[SPN Fic]: Third Time's The Charm - T - 1/1
A/N: _bluebells, stop being so wonderful and distracting, lady! JK, ILU! ♥ Written for bree_black on The Other Guys Prompt Meme (for rare!pairs and characters). Check it out! :)
Title: Third Time's The Charm
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Supernatural. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
Warnings: T some creepiness and many spoilers for the season 6 finale.
Other Notes: ~1k. Castiel/Adam. Slight Dean/Castiel, possibly of the unrequited sort, if you prefer to see it that way.
Summary: Sam and Dean refused to obey Castiel, so he decides to give the other Winchester a try.
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Third Time's The Charm
-
“Bow down and profess your love unto me, your new Lord,” Castiel said, regarding the Winchesters and their father-figure with a detachment he didn't truly feel, his blue eyes straying occasionally to meet Sam or Bobby's, but always returning to Dean.
Dean, who had called him a brother, but always looked down on him, on his sacrifice, no matter what Castiel did; Dean, whose eyes had been filled with hurt before, when Sam had tried and failed to kill the former angel, but who now stared back at him levelly, a steely determination mixing in with his mourning.
It was a look Castiel recognized, reminiscent of when Sam had been working with Ruby, and the core of his grace, buried deep within the souls of Purgatory's monsters, swelled with elation. The eldest Winchester hadn't lied to him, in the end, if he considered him worthy of such an expression.
It was almost enough for the new god to retract his earlier statement, the I have no family that had broken Dean's heart, but then the hunter shook his head, biting out a, “No, I'm sorry, Cas, but that ain't happening,” with his brother and Bobby standing tall behind him, and the monster souls whirred too angrily for Castiel to see reason.
He had to get out of here, he knew, or he'd smite them without pause. A snap of his fingers and they'd be decimated into infinitesimal particles, in worse shape than Dean had been when Castiel had first raised him and recreated his body. If he breathed deeply, he could still smell the metallic scent of vessel blood and scattered grace, his fallen older brother, and the last thing he wanted was for it to grow more pungent.
“Fine,” he growled, an undercurrent of something terrifying deepening his already low baritone. Sam shivered in response, catching his eye, the motion imperceptible to all but him, and suddenly Castiel had an idea. He left the Winchesters behind in a howl of feral souls, the beat of his clipped wings muffled by their dissonance.
“W-where's he goin'?” Bobby asked after a moment, his gruff, familiar voice carried on the wind of Castiel's flight, but he didn't care to hear the answer. He'd deal with them - and other pests, such as Crowley - later. Even new gods needed allies, after all, and that seemed more pressing a matter to attend to.
Over a sullen, gray graveyard, Castiel paused, slowly lowering himself till the soles of Jimmy Novak's dress shoes hit the dirt-packed earth. Stull Cemetery. He could easily recall that day, nearly two years ago, when he'd stood in this exact spot, helpless, powerless, without his grace. He could hardly believe how the world had tilted on its axis, between then and now.
When he'd raised Sam's body, a week hence, he hadn't even had the strength, restored powers or not, to bring the giant man's soul with him. This time, Castiel eyes swept up to the sky, daring for intervention, before he reached out his outstretched hands.
It was all too simple, even without the Horsemen's Rings, to brush away the invisible barrier that separated Earth from Hell, but pulling out a soul, especially one that shrunk back in fear from him, was considerably more difficult. Of all the forces opposing him, the only ones even slightly to be reckoned with were the wrathful archangels battling around and for the wispy creature.
Despite that, all it took to keep them at bay was a wan display of his new-found might, forcing their grace back at once, which granted him all the access he needed. Before they could decide to attempt foolhardy bravery once more, Castiel closed his fist around the flimsy human soul, ignorant to its feeble protests, and raised it back out, quickly tucking it into his mouth.
It beat against Jimmy Novak's teeth desperately and he flinched at the sour taste, almost bloody from being torn apart and patched back together repeatedly, without care, but he couldn't swallow - its monster brethren would devour it as soon as it slipped down his throat.
The body was already gone, its ashes spread across the earth of the cage time and again, and if he'd left the soul for another few months, it would have been lost, too, forever. Back when he had created a vessel for Dean, his fingers had fumbled, clumsy with inexperience, but though he had to, using an idiom the eldest Winchester might, build one from scratch now, it was much simpler this time around. The dirt he cradled in his palms molded easily into a familiar shape, requiring only to be attached at the limbs like puzzle pieces as he knelt before his sculpture.
