paradigm shift
So, rather than being sensible like everybody else who saw 5.14 and thought "omg I have to fix it!", I saw 5.14 and thought "you know, this could be worse."
This is not a "My Bloody Valentine" fix-it fic. If there was such a thing as a "make it worse" fic, this might be it. Or it might not. I think you can decide.
--
Sam is exhausted by the time the demon blood finally gets out of his system. His voice is hoarse from cries he doesn't remember screaming, his fingers twitch when he doesn't concentrate on keeping them still, he's feeling an unfortunate combination of dehydrated, starving, and nauseous, and just about all of him hurts.
"Hey, guys?" he calls out, not knowing if anyone's there. His throat protests making that sound, but he tries again. "Guys? I think it might be out of my system." He waits for a response, but the only thing he can hear is his own heavy breathing.
Then, the heavy grinding sound of metal on metal. It goes on for what feels like forever, though Sam's pulse starts to thrum too loud in his ears for him to hear it.
He knows that sound. Something is opening the door.
It's not the sound of a person opening the door - he'd heard Bobby open the door earlier, and with human hands on the metal the sound is muffled. This sound is different, sharper somehow.
This is the thing that let him out last May.
His mind jumps to demons, same as it did then - though then he'd been vaguely grateful, not wary - but everything he knows about demons tells him it's not. The metal is iron, even if the demon isn't touching it directly, and how would a demon get into Bobby's house in the first place?
Sam stands up slowly, still achy, and wants for a weapon - nothing in particular, just something. He'd feel better with a gun in his hands than he does with his fists alone, especially in his current state.
The door swings open quietly, and Sam approaches, moving in the shadows of the room until he's right by the doorway. When nothing comes in, he takes a chance and looks out.
Castiel is standing there, one hand outstretched, staring at him with the most pained look that Sam has ever seen on his face.
Sam's breath catches in his throat.
The angel's hand falls to his side. "Sam." He only holds Sam's gaze for a few seconds before dropping his eyes to stare at the floor.
Castiel looks... guilty. Hoping that he's wrong, Sam asks, "Cas, you. Did you...?"
"Yes." Castiel's eyes flicker up to Sam's for a second before looking away again. "I'm sorry."
Sam sways, and leans back against the door frame, eyes fluttering shut. Great. Now everything hurts. He asks the only question he can think of. "Why?"
"My superiors..." Castiel falters. "That is, I was told to."
Sam huffs a tired laugh, his head hitting concrete with a dull thunk. "Right. Your bosses wanted Lilith dead as much as I did."
"I know it doesn't make it any better," Castiel starts, but pauses when another door opens. He looks up, at the underside of the staircase as heavy boots thud against the wood. Dean calls out, "Sam! You say something?"
Castiel looks at Sam, the guilt back in his expression, and whispers, "Please, don't." Sam only has time to be wonder at how wounded he sounds before the angel vanishes, and then he doesn't have any time to wonder about that before Dean is in front of him. His brother looks him over with a concerned frown.
"You alright, Sam?" he asks, then amends the question. "Er, relatively alright?"
Sam shrugs. "I guess? I don't feel all that great, and I really need a drink. Of water," he adds before Dean can comment. "But definitely better."
Dean's shoulders slump, and he smiles. "Good." He gestures upstairs, saying, "Bobby made you a plate, if you're up for it."
Sam pushes away from the wall and is surprised to find he doesn't sway. Much. "Uh, sure. I think I could get something down." With careful steps, he follows Dean up the stairs.
"Hey," Dean asks as he reaches the first floor and looks around, "where's Cas? Last I saw, he was down there with you."
"Yeah," Sam says, feeling weirdly hurt all over again. He pulls out a chair and sits down, ignoring the plate in favor of the glass of water. After a long drink, he continues, "Yeah, Cas was there. He, uh, let me out of the panic room."
And Sam still doesn't know how to react to that.
--
This is not a "My Bloody Valentine" fix-it fic. If there was such a thing as a "make it worse" fic, this might be it. Or it might not. I think you can decide.
--
Sam is exhausted by the time the demon blood finally gets out of his system. His voice is hoarse from cries he doesn't remember screaming, his fingers twitch when he doesn't concentrate on keeping them still, he's feeling an unfortunate combination of dehydrated, starving, and nauseous, and just about all of him hurts.
"Hey, guys?" he calls out, not knowing if anyone's there. His throat protests making that sound, but he tries again. "Guys? I think it might be out of my system." He waits for a response, but the only thing he can hear is his own heavy breathing.
Then, the heavy grinding sound of metal on metal. It goes on for what feels like forever, though Sam's pulse starts to thrum too loud in his ears for him to hear it.
He knows that sound. Something is opening the door.
It's not the sound of a person opening the door - he'd heard Bobby open the door earlier, and with human hands on the metal the sound is muffled. This sound is different, sharper somehow.
This is the thing that let him out last May.
His mind jumps to demons, same as it did then - though then he'd been vaguely grateful, not wary - but everything he knows about demons tells him it's not. The metal is iron, even if the demon isn't touching it directly, and how would a demon get into Bobby's house in the first place?
Sam stands up slowly, still achy, and wants for a weapon - nothing in particular, just something. He'd feel better with a gun in his hands than he does with his fists alone, especially in his current state.
The door swings open quietly, and Sam approaches, moving in the shadows of the room until he's right by the doorway. When nothing comes in, he takes a chance and looks out.
Castiel is standing there, one hand outstretched, staring at him with the most pained look that Sam has ever seen on his face.
Sam's breath catches in his throat.
The angel's hand falls to his side. "Sam." He only holds Sam's gaze for a few seconds before dropping his eyes to stare at the floor.
Castiel looks... guilty. Hoping that he's wrong, Sam asks, "Cas, you. Did you...?"
"Yes." Castiel's eyes flicker up to Sam's for a second before looking away again. "I'm sorry."
Sam sways, and leans back against the door frame, eyes fluttering shut. Great. Now everything hurts. He asks the only question he can think of. "Why?"
"My superiors..." Castiel falters. "That is, I was told to."
Sam huffs a tired laugh, his head hitting concrete with a dull thunk. "Right. Your bosses wanted Lilith dead as much as I did."
"I know it doesn't make it any better," Castiel starts, but pauses when another door opens. He looks up, at the underside of the staircase as heavy boots thud against the wood. Dean calls out, "Sam! You say something?"
Castiel looks at Sam, the guilt back in his expression, and whispers, "Please, don't." Sam only has time to be wonder at how wounded he sounds before the angel vanishes, and then he doesn't have any time to wonder about that before Dean is in front of him. His brother looks him over with a concerned frown.
"You alright, Sam?" he asks, then amends the question. "Er, relatively alright?"
Sam shrugs. "I guess? I don't feel all that great, and I really need a drink. Of water," he adds before Dean can comment. "But definitely better."
Dean's shoulders slump, and he smiles. "Good." He gestures upstairs, saying, "Bobby made you a plate, if you're up for it."
Sam pushes away from the wall and is surprised to find he doesn't sway. Much. "Uh, sure. I think I could get something down." With careful steps, he follows Dean up the stairs.
"Hey," Dean asks as he reaches the first floor and looks around, "where's Cas? Last I saw, he was down there with you."
"Yeah," Sam says, feeling weirdly hurt all over again. He pulls out a chair and sits down, ignoring the plate in favor of the glass of water. After a long drink, he continues, "Yeah, Cas was there. He, uh, let me out of the panic room."
And Sam still doesn't know how to react to that.
--