Comment_fics: Supernatural
Supernatural, Lucifer, First experiences of the world post s4
The first thing he saw was darkness, and he smiled to see it, because it was the darkness of ink. It was the darkness of slate. It was the darkness of potential. And as he rose, the Morningstar in the East, he brought with him from the depths the sort of Light that had not been seen since the first day. He carried it upon his wings and he used it to shape the darkness around him.
His feet, bare and new, felt the floor beneath him. It was stone, and cold, and sticky with blood, and perfect. He ran a few steps, to feel the blood pounding through his veins, to pound the blood he felt beneath his feet.
Four forms lay before him, prostate at his entrance. Two were women, gutted open with knife or magic, their glassy eyes staring upward. Both smelt of fire and of hatred, and he knelt to suck in the air they left behind.
Two were men, and they, too, smelt of fire. They smelt of fire and of tears and of love, and they yet breathed their own air, their eyelids fluttering as if in nightmare.
Lucifer smiled to see it, and let them sleep. They would wake to true nightmare soon enough. Who says the devil doesn't have mercy?
He raised his eyes further, and saw the cross set into the end of the room. A church. He was brought up to a church. His smile grew, and he gripped the base of the church with bare, new hands that pulsed with strength. Squeezing and lifting, he swing the huge cross round his shoulders and planted it again, upside down, back on its pedestal.
There were splinters in his hands, marring their perfect white skin. He bared his teeth at them, and they shivered and fell, leaving red pinpricks like stars against his palm.
Lucifer leaned forward and pressed his new galaxy into the open bible on the pedestal, overwriting the gospels with constellations of
blood.
*
Supernatural, dark!AU Dean/Sam, the first time they killed a man
His blood is warm.
Its the first thing they feel, that warmth, when the rage subsides. Its the first thing Dean feels, before that, feels it pumping against his hands as he squeezes and squeezes. It's the first thing Sam feels, before that, as his fist connects with the man's nose.
His blood is warm.
They've killed before, things with smoke and ink for blood, things with ichor and acid. But that's a distant and a cold killing, driven by rage, perhaps, but also by a feeling of yes, this is right, this is doing the world good.
There is none of that, here. There is nothing but rage and the emptiness where a life had been, and the warmth of his blood.
Dean looks at the body for a long moment. Sam massages his knuckles, then offers a hand to his brother. When he takes it, Sam pulls him up and in, pressing himself all along him, and kisses him deeply.
Dean pulls back after a moment, a teasing smile playing over his features. "Careful, Sammy." He growls. "We'll be caught red-handed."
*
SPN, Dean/Castiel, Castiel's first shower
Castiel let the water run over his face. It was hot. It stung in his cuts, until he remembered to close them. It slid down his chin, beading on his neck, and he ran a hand over his chest. It felt...good, to watch the blood slide away with the water, to watch the grime and dirt of war disappear down the drain. It felt good to have skin rather than just clothing, to breathe steam. He crossed his eyes, trying to see the droplets caught in his eyelashes. He wondered idly if they would take away the things his eyes had seen, the death, the destruction. He scrubbed a hand across his chest, washing off the guilt, the doubt, the shame.
He had not felt like this since the first rainfall.
His eyes widened, and he stepped from the shower. He slid his way out of the tiny bathroom, wet feet making footprints on the tan carpet. "Dean."
Dean turned to him, and stopped, mouth half open in surprise. His eyes caught somewhere below Castiel's stomach, and his hand clutched reflexively. Castiel frowned. "Dean?"
Dean shook himself. "Wh-whoa," He stuttered, shifting his green eyes to Castiel's face. "Cover up, Cas, no one needs to see that."
Castiels blinked. "But I am not finished my shower." He rather enjoyed this feeling, outside of the constricted clothing of Jimmy Novak. "I only wanted to say that I love you."
Dean opened his mouth. Dean closed his mouth. Dean opened his mouth again. "What the fuck?"
Castiel smiled, and it felt like the first time he had ever smiled, on that morning of the first rain. "I have washed away...many dark things. I have washed away guilt and shame and sin. I have not washed away doubt, because I have realized - it is not doubt, simply a different sort of certainty."