When that was done, Castiel closed his eyes and ran his palm over the still form, giving it some semblance of life again, the pale cheeks flushing red, the fair eyelashes batting sleepily, as if the boy merely dreamed, his pink lips opening in a tiny 'o' to breathe in untainted air for the first time in two centuries.
For a moment, the former angel stopped to watch him, his fingertips tracing over minute freckles, so much like Dean's, and running into his hairline, not quite as shaggy as Sam's. Inside him, the soul stilled, exhausted even in its truest form, vibrating almost sensually beneath the ridged roof of his mouth, and Castiel sighed air out of his nostrils, then bent to capture the body's slack lips, transferring the ethereal ball of light past them with a deft push of his tongue.
He pulled away when bleary eyes, much lighter than the electric blue of his own vessel, shot open, the body first seizing in shock, then breaking out into choked gasps for air.
“Shh,” Castiel began, inexplicably tender as he brushed back sweaty hair from the boy's forehead, catching a stray tear on the pad of one fingertip. “You are safe now, Adam Milligan.”
Wide eyes roved to him, brimming with so much agony, and a tremulous, long-unused voice inquired, “W-who are you?” He wasn't of the right mind to recognize him and that was fine.
Castiel smiled gently. “I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.”
“O-oh,” Adam murmured, too disoriented to be characteristically paranoid, as he leaned into the former angel's soothing touch, sighing contentedly at the healing waves that pulsed through slim fingers to beat back against his pain. Before long, his eyelashes fluttered shut and his breaths slowed.
Castiel's gaze drifted up to the Heavens again. Next time, the Winchesters wouldn't dare reject him - wouldn't attempt to extract his war-machine of souls from him - because, without him, Adam would literally fall apart.
They wouldn't risk that. After all, wasn't family everything?
-
And So the New God Acquired a New Disciple (Or Something)...
-
A/N: Back to slaving over the big bang, lovelies. I'm just happy to be whoring Adam out to a bunch of angels (or anyone). Anyone else want any angel/Adam fics? Either way, much love. Hope you liked this. ♥
Title: Third Time's The Charm
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Supernatural. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
Warnings: T some creepiness and many spoilers for the season 6 finale.
Other Notes: ~1k. Castiel/Adam. Slight Dean/Castiel, possibly of the unrequited sort, if you prefer to see it that way.
Summary: Sam and Dean refused to obey Castiel, so he decides to give the other Winchester a try.
-
Third Time's The Charm
-
“Bow down and profess your love unto me, your new Lord,” Castiel said, regarding the Winchesters and their father-figure with a detachment he didn't truly feel, his blue eyes straying occasionally to meet Sam or Bobby's, but always returning to Dean.
Dean, who had called him a brother, but always looked down on him, on his sacrifice, no matter what Castiel did; Dean, whose eyes had been filled with hurt before, when Sam had tried and failed to kill the former angel, but who now stared back at him levelly, a steely determination mixing in with his mourning.
It was a look Castiel recognized, reminiscent of when Sam had been working with Ruby, and the core of his grace, buried deep within the souls of Purgatory's monsters, swelled with elation. The eldest Winchester hadn't lied to him, in the end, if he considered him worthy of such an expression.
It was almost enough for the new god to retract his earlier statement, the I have no family that had broken Dean's heart, but then the hunter shook his head, biting out a, “No, I'm sorry, Cas, but that ain't happening,” with his brother and Bobby standing tall behind him, and the monster souls whirred too angrily for Castiel to see reason.
He had to get out of here, he knew, or he'd smite them without pause. A snap of his fingers and they'd be decimated into infinitesimal particles, in worse shape than Dean had been when Castiel had first raised him and recreated his body. If he breathed deeply, he could still smell the metallic scent of vessel blood and scattered grace, his fallen older brother, and the last thing he wanted was for it to grow more pungent.
“Fine,” he growled, an undercurrent of something terrifying deepening his already low baritone. Sam shivered in response, catching his eye, the motion imperceptible to all but him, and suddenly Castiel had an idea. He left the Winchesters behind in a howl of feral souls, the beat of his clipped wings muffled by their dissonance.
