“You’re drunk on this power, brother,” Balthazar tells him, but there is no accusation in his eyes or tone; only excitement. “You’re stronger than ever before.”
And there - beyond the humour and jaded speech, lies naked devotion. Castiel considers, for the briefest of moments, sharing the sheer purity of power that Sam’s untainted soul gives him. After all, Balthazar has-has been loyal, has-no. No. Sam is his. Sam will... help him till he’s won the war, and Castiel is winning the war.
He is.
-
When Castiel next meets Dean, the hunter is holding his brother in his arms, crying. He’s seen Dean’s darkest despairs often enough to be able to recognise its taste in the air; it hangs now, thick and cloying and black. “Dean,” he says. “Sam’s-”
“Blind,” Dean finishes, red eyes snapping toward him with startling ferocity. “And not only that, he can’t hear or speak, either. And for a moment there, I wasn’t even sure if he was-” His breath hitches.
“Dean, I’m sorry,” Castiel says, and he means it. “If I could do something, you know I would.”
Dean nods, his jaw working. “Yeah. Yeah, I know you would, Cas. Except-” He glares at him. “I know you’re responsible for this.”
Castiel supposes he shouldn’t be surprised; self-recriminatory, perhaps, for having underestimated Dean Winchester, even after everything. “And why do you say that?”
Dean snorts. “You think I’m stupid, Cas? Every night I get a call from Bobby asking me on your behalf about where we are, Sam-Sam loses something the next morning.” He lays his brother gently back on the bed and walks toward Castiel slowly, deliberately. “I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve got on your plate, Cas, or how much you’ve helped us - you cannot do this to my brother.”
Dean’s fury is a wonder to behold. “Dean, even if I try to explain, you will not understand.”
“Understand?” Dean barks a bitter laugh. “I don’t think I need to understand.” And there - Castiel notes Dean’s hand slipping into his jacket pocket for his lighter, and realises he’s standing in a ring of holy fire. Faster than Dean can blink, he steps out, and with a flick of his hand, sends Dean hurtling to the opposite corner of the room. Dean impacts with wall-shaking force and slumps to the floor, unconscious.
He turns to Sam, who is shifting about helplessly on the bed, jaw working to form words he cannot articulate. Castiel can hear him, though: Sam’s whole conscious is now nothing but panic and helpless fury and DeanDeanDEAN-
Castiel places a hand on Sam’s chest. Past all the imperfections is what he really needs from Sam, and his hand plunges into the hunter’s chest - much easier now, like plunging his hand in still water.
In the room, Sam still waits in the chair. The face is blank, with no eyes or lips or ears; both legs are gone and only arm remains, but there is still so much it is scarcely believable. The gossamer thread connects them once again as Sam continues to unravel.
The metaphysics of this scenario are coherent and intuitive, on the science side of sci-fi-fantasy, as your magic stuff so often is. It makes it easy to understand exactly how twisted what Castiel does is.
Creepy. Wow. Creepy. The creepiest thing is, the way Cas acts this season, I can almost see it. Ow. What's really getting to me is how Sam doesn't have a chance at all. I think this'll stay with me for a while.
Castiel being as enigmatic as he is this season, I can actually see a milder version fitting into canon. Show is making out Cas's journey this season to be akin to Sam's in s4. Except - Castiel has an even greater capacity for single-mindedness, and much more power at his disposal. Not to mention two Winchesters who are completely oblivious and pulling him around. What can he be truly capable of?
Thank you so much for the prompt and the comment! :D
Yay, thank you! Show will probably not go this far, but I had immense fun prodding Cas down this path. The scariest thing, perhaps, is that the reasoning behind this scenario fits in with how Castiel's thinking/behaving this season.
Whoa, that is INSANE, and kind of creepy. Niiiice fill:)
Also, this part made me randomly happy:P “So, I’m thinking,” Dean says, “if this Mother chick is really creating these new monsters, we’re better off sticking to the hunt, y’know?” He stretches, pops his joints. “Sitting here with these books any longer is going to give us allergies, not answers.”
