[fic post] Pieces of Angel
Title: Pieces of Angel
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/Humor/Pre-slash
Pairings or Characters: Dean/Cas, Sam
Warnings: spoilers for 6.11, character "death"
Word Count: 1260
Summary: "Cas marked me? He actually left some of himself inside me?"
Author Notes: Originally posted on tumblr. Written after stumbling upon a conversation over on boazpriestly's tumblr that Cas, having possibly left some of his grace in the mark he left on Dean, could use Dean as a horcrux. This is not a HP crossover, but more of a silly blending of concepts, I guess. Intended to be a one shot (because I am lazy), possibly being turned into a series.
Pieces of Angel
Dean can't count the number of times he and his brother have died and come back from the dead. It's freaky, really. They're like high-functioning zombies, which, hey, awesome, but it also comes with the guilt of knowing that while they come back, no one else can. To be the exception to the one infallible rule that everyone rallies against is a weight that is so heavy, Dean is amazed he hasn't broken completely, even if he can feel the cracks getting bigger every day.
But he forgets -- takes for granted, really -- that Cas has come back, too. Spared by God, at least Cas insists so, he has been blown up (repeatedly), only to return whole and new with his angel mojo in tact.
So when they fight a demon that has stolen a heavenly artifact and doesn't want to die or go back to the pit, and just so happens to know a "turn an angel into splodey bits" spell thanks to said artifact, Dean gets the opportunity to watch Castiel disintegrate. It stuns him for all of five seconds before he tackles the damned bastard into the devil trap he'd finished moments before. Sam tells him to kill it and be done with it, but Dean spends hours slowly torturing the demon to death.
"Overkill much?" Sam, newly returned soul and all, asks with a concerned eyebrow raise. He picks up the tome and holds it carefully, like it might explode and end him painfully if he so much as breathes on it wrong.
"Shut up," Dean spits, leaving the carcass in the devil trap as he pushes onto his feet, cracking his knuckles, covered in salt and crusty blood.
"Think... Think Cas is okay?" Sam asks slowly.
"He'll be fine," Dean says, because Cas always comes back. Always. Sam gives him a look that clearly says 'If you really believed that, you wouldn't have tortured that demon,' but he keeps quiet, following Dean back to the Impala.
They drive back to the hotel in silence.
~
It's three in the morning, according to the blurry red numbers of the room's alarm clock, when Dean wakes up with a dull pain in his arm. He grumbles and rubs at it, rolling over. He and Sam hadn't been all that roughed up when they ran into the demon. It was Cas that did most of the fighting most of the time, just like today -- Dean sometimes complained about this, but Cas would just invite him to fight him about it, and Dean grumpily backed down, not needing a set of broken fingers.
The pain is steadily sharpening as he tries to remember if the demon had cursed him or stabbed him or if he'd aggravated an old injury or something, but it suddenly gets so sharp that he lets out a hiss and has to bite onto his pillow to keep from crying out. He leaps out of bed and stumbles through the dark for the bathroom, reaching out with his right hand for a light switch as he closes the door with his foot.
The dingy bathroom lights up as he finally finds the switch and he tugs off his shirt and tries to focus his eyes on his reflection in the mirror. He grimaces and bites down on his tongue as another wave of sharp, clear pain hits him, grunting as it dulls again. He's more awake now as he takes in his own reflection, and his eyes are immediately attracted to a bright, bumpy red thing on his left arm. He turns to get a clearer look at it and his eyes widen before he trips over himself, falling backwards into the opposite wall.
"Holy fuck what."
The mark -- Castiel's mark -- is burning a deep red and he realizes that it's actively gripping him. Dean rarely thinks about the handprint anymore, because it had long faded into his skin, just another scar, albeit an unusual one. It had never pulsed or hurt like this, and he winces as he watches the finger marks move on his skin, as if Castiel's hand was on him, tightening around his arm.
"Uh, Sam? Sammy?" Dean starts, slowly walking out of the bathroom, hitting whatever lights he can find as he goes. He reaches Sam's bed and shakes at his brother's shoulder, receiving an angry groan in return.
"What Dean?" Sam grunts, voice hoarse from sleep.
"Dude, sit up and look at this. It's-- It's goddamn moving."
"What's moving? Dean, it's three AM," Sam adds, clearly not understanding why Dean would have any reason to interrupt the few precious hours of sleep they got.