“W-where's he goin'?” Bobby asked after a moment, his gruff, familiar voice carried on the wind of Castiel's flight, but he didn't care to hear the answer. He'd deal with them - and other pests, such as Crowley - later. Even new gods needed allies, after all, and that seemed more pressing a matter to attend to.
Over a sullen, gray graveyard, Castiel paused, slowly lowering himself till the soles of Jimmy Novak's dress shoes hit the dirt-packed earth. Stull Cemetery. He could easily recall that day, nearly two years ago, when he'd stood in this exact spot, helpless, powerless, without his grace. He could hardly believe how the world had tilted on its axis, between then and now.
When he'd raised Sam's body, a week hence, he hadn't even had the strength, restored powers or not, to bring the giant man's soul with him. This time, Castiel eyes swept up to the sky, daring for intervention, before he reached out his outstretched hands.
It was all too simple, even without the Horsemen's Rings, to brush away the invisible barrier that separated Earth from Hell, but pulling out a soul, especially one that shrunk back in fear from him, was considerably more difficult. Of all the forces opposing him, the only ones even slightly to be reckoned with were the wrathful archangels battling around and for the wispy creature.
Despite that, all it took to keep them at bay was a wan display of his new-found might, forcing their grace back at once, which granted him all the access he needed. Before they could decide to attempt foolhardy bravery once more, Castiel closed his fist around the flimsy human soul, ignorant to its feeble protests, and raised it back out, quickly tucking it into his mouth.
It beat against Jimmy Novak's teeth desperately and he flinched at the sour taste, almost bloody from being torn apart and patched back together repeatedly, without care, but he couldn't swallow - its monster brethren would devour it as soon as it slipped down his throat.
The body was already gone, its ashes spread across the earth of the cage time and again, and if he'd left the soul for another few months, it would have been lost, too, forever. Back when he had created a vessel for Dean, his fingers had fumbled, clumsy with inexperience, but though he had to, using an idiom the eldest Winchester might, build one from scratch now, it was much simpler this time around. The dirt he cradled in his palms molded easily into a familiar shape, requiring only to be attached at the limbs like puzzle pieces as he knelt before his sculpture.
When that was done, Castiel closed his eyes and ran his palm over the still form, giving it some semblance of life again, the pale cheeks flushing red, the fair eyelashes batting sleepily, as if the boy merely dreamed, his pink lips opening in a tiny 'o' to breathe in untainted air for the first time in two centuries.
For a moment, the former angel stopped to watch him, his fingertips tracing over minute freckles, so much like Dean's, and running into his hairline, not quite as shaggy as Sam's. Inside him, the soul stilled, exhausted even in its truest form, vibrating almost sensually beneath the ridged roof of his mouth, and Castiel sighed air out of his nostrils, then bent to capture the body's slack lips, transferring the ethereal ball of light past them with a deft push of his tongue.
He pulled away when bleary eyes, much lighter than the electric blue of his own vessel, shot open, the body first seizing in shock, then breaking out into choked gasps for air.
“Shh,” Castiel began, inexplicably tender as he brushed back sweaty hair from the boy's forehead, catching a stray tear on the pad of one fingertip. “You are safe now, Adam Milligan.”
Wide eyes roved to him, brimming with so much agony, and a tremulous, long-unused voice inquired, “W-who are you?” He wasn't of the right mind to recognize him and that was fine.
Castiel smiled gently. “I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.”
“O-oh,” Adam murmured, too disoriented to be characteristically paranoid, as he leaned into the former angel's soothing touch, sighing contentedly at the healing waves that pulsed through slim fingers to beat back against his pain. Before long, his eyelashes fluttered shut and his breaths slowed.
Castiel's gaze drifted up to the Heavens again. Next time, the Winchesters wouldn't dare reject him - wouldn't attempt to extract his war-machine of souls from him - because, without him, Adam would literally fall apart.
They wouldn't risk that. After all, wasn't family everything?
-
And So the New God Acquired a New Disciple (Or Something)...
-
A/N: Back to slaving over the big bang, lovelies. I'm just happy to be whoring Adam out to a bunch of angels (or anyone). Anyone else want any angel/Adam fics? Either way, much love. Hope you liked this. ♥