To Be So Sure Of The Fall (supernatural fic)
Title: To Be So Sure Of The Fall
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to season 4
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, I only play with it.
Summary: Castiel is finally alone with Sam and he could not have picked a worse moment.
Word Count: 756
A/N: This is for fullonswayzeed who wanted some Sam and Castiel confrontation a LONG time ago. (Sorry this is late sweetie!) As always, thanks to themollyedge for helping.
"Down on your knees
Your conscious biting
Disarray, your heart has fallen
And all you were has been forgotten
To all you were
You know who you are
You know who you are"
-- The Shore by Mashlin
For the first time in quite some time, Castiel is alone with Samuel Winchester and he is surprised by his timing. He could not have picked a worse moment to confront Sam, but with the body of his older brother at their feet Castiel supposes another opportunity may not arise.
The young man has been openly sobbing. It does not worry the angel--he understands the action in a situation like this.
What worries him is now that the emotion has passed, he can see no outward feeling on Sam’s face.
Sam is not afraid of Castiel, at least, not afraid in the same way that Dean had always been.
Fear towards Castiel only existed as far as Dean was involved in the angel’s presence. It was ironically similar to Dean’s fears toward, it seemed, anything. If it had plans for one of the brothers, the other was immediately terrified of it. They justified this fear with their family history, and their tendency to die on one another rather suddenly-often at the hand of their newest supernatural finds.
Now, no brother exists to be concerned over. There is no reason for the part-demon to be terrified of something he feels will not hurt his mostly human self-he has done nothing terribly sinful lately-and of course Dean is no longer present to use Sam against in any threats.
It is both a good and bad thing that Castiel is not here to threaten the boy.
“This was the plan? All along?” Sam finally asks, his voice like a punch.
For one moment, Castiel thinks that the boy doesn’t want an answer. Speaking fills the silence-nothing more-it distracts his exhausted mind from the gory, senseless death laying by his feet. He knows why the angel had to let this death occur-why the price of saving a single hunter would have been the death of countless others-the greater good driving it all, no matter the price.
Still, Castiel responds, “It was alterable-inevitably there would have been casualties.”
“What does that mean?” A shimmer of true reaction, rage, or utter confusion clouds the tone. It is something other than unhinged need or nothingness, a good sign: a sign of recovery from their shared tragedy-Dean’s body-though Sam does not yet understand that heaven needs him lucid.
“You stopped praying, Sam.” Castiel tries to express all that the rebuke implies. Instead it sounds heartless and distracting, even to him.
Sam grunts, turning his face to the ceiling as if he could see the Father that way, and Castiel isn’t sure who’s father he looks for as he resentfully mutters “There wasn’t much of a point anymore.”
“You have not read enough of the scriptures to know that.” It is still too harsh.
Sam’s head turns abruptly, dust in the light beam around him swirling angrily in response, aggression on aggression as he barks “Dean would still be alive if I had prayed?”
And Castiel grimaces without meaning to.
Turning his head away, he feels a bit dramatic, as though he is over reacting to the criticism that doesn’t quite strike at him. He doesn’t think anything can harm him when Dean lies dead on the floor-the angel’s hope in humanity with him.
“It would have helped.” He finally manages. And the truth of the matter is it would not only have helped Dean. Difficult as it may be, the youngest Winchester boy falls farther and farther from the goodness in himself with every step he takes, every thought.
A half laugh, Sam’s reaction is not encouraging, “Right” and with a low snort he turns back to Castiel, asking: “Well, if I start praying now, you think your good lord will hear me?”
Castiel is on the verge of responding. He is mere breaths from reminding the youngest Winchester that it is his Good Lord as well-his God still present and waiting for responsive words: a plea for forgiveness, a breath of remorse for the demonic regression.
Then the boy king’s eyes flicker yellow under the impromptu skylight (collateral from their battle). And Castiel falls to the ground, his stuttering breath the soundtrack to his murder, alongside images of Sam’s smirk.
Standing above Castiel’s empty vessel, the last Winchester defiles the family name, telling goodness: “That was for my brother.”
