bentrumors
in
mmom
Day 21: Supernatural (Dean/Castiel) "Not With That Hand You Won't"
Title: Not With That Hand You Won't
Author: SM
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Word Count: 1157
Warnings: apocalypse fic, h/c
Spoilers: season 4
Disclaimer: Not for profit, just for fun
Summary: "Dean won’t help you if you kill Castiel. You know that, right? He’ll let the world burn forever."
One minute Dean is kicking demon ass and the next he is standing in a small bedroom with fading pink flower wallpaper. He’s been yanked to the abandoned farmhouse they use as one of their safehouses and Castiel appears in front of him holding his throat. The front of his shirt is soaked in blood and Dean sees silvery threads of light oozing out between his fingers before he crumples to the floor beside the bed, his head hitting the iron frame with a dull twang.
Dean drops to his knees by Castiel’s side, covering the stab wound in the notch of his collarbone while he tries to get the tie and shirt collar out of the way. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on, Cas, stay with me.”
Castiel just stares blankly.
Everything’s slick with blood so Dean yanks and rips Castiel’s clothes away, revealing the ugly red handprints burned onto his chest. Angels held Cas down and deliberately carved a neat little hole in his throat to watch his vessel and true form slowly bleed out together.
“Tell me who did this,” Dean snarls low in Castiel’s ear, cursing every other winged motherfucker that he’s ever met. “I will rip their fucking throats out myself.”
All the things he can think of as retribution briefly skitter through his mind like cockroaches but the icy tendrils still seeping through his fingers are enough light to drive them away again. Dean clumps Castiel’s tie up and presses it to the wound, digging his thumb in to plug the hole.
He doesn’t even know if Cas is still in there.
“Are you listening to me, Cas? Don’t do this. Do not do this to me. I will kill you if you die on me now.”
Castiel finally blinks and Dean grabs his chin to look into his eyes, looking for a sign. “Cas? Come on, come on. Come back, you son of a bitch.”
A hand covers his over the wound and a chill runs through Dean. He fears it’s Jimmy looking back and he prays--
--the irony nearly chokes him when he realizes-
--prays it’s not.
“Dean,” the man says, the way only Cas does.
“Yeah.” Guilt gnaws at Dean and he knows he’s a bastard but he’ll never be sorry. He sets his forehead on Castiel’s, eyes burning and throat tight. “Yeah, I’m right here. Fuck, Cas.”
“Thank you,” Castiel says against Dean’s lips.
Dean’s laugh is rusty from disuse. “You’re welcome.” His fingers loosen on Castiel’s jaw, coaxing with light strokes until he opens his mouth for Dean to sweep his tongue inside hungrily.
Dean tastes the iron tang of blood first but eventually there’s the strange cotton candy sweetness that’s uniquely Cas.
Castiel’s eyes are a little glazed when Dean finally pulls back and he’s torn between smug and concerned. Dean lifts the bloody tie to peek underneath. The bleeding has stopped and the white light is sort of congealed in the still open wound.
“Are you going to be okay now?” Dean asks, probing gently. “Can you heal yourself or do I need to put a couple of stitches in that? A little nip tuck and you’ll be good as new.”
Castiel’s eyes are wide open again, staring at the ceiling.
“Cas?”
***
Chuck wakes up gasping, hand to his throat, blinking away the vision of charred angel wings on pink flower wallpaper.
“Tell me what you saw.”
Zachariah is standing over him, holding a glass of whiskey. Chuck levers himself up to a sitting position, the worn couch springs groaning under him, and snatches the glass from Zachariah before he takes it away again. He tosses it back and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his robe before lying back down and staring at the ceiling. He can’t help rubbing his neck again.
“He’s dying,” Zachariah says. “Slowly. Painfully. Tell me where he is and I will put him out of his misery.”
Chuck squeezes the empty glass. “You stabbed him.”
“Yes, and I let him go so he could say good-bye to Dean.”
“You let him go to torture them both.”
“They disobeyed heaven,” he says flatly. “Now it is time to finally end this. Where are they?”
“Dean won’t help you if you kill Castiel. You know that, right? He’ll let the world burn forever.”
Zachariah gives him a smarmy smile that makes Chuck’s skin crawl. “Let me worry about Dean.”
