it might hurt me, actually." Particularly now, with more of what Lucifer is bared to him, all the power and energy compacted into that body he's wearing. He has no idea what a conflict between them would look like on this plane or on the next, but he's fairly certain he doesn't want to find out. "A lot of ways it could hurt other people. And I'm not about to risk that."

Hence - safer on the lower plane. Maybe Daniel was always meant be this, to become this, but it won't mean he'll ever relinquish what he is at his core. Solidly, steadfastly moral, and unwilling to renounce that even when it was openly discouraged and despised.

"I can think of ways it would hurt more if you tried to hinder me."

Daniel, so steadfast and moral. Even so, as long as Daniel remains in his Ascended form, he may actually have the slightest chance of, at the very least, fleeing from an angry Satan, even if he couldn't survive direct conflict. As a human, he's little more than a fly to Lucifer and could be swatted just as easily. Sure, he would first have to learn how to use his powers while under the Rift's influence, but that's simply the learning curve. He's a smart boy, he'd figure it out.

"Besides, Daniel," he folds his hands in front of him, "let's be reasonable. I haven't been slaughtering left and right for this long, what makes you think that I'll suddenly decide otherwise? I understand that I have terrible PR, but I can assure you, Gabriel's got a higher human death toll than I do."

After all, little brother had a few millennia's worth of a head start on him.

"And for someone who's so concerned about people getting hurt, you're very content to do the nothing that you just condemned your Ancients for. Perhaps you ought to climb down a little from that high horse of yours before you hurt yourself."

His projection visibly stiffens with a quiet flare of hostility, the energy-being-equivalent of bristling in the face of something decidedly unpleasant.

"There's a difference between doing nothing and exercising care," he answers coldly. "Don't paint false dichotomies where there aren't any."

Reasonable. True, Lucifer has made every effort to act deceptively mild-mannered since the bloodbath that was his tumultuous entrance into Manhattan, wreaking the kind of indescribable havoc Daniel only glimpsed. There are still patterns, though, splashed over the composition of his being - patterns of blood and retribution, and Daniel doesn't need to be able to interpret them to know how unquestionably lethal the being to which he's speaking is.

"I think you're being patient here because you have to be." The old defiance creeps into his tone, bright and flinted. Even in this shape, he cannot stop being what he is - the man who challenges gods, who calmly embarked on the genocide of the species that took his wife from him. Too bold, too curious, too machinating, stubborn and resistant to a fault, a perpetual pain in the ass regardless of what plane or dimension he happens to reside on at the time. "Because there are too many here that would stop you. Too much collateral damage. But if you had complete free reign of this universe?"

He doesn't complete the thought.

"Exercising care," he says. "Such a convenient excuse."

And Daniel, pain-in-the-ass, won't-die human that he is, has apparently managed to misread the Morningstar. Lucifer wants blood and retribution, yes, but it's specific blood he wants and specific retribution. He could lay waste to this universe if he wanted to, but why would he? What purpose would it serve, how would it put him any closer to his goals?

He tilts his head, leveling that birdlike curious gaze at the projection of Daniel.

"What would I want with this universe?"

"I don't want to know what you want with any universe," he clarifies uneasily. "Especially your own."

He could never buy into the mentality that Daniel's is the only universe of consequence, and he should somehow cease to care about what causality may exist in others. True, Lucifer's universe sounds like a desolate, grim place - that doesn't mean he wants to add to that by allowing him some way to slip back into it.

"You know what I find funny, Daniel?"

Really, it doesn't matter if he does or not, because Lucifer is going to tell him regardless.

"Between Gabriel and I, I seem to be the only one who actually cares to save my universe. My brother would rather stay here, drinking and whoring to his heart's content and ignore what he has fair warning of. And everyone says I'm the bad guy."

He places a hand theatrically over his heart, like he's deeply wounded at the offense.

"I'm not sure what your definition of 'save' is," Daniel counters skeptically. "Particularly if it aligns with the common interpretations of, oh, destruction? Conflagration? Anything along those lines?"

At least with Gabriel - well, Daniel might not always feel like he knows where he stands with Gabriel, but at least talking to Gabe doesn't leave him flat-out uneasy.

"You guys are literally biblical. That doesn't generally go well for anyone involved."

"Normally, I wouldn't say that you're completely wrong. But do you remember the dream we shared, Daniel? The one in the back woods of Pennsylvania?"

He hadn't exactly let Daniel forget about it, especially not when his phone, back when he'd been alive to use it, had always had that little infernal symbol in the upper corner and its perpetual strong wifi signal. Blessings be upon you, Daniel Jackson, now and forever.

"Do you remember what I told you about Heaven?"

How could he forget it? There was no way to, really, after the Devil decided to pop in to say hello in the waking world and ensnare Daniel in what had to be one of the single most uncomfortable conversations he's ever had to endure. The dream alone had been bad enough once he'd realized who he'd been talking to, and waking up with an unintentional gift under his pillow had been even worse.