Dean was still staring at him. Castiel spread his arms. "I am not longer sure of God, of my mission, of my garrison. I am only sure of you, Dean."
Dean closed his mouth, and took a step back. Emotion warred in his eyes. Castiel's smile faded. "I have washed away all that was not me, Dean, and all that was left was love."
Dean shook his head. "I can't...you come in here naked, and smiling, and I can't...I can't accept this. It doesn't make any sense, you can't fall for me, it...why? Why me?"
Castiel paced forward. "You still have so much guilt." He ran a hand up Dean's chest to his heart. "So much pain." And over to his shoulder, fitting his palm to the impression there, that glowed and sparked in his vision. "So much confusion." His fingers traced up Dean's neck, behind his ear, across his cheekbones. Dean's eyes fluttered. Castiel caught him under the chin and held his eyes. "So much strength."
Dean licked his lips, and dropped his eyes. But Castiel had first, tracing that small movement, fascinated by how close his mouth was, how warm and strange his breath on his wet skin. He leaned in further, breathing up all of Dean's air, and Dean's lips parted. His eyes were glazed. There was a moment of tense silence, and then Dean murmured, "Lord, don't let this be a dream," and captured Castiel's mouth in a kiss.
His hands were hot on the back of his head, on his back, tracing around his sides. His lips were soft and warm and his tongue, oh his tongue as he traced it over Castiel's collarbone. The motel room was almost too warm but Castiel shivered and squirmed, pressing himself up against Dean and then they were on the bed and Dean, too, was naked and Castiel wanted to ask, isn't it good to wear one's skin? but he was too distracted because of Dean's cleaver hands and Dean's clever tongue and the angle of Dean's hips and the way that Dean kept moaning "Cas, Cas, Cas," over and over again in pockets of hot breath against his skin. Castiel's eyes were wide and open and blue, and he heard the song that was sung, on that First Morning on that First Day.
And after, when he curled his wings around Dean's back and it was only them in each other's arms, the world of war and pain and blood so far away as to be distant thunder, he leaned over and breathed in Dean's ear, "We should take a shower."
The first thing he saw was darkness, and he smiled to see it, because it was the darkness of ink. It was the darkness of slate. It was the darkness of potential. And as he rose, the Morningstar in the East, he brought with him from the depths the sort of Light that had not been seen since the first day. He carried it upon his wings and he used it to shape the darkness around him.
His feet, bare and new, felt the floor beneath him. It was stone, and cold, and sticky with blood, and perfect. He ran a few steps, to feel the blood pounding through his veins, to pound the blood he felt beneath his feet.
Four forms lay before him, prostate at his entrance. Two were women, gutted open with knife or magic, their glassy eyes staring upward. Both smelt of fire and of hatred, and he knelt to suck in the air they left behind.
Two were men, and they, too, smelt of fire. They smelt of fire and of tears and of love, and they yet breathed their own air, their eyelids fluttering as if in nightmare.
Lucifer smiled to see it, and let them sleep. They would wake to true nightmare soon enough. Who says the devil doesn't have mercy?
He raised his eyes further, and saw the cross set into the end of the room. A church. He was brought up to a church. His smile grew, and he gripped the base of the church with bare, new hands that pulsed with strength. Squeezing and lifting, he swing the huge cross round his shoulders and planted it again, upside down, back on its pedestal.
There were splinters in his hands, marring their perfect white skin. He bared his teeth at them, and they shivered and fell, leaving red pinpricks like stars against his palm.
Lucifer leaned forward and pressed his new galaxy into the open bible on the pedestal, overwriting the gospels with constellations of
blood.
*
Supernatural, dark!AU Dean/Sam, the first time they killed a man
His blood is warm.
Its the first thing they feel, that warmth, when the rage subsides. Its the first thing Dean feels, before that, feels it pumping against his hands as he squeezes and squeezes. It's the first thing Sam feels, before that, as his fist connects with the man's nose.
His blood is warm.
They've killed before, things with smoke and ink for blood, things with ichor and acid. But that's a distant and a cold killing, driven by rage, perhaps, but also by a feeling of yes, this is right, this is doing the world good.