Chuck closes his eyes and gives him the address to the farmhouse.
“Is it correct this time?” Zachariah asks sharply.
“Yes.”
He can feel Zachariah glaring down at him.
Chuck looks back at him and shrugs. “What? My editor is dead; she would’ve caught the typo eventually.” He blinks at his empty glass. “My fans are dead,” he says morosely, dropping the glass on the floor and just reaching for the bottle Zachariah is still holding. “All the hookers are dead.”
The bottle disappears from Zachariah's hand and he flourishes his empty fingers like a magic trick. Chuck really hates him. “You deliver Castiel this time and you can have all the booze and hookers you want.”
Chuck gives him the finger, hidden inside the folds of his robe, and closes his eyes again. He hears the flap of wings and pries one eye open to confirm he's alone.
"Sucker," he breathes to the empty room and goes to type up the latest chapter.
Cas?”
Castiel’s eyes are wide open again, staring at the ceiling, and Dean panics for a second before he notices Castiel’s mouth is also open a little, like a surprised ‘o’ - if Cas actually had facial expressions. This is what Dean calls Castiel’s mud monkey face, all his intense focus turned inward because he wants to feel a human experience, like Dean’s dick in his ass. Or Dean’s fingers on his throat.
Dean spreads his fingers wide and squeezes a little, leering when Castiel’s mouth drops open further with a soft gasp. “I knew you were a kinky fucker,” Dean says, nipping Castiel’s lower lip.
Castiel slams his hand on Dean’s chest and the air between them changes, every hair on Dean’s body standing on end. Suddenly Dean’s on his back on the bed and the blood and clothes are gone. He sees Castiel’s vessel is healed before there’s a flash of the angel’s true form hovering over him.
“Aw, fuck,” Dean gasps, closing his burning eyes and fisting the sheets when feathers stroke his dick. “That's cheating, asshole!"
Chuck decides to take a break and flops back on the couch, shoving his hand in his shorts to jerk off. He forces his thoughts away from Dean and Castiel (he's not gay) and focuses his memories of the last hooker Zachariah gave him, all smooth chocolate skin and big, big titties.
(It's just a coincidence that she's got wings when he comes.)
Maybe Cas can conjure her up again after he kills Zachariah.
Author: SM
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Word Count: 1157
Warnings: apocalypse fic, h/c
Spoilers: season 4
Disclaimer: Not for profit, just for fun
Summary: "Dean won’t help you if you kill Castiel. You know that, right? He’ll let the world burn forever."
One minute Dean is kicking demon ass and the next he is standing in a small bedroom with fading pink flower wallpaper. He’s been yanked to the abandoned farmhouse they use as one of their safehouses and Castiel appears in front of him holding his throat. The front of his shirt is soaked in blood and Dean sees silvery threads of light oozing out between his fingers before he crumples to the floor beside the bed, his head hitting the iron frame with a dull twang.
Dean drops to his knees by Castiel’s side, covering the stab wound in the notch of his collarbone while he tries to get the tie and shirt collar out of the way. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on, Cas, stay with me.”
Castiel just stares blankly.
Everything’s slick with blood so Dean yanks and rips Castiel’s clothes away, revealing the ugly red handprints burned onto his chest. Angels held Cas down and deliberately carved a neat little hole in his throat to watch his vessel and true form slowly bleed out together.
“Tell me who did this,” Dean snarls low in Castiel’s ear, cursing every other winged motherfucker that he’s ever met. “I will rip their fucking throats out myself.”
All the things he can think of as retribution briefly skitter through his mind like cockroaches but the icy tendrils still seeping through his fingers are enough light to drive them away again. Dean clumps Castiel’s tie up and presses it to the wound, digging his thumb in to plug the hole.
He doesn’t even know if Cas is still in there.
“Are you listening to me, Cas? Don’t do this. Do not do this to me. I will kill you if you die on me now.”
Castiel finally blinks and Dean grabs his chin to look into his eyes, looking for a sign. “Cas? Come on, come on. Come back, you son of a bitch.”
A hand covers his over the wound and a chill runs through Dean. He fears it’s Jimmy looking back and he prays--
--the irony nearly chokes him when he realizes-
--prays it’s not.
“Dean,” the man says, the way only Cas does.