"Oh, do I remember," he answers in the wary, tired sing-song of someone who deeply regrets ever getting involved. But no denying it, now the Devil's taken an interest. Lucky, lucky, lucky Daniel.

"Then I don't have to remind you about the state of Heaven. It wasn't just a fever-dream, Daniel-- it's what's to come, in the future of my universe."

And he cannot abide an empty Heaven. Even if Gabriel could sit around in some empty universe, screwing the not-quite-locals, he couldn't.

"I shouldn't have to explain to you the ramifications of an empty Heaven while Hell overflows with demons."

Sure, he doesn't so much care about the effects it will have on humanity so much as he does the fact that his entire family will be dead, but that's just semantics. What's good for Heaven, in this case, benefits Earth as well.

"And, and you're gonna fix it? Or facilitate some sort of fixing?" This story of Lucifer seems to be its own mythology, not necessarily a direct rendering of the Bible, and whenever he's addressed the angels it's always had that odd, unnerving edge of - affection, one might say. Gabe is his literal brother, and that would make the rest of the heavenly host his literal family.

The fact that the Devil kind of has a point - a point about caring for family, wanting to help - is not a happy thought.

Granted, Daniel doesn't have the full context here.

"You seem pretty confident that I can actually do something about the cosmic elephant in the room," he says slowly, "when it's affecting me just as much as it is you."

"I'm going to prevent it. If the timeline that Sam Winchester gave Gabriel is accurate, I should have a few years."

A few years isn't much, but he can do a lot with a little. He is old and powerful even in captivity, more so when unfettered, and if he plays his cards just right and can return outside of the Cage...

He can fix this. He will fix this.

"What I want now is to have as many active pieces on the playing field as possible. And I'd really rather not downgrade a rook to a pawn, if you follow me."

"Sam Winchester."

He repeats the name, quietly parsing. There's a significance buried there, but it's beyond him. Whatever the name represents, it's something resonant, something keyed to Lucifer. Someone from his universe, probably.

It's troubling that Lucifer - genuinely seems to want to fix his world. It seems to be, in Daniel's mind, a pretty uniformly terrible world. But -

But it's also Lucifer.

"I don't know," he says, and it feels like a complete betrayal of self that he even has to say it. He doesn't know. He doesn't know if Lucifer has a point, or if it's worth helping him to get him out of Manhattan, or any of it. He doesn't want to be shrouded in doubt over this, but he is.

"If you care anything for any universe," he says, "than you shouldn't look at me as an enemy. By returning home, I risk imprisonment in Hell, Daniel, and it's a risk I'm willing to take for the sake of my family."

Sure, if he can manage it, he'd rather avoid the whole imprisoned in Hell thing, but the point here is that he'll go back regardless. He won't hide in an empty universe to avoid his punishment, he won't bury his head in the sand to keep himself from thinking about his brothers' genocide. He is the Morningstar, and he doesn't let a little thing like being trapped in the deepest pit of Hell stop him.

"Perhaps, instead of questioning my motives, you should be wondering what kind of brother knows about the deaths of his siblings and does nothing about it."

He loves Gabriel dearly, but his little brother is an absolute chickenshit coward.

Daniel watches the Devil evenly, wavering.

"No promises," he says, choosing his words delicately. "I'm not locking you out. I just - you realize you're asking kind of a big thing, here. Help. For the Devil. But I'm not - "

He breaks off. He hates that he's considering this, that it's even an option.

"I'm not ruling anything out. Yet."

An chalk up another point to the sympathy for the Devil gambit.

"Speak to Iman at some point. I've been giving her all of my observations on the Rift, and there may be something in it that would benefit from your input."

Look, he's even learned to play nice with others, Daniel. Is he really the big bad Satan that you've made him out to be?

Well. Technically, yes. But he's a Satan who knows how to behave to get what he wants, so that's something.

Iman. God, he doesn't even want to guess how she'd react to this. He doesn't quite know who else is in the know, who knows he's dead and who knows that he kind of took a step beyond the whole 'death' thing. The Devil's making sense and that's sort of uncomfortable, and the Devil's giving him a plan and that's even more uncomfortable.

This is it, this is Daniel Jackson's life now. Or not-life, rather, because the Rift is a pain.

"I'll consider it," he says, lending a careful weight to the emphasis. Consider. He's not sure he can go toe-to-toe, tête-à-tête with Lucifer straight-up, but he's not as defenseless as he was as a mostly-human. That's something he can hold onto, at least. It's a mild comfort, if anything.

Yes, the Devil can make a plan. In fact, he's gotten fairly good at making plans, because he literally had nothing better to do for more millennia than he'd care to count.

And he sends another reproving nudge at Daniel; why do you keep disappointing him? He thought better of you.

"Regardless of what you think of me, the Rift is a common enemy and you should keep up with whatever information is out on it."

Congratulations, this is your second chastisement from Satan. It's your lucky day.

"Besides, I'm sure she would like to know that you've only been inconveniently discorporated and not actually killed."

don't get lost in heaven, they got locks on the gate [open to multiple]

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