There is none of that, here. There is nothing but rage and the emptiness where a life had been, and the warmth of his blood.
Dean looks at the body for a long moment. Sam massages his knuckles, then offers a hand to his brother. When he takes it, Sam pulls him up and in, pressing himself all along him, and kisses him deeply.
Dean pulls back after a moment, a teasing smile playing over his features. "Careful, Sammy." He growls. "We'll be caught red-handed."
*
SPN, Dean/Castiel, Castiel's first shower
Castiel let the water run over his face. It was hot. It stung in his cuts, until he remembered to close them. It slid down his chin, beading on his neck, and he ran a hand over his chest. It felt...good, to watch the blood slide away with the water, to watch the grime and dirt of war disappear down the drain. It felt good to have skin rather than just clothing, to breathe steam. He crossed his eyes, trying to see the droplets caught in his eyelashes. He wondered idly if they would take away the things his eyes had seen, the death, the destruction. He scrubbed a hand across his chest, washing off the guilt, the doubt, the shame.
He had not felt like this since the first rainfall.
His eyes widened, and he stepped from the shower. He slid his way out of the tiny bathroom, wet feet making footprints on the tan carpet. "Dean."
Dean turned to him, and stopped, mouth half open in surprise. His eyes caught somewhere below Castiel's stomach, and his hand clutched reflexively. Castiel frowned. "Dean?"
Dean shook himself. "Wh-whoa," He stuttered, shifting his green eyes to Castiel's face. "Cover up, Cas, no one needs to see that."
Castiels blinked. "But I am not finished my shower." He rather enjoyed this feeling, outside of the constricted clothing of Jimmy Novak. "I only wanted to say that I love you."
Dean opened his mouth. Dean closed his mouth. Dean opened his mouth again. "What the fuck?"
Castiel smiled, and it felt like the first time he had ever smiled, on that morning of the first rain. "I have washed away...many dark things. I have washed away guilt and shame and sin. I have not washed away doubt, because I have realized - it is not doubt, simply a different sort of certainty."
Dean was still staring at him. Castiel spread his arms. "I am not longer sure of God, of my mission, of my garrison. I am only sure of you, Dean."
Dean closed his mouth, and took a step back. Emotion warred in his eyes. Castiel's smile faded. "I have washed away all that was not me, Dean, and all that was left was love."
Dean shook his head. "I can't...you come in here naked, and smiling, and I can't...I can't accept this. It doesn't make any sense, you can't fall for me, it...why? Why me?"
Castiel paced forward. "You still have so much guilt." He ran a hand up Dean's chest to his heart. "So much pain." And over to his shoulder, fitting his palm to the impression there, that glowed and sparked in his vision. "So much confusion." His fingers traced up Dean's neck, behind his ear, across his cheekbones. Dean's eyes fluttered. Castiel caught him under the chin and held his eyes. "So much strength."
Dean licked his lips, and dropped his eyes. But Castiel had first, tracing that small movement, fascinated by how close his mouth was, how warm and strange his breath on his wet skin. He leaned in further, breathing up all of Dean's air, and Dean's lips parted. His eyes were glazed. There was a moment of tense silence, and then Dean murmured, "Lord, don't let this be a dream," and captured Castiel's mouth in a kiss.
His hands were hot on the back of his head, on his back, tracing around his sides. His lips were soft and warm and his tongue, oh his tongue as he traced it over Castiel's collarbone. The motel room was almost too warm but Castiel shivered and squirmed, pressing himself up against Dean and then they were on the bed and Dean, too, was naked and Castiel wanted to ask, isn't it good to wear one's skin? but he was too distracted because of Dean's cleaver hands and Dean's clever tongue and the angle of Dean's hips and the way that Dean kept moaning "Cas, Cas, Cas," over and over again in pockets of hot breath against his skin. Castiel's eyes were wide and open and blue, and he heard the song that was sung, on that First Morning on that First Day.
And after, when he curled his wings around Dean's back and it was only them in each other's arms, the world of war and pain and blood so far away as to be distant thunder, he leaned over and breathed in Dean's ear, "We should take a shower."