From off in the distance thunder rumbles like an angry cry, and the new king of hopelessness turns to bury the dead - his last tie to the small humanity inside.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to season 4
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, I only play with it.
Summary: Castiel is finally alone with Sam and he could not have picked a worse moment.
Word Count: 756
A/N: This is for fullonswayzeed who wanted some Sam and Castiel confrontation a LONG time ago. (Sorry this is late sweetie!) As always, thanks to themollyedge for helping.
"Down on your knees
Your conscious biting
Disarray, your heart has fallen
And all you were has been forgotten
To all you were
You know who you are
You know who you are"
-- The Shore by Mashlin
For the first time in quite some time, Castiel is alone with Samuel Winchester and he is surprised by his timing. He could not have picked a worse moment to confront Sam, but with the body of his older brother at their feet Castiel supposes another opportunity may not arise.
The young man has been openly sobbing. It does not worry the angel--he understands the action in a situation like this.
What worries him is now that the emotion has passed, he can see no outward feeling on Sam’s face.
Sam is not afraid of Castiel, at least, not afraid in the same way that Dean had always been.
Fear towards Castiel only existed as far as Dean was involved in the angel’s presence. It was ironically similar to Dean’s fears toward, it seemed, anything. If it had plans for one of the brothers, the other was immediately terrified of it. They justified this fear with their family history, and their tendency to die on one another rather suddenly-often at the hand of their newest supernatural finds.
Now, no brother exists to be concerned over. There is no reason for the part-demon to be terrified of something he feels will not hurt his mostly human self-he has done nothing terribly sinful lately-and of course Dean is no longer present to use Sam against in any threats.
It is both a good and bad thing that Castiel is not here to threaten the boy.
“This was the plan? All along?” Sam finally asks, his voice like a punch.
For one moment, Castiel thinks that the boy doesn’t want an answer. Speaking fills the silence-nothing more-it distracts his exhausted mind from the gory, senseless death laying by his feet. He knows why the angel had to let this death occur-why the price of saving a single hunter would have been the death of countless others-the greater good driving it all, no matter the price.
Still, Castiel responds, “It was alterable-inevitably there would have been casualties.”
“What does that mean?” A shimmer of true reaction, rage, or utter confusion clouds the tone. It is something other than unhinged need or nothingness, a good sign: a sign of recovery from their shared tragedy-Dean’s body-though Sam does not yet understand that heaven needs him lucid.
“You stopped praying, Sam.” Castiel tries to express all that the rebuke implies. Instead it sounds heartless and distracting, even to him.
Sam grunts, turning his face to the ceiling as if he could see the Father that way, and Castiel isn’t sure who’s father he looks for as he resentfully mutters “There wasn’t much of a point anymore.”
“You have not read enough of the scriptures to know that.” It is still too harsh.
Sam’s head turns abruptly, dust in the light beam around him swirling angrily in response, aggression on aggression as he barks “Dean would still be alive if I had prayed?”
And Castiel grimaces without meaning to.
Turning his head away, he feels a bit dramatic, as though he is over reacting to the criticism that doesn’t quite strike at him. He doesn’t think anything can harm him when Dean lies dead on the floor-the angel’s hope in humanity with him.
“It would have helped.” He finally manages. And the truth of the matter is it would not only have helped Dean. Difficult as it may be, the youngest Winchester boy falls farther and farther from the goodness in himself with every step he takes, every thought.
A half laugh, Sam’s reaction is not encouraging, “Right” and with a low snort he turns back to Castiel, asking: “Well, if I start praying now, you think your good lord will hear me?”
Castiel is on the verge of responding. He is mere breaths from reminding the youngest Winchester that it is his Good Lord as well-his God still present and waiting for responsive words: a plea for forgiveness, a breath of remorse for the demonic regression.
Then the boy king’s eyes flicker yellow under the impromptu skylight (collateral from their battle). And Castiel falls to the ground, his stuttering breath the soundtrack to his murder, alongside images of Sam’s smirk.
Standing above Castiel’s empty vessel, the last Winchester defiles the family name, telling goodness: “That was for my brother.”
From off in the distance thunder rumbles like an angry cry, and the new king of hopelessness turns to bury the dead - his last tie to the small humanity inside.