"My-- Cas's thing. Hand print. It's a scar but it's, it's like Cas is grabbing me right now, I don't--"
And as he says it, the fingers move and another surge of pain rocks through him. Sam is immediately alert and sits up as Dean gasps in pain, folding over as he sits on the edge of Sam's bed.
"Dean, dude, it's-- your scar is moving!"
"Thanks for the update," Dean bites out as the pain fades again. "Do we have any clue why?"
Sam stares at the mark, then at Dean, then back at the mark before shoving at his blankets and heading for their bags.
"Are you kidding me. Are you doing research right now?" Dean deadpans.
"Would you rather we let it remain a mystery until the pain kills you or something?" Sam retorts, not even bothering to look up, and Dean realizes he should shut up and let Sam do his thing.
The pain goes away as Sam searches, and Dean wonders if it was just a sign to get him to talk to Sam. If it was, he thinks whoever's behind it should come up with a less painful (and less obnoxious) way to get his attention. Preferably not at three in the morning next time, either. After ten minutes of silence with the exception of Sam's typing, Sam closes his laptop and lets out a sigh.
"So? Anything?"
"There's a lot of lore on angels, but there's not a lot on soul markings. I don't think anyone even knew that was possible--" Sam starts, eyebrows furrowing as he stares at his computer.
"Wait, what? Soul marking?"
"Yeah. Dean, that's what that hand print is. Cas marked you -- all of you -- when he pulled you out of hell. You didn't realize that?" Dean doesn't like the thought of being marked, but before he can bitch, Sam continues, "But I'm guessing that the mark comes from their grace. So, it's like, Cas's grace is inside you. A part of it, at least. And it apparently wants out. Or is summoning Cas or something, I really have no clue. There's no telling what it's actually doing, since no one but angels know about this stuff, and our angel is currently MIA."
Dean's jaw drops.
"Look on the bright side, though," Sam adds, "This means that Cas is alive."
Dean feels oddly lighter at the thought, as if some knot in his stomach finally untwisted. But he grimaces as he remembers to feel violated and pissed off.
"Cas marked me? He actually left some of himself inside me?"
Sam, the bastard, actually has the gall to laugh and looked highly amused.
"Yeah, he sure did. What's it feel like to have angel inside you?"
Dean grabs the alarm clock and tosses it at Sam's head.
"It fucking sucks, you asshole."
Well. This certainly complicated things.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/Humor/Pre-slash
Pairings or Characters: Dean/Cas, Sam
Warnings: spoilers for 6.11, character "death"
Word Count: 1260
Summary: "Cas marked me? He actually left some of himself inside me?"
Author Notes: Originally posted on tumblr. Written after stumbling upon a conversation over on boazpriestly's tumblr that Cas, having possibly left some of his grace in the mark he left on Dean, could use Dean as a horcrux. This is not a HP crossover, but more of a silly blending of concepts, I guess. Intended to be a one shot (because I am lazy), possibly being turned into a series.
Pieces of Angel
Dean can't count the number of times he and his brother have died and come back from the dead. It's freaky, really. They're like high-functioning zombies, which, hey, awesome, but it also comes with the guilt of knowing that while they come back, no one else can. To be the exception to the one infallible rule that everyone rallies against is a weight that is so heavy, Dean is amazed he hasn't broken completely, even if he can feel the cracks getting bigger every day.
But he forgets -- takes for granted, really -- that Cas has come back, too. Spared by God, at least Cas insists so, he has been blown up (repeatedly), only to return whole and new with his angel mojo in tact.
So when they fight a demon that has stolen a heavenly artifact and doesn't want to die or go back to the pit, and just so happens to know a "turn an angel into splodey bits" spell thanks to said artifact, Dean gets the opportunity to watch Castiel disintegrate. It stuns him for all of five seconds before he tackles the damned bastard into the devil trap he'd finished moments before. Sam tells him to kill it and be done with it, but Dean spends hours slowly torturing the demon to death.
"Overkill much?" Sam, newly returned soul and all, asks with a concerned eyebrow raise. He picks up the tome and holds it carefully, like it might explode and end him painfully if he so much as breathes on it wrong.
"Shut up," Dean spits, leaving the carcass in the devil trap as he pushes onto his feet, cracking his knuckles, covered in salt and crusty blood.
"Think... Think Cas is okay?" Sam asks slowly.
"He'll be fine," Dean says, because Cas always comes back. Always. Sam gives him a look that clearly says 'If you really believed that, you wouldn't have tortured that demon,' but he keeps quiet, following Dean back to the Impala.
They drive back to the hotel in silence.
