Title: Real Pairing: Sam/Cas Genre: Hurt/comfort, romance Spoilers: Slight, for early Season 9. AU-ish. Rating: Soft R, for mild sexytimes and some scary/gory imagery
Cas knew the images weren’t real. There was a part of his now-human brain that understood what a nightmare was, and that he was having one.
He had heard of them, and had seen Sam and Dean experience them. If anyone had a life that would lead to nightmares, it was those two. He had respected their privacy, and had never invaded their dreamspace to see what the nightmares actually were, what images had caused Sam to shout himself awake, had caused Dean to grope under his pillow for his gun, standing and aiming before he was even fully awake. After all, they had cause. Sometimes the monsters were there when they woke.
But Cas did not dream of monsters. He did not even dream of other angels, of God, or Lucifer, or the apocalypse. The figure of his nightmares was himself.
Cas stood, cold-eyed, before himself, and in his hands was a bloodied knife. All the souls of purgatory had been trapped in Dean’s body, and he needed them to take back Heaven and defeat Raphael, so his shadow-self had ripped Dean from throat to navel to get to them. He now turned to Cas, the Cas who was dreaming, and took the knife, scarlet and dripping with Dean’s blood, to tear Cas open and pour the souls inside… the Leviathan, the monsters, and Cas would be taken, would be that dark and hideous god that had already killed Dean, and would kill Sam, and eat children and breathe death and bathe the world in blood…
But Sam was dead, too, consigned to the cage with Lucifer and writhing in torment, torment Cas had brought upon him, because he tore the wall down, and he tore it down again, and again, and Sam fell into flames, screaming his name, an Dean stared up at him from the floor, dead by his hand, eviscerated, splattered with gore, and all the accusations of the world in his blank green eyes, all the agony of hell and terror of purgatory and it was Cas’s fault, all his fault, but he would not stop, would not turn back, could not stop his own murderous grace… Please, Sam. Dean! Please. Let me stop. Please make me stop…
Pairing: Sam/Cas
Genre: Hurt/comfort, romance
Spoilers: Slight, for early Season 9. AU-ish.
Rating: Soft R, for mild sexytimes and some scary/gory imagery
Cas knew the images weren’t real. There was a part of his now-human brain that understood what a nightmare was, and that he was having one.
He had heard of them, and had seen Sam and Dean experience them. If anyone had a life that would lead to nightmares, it was those two. He had respected their privacy, and had never invaded their dreamspace to see what the nightmares actually were, what images had caused Sam to shout himself awake, had caused Dean to grope under his pillow for his gun, standing and aiming before he was even fully awake. After all, they had cause. Sometimes the monsters were there when they woke.
But Cas did not dream of monsters. He did not even dream of other angels, of God, or Lucifer, or the apocalypse. The figure of his nightmares was himself.
Cas stood, cold-eyed, before himself, and in his hands was a bloodied knife. All the souls of purgatory had been trapped in Dean’s body, and he needed them to take back Heaven and defeat Raphael, so his shadow-self had ripped Dean from throat to navel to get to them. He now turned to Cas, the Cas who was dreaming, and took the knife, scarlet and dripping with Dean’s blood, to tear Cas open and pour the souls inside… the Leviathan, the monsters, and Cas would be taken, would be that dark and hideous god that had already killed Dean, and would kill Sam, and eat children and breathe death and bathe the world in blood…
But Sam was dead, too, consigned to the cage with Lucifer and writhing in torment, torment Cas had brought upon him, because he tore the wall down, and he tore it down again, and again, and Sam fell into flames, screaming his name, an Dean stared up at him from the floor, dead by his hand, eviscerated, splattered with gore, and all the accusations of the world in his blank green eyes, all the agony of hell and terror of purgatory and it was Cas’s fault, all his fault, but he would not stop, would not turn back, could not stop his own murderous grace…
Please, Sam. Dean! Please. Let me stop. Please make me stop…
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