“Yeah.” Guilt gnaws at Dean and he knows he’s a bastard but he’ll never be sorry. He sets his forehead on Castiel’s, eyes burning and throat tight. “Yeah, I’m right here. Fuck, Cas.”
“Thank you,” Castiel says against Dean’s lips.
Dean’s laugh is rusty from disuse. “You’re welcome.” His fingers loosen on Castiel’s jaw, coaxing with light strokes until he opens his mouth for Dean to sweep his tongue inside hungrily.
Dean tastes the iron tang of blood first but eventually there’s the strange cotton candy sweetness that’s uniquely Cas.
Castiel’s eyes are a little glazed when Dean finally pulls back and he’s torn between smug and concerned. Dean lifts the bloody tie to peek underneath. The bleeding has stopped and the white light is sort of congealed in the still open wound.
“Are you going to be okay now?” Dean asks, probing gently. “Can you heal yourself or do I need to put a couple of stitches in that? A little nip tuck and you’ll be good as new.”
Castiel’s eyes are wide open again, staring at the ceiling.
“Cas?”
***
Chuck wakes up gasping, hand to his throat, blinking away the vision of charred angel wings on pink flower wallpaper.
“Tell me what you saw.”
Zachariah is standing over him, holding a glass of whiskey. Chuck levers himself up to a sitting position, the worn couch springs groaning under him, and snatches the glass from Zachariah before he takes it away again. He tosses it back and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his robe before lying back down and staring at the ceiling. He can’t help rubbing his neck again.
“He’s dying,” Zachariah says. “Slowly. Painfully. Tell me where he is and I will put him out of his misery.”
Chuck squeezes the empty glass. “You stabbed him.”
“Yes, and I let him go so he could say good-bye to Dean.”
“You let him go to torture them both.”
“They disobeyed heaven,” he says flatly. “Now it is time to finally end this. Where are they?”
“Dean won’t help you if you kill Castiel. You know that, right? He’ll let the world burn forever.”
Zachariah gives him a smarmy smile that makes Chuck’s skin crawl. “Let me worry about Dean.”
Chuck closes his eyes and gives him the address to the farmhouse.
“Is it correct this time?” Zachariah asks sharply.
“Yes.”
He can feel Zachariah glaring down at him.
Chuck looks back at him and shrugs. “What? My editor is dead; she would’ve caught the typo eventually.” He blinks at his empty glass. “My fans are dead,” he says morosely, dropping the glass on the floor and just reaching for the bottle Zachariah is still holding. “All the hookers are dead.”
The bottle disappears from Zachariah's hand and he flourishes his empty fingers like a magic trick. Chuck really hates him. “You deliver Castiel this time and you can have all the booze and hookers you want.”
Chuck gives him the finger, hidden inside the folds of his robe, and closes his eyes again. He hears the flap of wings and pries one eye open to confirm he's alone.
"Sucker," he breathes to the empty room and goes to type up the latest chapter.
Cas?”
Castiel’s eyes are wide open again, staring at the ceiling, and Dean panics for a second before he notices Castiel’s mouth is also open a little, like a surprised ‘o’ - if Cas actually had facial expressions. This is what Dean calls Castiel’s mud monkey face, all his intense focus turned inward because he wants to feel a human experience, like Dean’s dick in his ass. Or Dean’s fingers on his throat.
Dean spreads his fingers wide and squeezes a little, leering when Castiel’s mouth drops open further with a soft gasp. “I knew you were a kinky fucker,” Dean says, nipping Castiel’s lower lip.
Castiel slams his hand on Dean’s chest and the air between them changes, every hair on Dean’s body standing on end. Suddenly Dean’s on his back on the bed and the blood and clothes are gone. He sees Castiel’s vessel is healed before there’s a flash of the angel’s true form hovering over him.
“Aw, fuck,” Dean gasps, closing his burning eyes and fisting the sheets when feathers stroke his dick. “That's cheating, asshole!"
Chuck decides to take a break and flops back on the couch, shoving his hand in his shorts to jerk off. He forces his thoughts away from Dean and Castiel (he's not gay) and focuses his memories of the last hooker Zachariah gave him, all smooth chocolate skin and big, big titties.
(It's just a coincidence that she's got wings when he comes.)
Maybe Cas can conjure her up again after he kills Zachariah.