~
It's three in the morning, according to the blurry red numbers of the room's alarm clock, when Dean wakes up with a dull pain in his arm. He grumbles and rubs at it, rolling over. He and Sam hadn't been all that roughed up when they ran into the demon. It was Cas that did most of the fighting most of the time, just like today -- Dean sometimes complained about this, but Cas would just invite him to fight him about it, and Dean grumpily backed down, not needing a set of broken fingers.
The pain is steadily sharpening as he tries to remember if the demon had cursed him or stabbed him or if he'd aggravated an old injury or something, but it suddenly gets so sharp that he lets out a hiss and has to bite onto his pillow to keep from crying out. He leaps out of bed and stumbles through the dark for the bathroom, reaching out with his right hand for a light switch as he closes the door with his foot.
The dingy bathroom lights up as he finally finds the switch and he tugs off his shirt and tries to focus his eyes on his reflection in the mirror. He grimaces and bites down on his tongue as another wave of sharp, clear pain hits him, grunting as it dulls again. He's more awake now as he takes in his own reflection, and his eyes are immediately attracted to a bright, bumpy red thing on his left arm. He turns to get a clearer look at it and his eyes widen before he trips over himself, falling backwards into the opposite wall.
"Holy fuck what."
The mark -- Castiel's mark -- is burning a deep red and he realizes that it's actively gripping him. Dean rarely thinks about the handprint anymore, because it had long faded into his skin, just another scar, albeit an unusual one. It had never pulsed or hurt like this, and he winces as he watches the finger marks move on his skin, as if Castiel's hand was on him, tightening around his arm.
"Uh, Sam? Sammy?" Dean starts, slowly walking out of the bathroom, hitting whatever lights he can find as he goes. He reaches Sam's bed and shakes at his brother's shoulder, receiving an angry groan in return.
"What Dean?" Sam grunts, voice hoarse from sleep.
"Dude, sit up and look at this. It's-- It's goddamn moving."
"What's moving? Dean, it's three AM," Sam adds, clearly not understanding why Dean would have any reason to interrupt the few precious hours of sleep they got.
"My-- Cas's thing. Hand print. It's a scar but it's, it's like Cas is grabbing me right now, I don't--"
And as he says it, the fingers move and another surge of pain rocks through him. Sam is immediately alert and sits up as Dean gasps in pain, folding over as he sits on the edge of Sam's bed.
"Dean, dude, it's-- your scar is moving!"
"Thanks for the update," Dean bites out as the pain fades again. "Do we have any clue why?"
Sam stares at the mark, then at Dean, then back at the mark before shoving at his blankets and heading for their bags.
"Are you kidding me. Are you doing research right now?" Dean deadpans.
"Would you rather we let it remain a mystery until the pain kills you or something?" Sam retorts, not even bothering to look up, and Dean realizes he should shut up and let Sam do his thing.
The pain goes away as Sam searches, and Dean wonders if it was just a sign to get him to talk to Sam. If it was, he thinks whoever's behind it should come up with a less painful (and less obnoxious) way to get his attention. Preferably not at three in the morning next time, either. After ten minutes of silence with the exception of Sam's typing, Sam closes his laptop and lets out a sigh.
"So? Anything?"
"There's a lot of lore on angels, but there's not a lot on soul markings. I don't think anyone even knew that was possible--" Sam starts, eyebrows furrowing as he stares at his computer.
"Wait, what? Soul marking?"
"Yeah. Dean, that's what that hand print is. Cas marked you -- all of you -- when he pulled you out of hell. You didn't realize that?" Dean doesn't like the thought of being marked, but before he can bitch, Sam continues, "But I'm guessing that the mark comes from their grace. So, it's like, Cas's grace is inside you. A part of it, at least. And it apparently wants out. Or is summoning Cas or something, I really have no clue. There's no telling what it's actually doing, since no one but angels know about this stuff, and our angel is currently MIA."
Dean's jaw drops.
"Look on the bright side, though," Sam adds, "This means that Cas is alive."
Dean feels oddly lighter at the thought, as if some knot in his stomach finally untwisted. But he grimaces as he remembers to feel violated and pissed off.
"Cas marked me? He actually left some of himself inside me?"
Sam, the bastard, actually has the gall to laugh and looked highly amused.
"Yeah, he sure did. What's it feel like to have angel inside you?"
Dean grabs the alarm clock and tosses it at Sam's head.
"It fucking sucks, you asshole."
Well. This certainly complicated things.