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Title: "Ascend" This
Rating: G
Characters: John, team
Warning: (Highlight to read warnings) Ascension fic. I refuse to call it death fic
Summary: John ascends. Now what?
A/N: Little it of late-night mental streaming
When John finally does ascend (and he honestly didn't think he would, because existence as pure energy only permitted to watch and not do had always sounded so boring) he immediately comes to the realization that life in the form of a glowy squid isn't written in stone. It is for most, being only a temporary form on their way to a higher plane. But John isn't ready for that plane just yet.
He shapes himself into a hawk. Not for any grand, aesthetic reason. He's always liked hawks, liked the idea of having wings, and figures it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun since nothing in the Ascension handbook forbids it (if there really is a handbook. For now, John just knows). He takes a fly around the galaxy, skirting gas giants and skimming young suns. It's a nice kind of freedom, endless horizons because there are no horizons, and always something new to see (or really, really, impossibly old). But it isn't heaven until three glowing hawk-shapes join him: one serene as distant stars, one a solar flare of wild-abandon, and one complaining of having better things to do than race comets (yet never leaving their side).
Rating: G
Characters: John, team
Warning: (Highlight to read warnings) Ascension fic. I refuse to call it death fic
Summary: John ascends. Now what?
A/N: Little it of late-night mental streaming
When John finally does ascend (and he honestly didn't think he would, because existence as pure energy only permitted to watch and not do had always sounded so boring) he immediately comes to the realization that life in the form of a glowy squid isn't written in stone. It is for most, being only a temporary form on their way to a higher plane. But John isn't ready for that plane just yet.
He shapes himself into a hawk. Not for any grand, aesthetic reason. He's always liked hawks, liked the idea of having wings, and figures it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun since nothing in the Ascension handbook forbids it (if there really is a handbook. For now, John just knows). He takes a fly around the galaxy, skirting gas giants and skimming young suns. It's a nice kind of freedom, endless horizons because there are no horizons, and always something new to see (or really, really, impossibly old). But it isn't heaven until three glowing hawk-shapes join him: one serene as distant stars, one a solar flare of wild-abandon, and one complaining of having better things to do than race comets (yet never leaving their side).