“Dean, you either have allergies or you don’t,” Sam says, frowning over a dusty tome. He’s kneading his left hand furiously, the muscles around his eyes twitching. “We’ve found so much; what’s to say there isn’t more?”
And there - beyond the humour and jaded speech, lies naked devotion. Castiel considers, for the briefest of moments, sharing the sheer purity of power that Sam’s untainted soul gives him. After all, Balthazar has-has been loyal, has-no. No. Sam is his. Sam will... help him till he’s won the war, and Castiel is winning the war.
He is.
-
When Castiel next meets Dean, the hunter is holding his brother in his arms, crying. He’s seen Dean’s darkest despairs often enough to be able to recognise its taste in the air; it hangs now, thick and cloying and black. “Dean,” he says. “Sam’s-”
“Blind,” Dean finishes, red eyes snapping toward him with startling ferocity. “And not only that, he can’t hear or speak, either. And for a moment there, I wasn’t even sure if he was-” His breath hitches.
“Dean, I’m sorry,” Castiel says, and he means it. “If I could do something, you know I would.”
Dean nods, his jaw working. “Yeah. Yeah, I know you would, Cas. Except-” He glares at him. “I know you’re responsible for this.”
Castiel supposes he shouldn’t be surprised; self-recriminatory, perhaps, for having underestimated Dean Winchester, even after everything. “And why do you say that?”
Dean snorts. “You think I’m stupid, Cas? Every night I get a call from Bobby asking me on your behalf about where we are, Sam-Sam loses something the next morning.” He lays his brother gently back on the bed and walks toward Castiel slowly, deliberately. “I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve got on your plate, Cas, or how much you’ve helped us - you cannot do this to my brother.”
Dean’s fury is a wonder to behold. “Dean, even if I try to explain, you will not understand.”
“Understand?” Dean barks a bitter laugh. “I don’t think I need to understand.” And there - Castiel notes Dean’s hand slipping into his jacket pocket for his lighter, and realises he’s standing in a ring of holy fire. Faster than Dean can blink, he steps out, and with a flick of his hand, sends Dean hurtling to the opposite corner of the room. Dean impacts with wall-shaking force and slumps to the floor, unconscious.
He turns to Sam, who is shifting about helplessly on the bed, jaw working to form words he cannot articulate. Castiel can hear him, though: Sam’s whole conscious is now nothing but panic and helpless fury and DeanDeanDEAN-
Castiel places a hand on Sam’s chest. Past all the imperfections is what he really needs from Sam, and his hand plunges into the hunter’s chest - much easier now, like plunging his hand in still water.
In the room, Sam still waits in the chair. The face is blank, with no eyes or lips or ears; both legs are gone and only arm remains, but there is still so much it is scarcely believable. The gossamer thread connects them once again as Sam continues to unravel.
“I will win this war,” Castiel says.
Finis
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A truly horrifying storying, Lovely, man. <3
Now I'mma go run to find a happy fic before I go to bed. No nightmares tonight, thanks.
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Thank you so much!
Ha ha, I hope you did find something happier. :D
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The metaphysics of this scenario are coherent and intuitive, on the science side of sci-fi-fantasy, as your magic stuff so often is. It makes it easy to understand exactly how twisted what Castiel does is.
And again, AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!
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I keep getting the urge to rationalise SPN. I'm glad that you found the workings behind this coherent!
Thank you!! :D
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Thanks for filling my prompt!
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Thank you so much for the prompt and the comment! :D
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Thanks again! :D
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Poor, poor Sam : (
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And yes, poor Sam.
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Also, this part made me randomly happy:P
“So, I’m thinking,” Dean says, “if this Mother chick is really creating these new monsters, we’re better off sticking to the hunt, y’know?” He stretches, pops his joints. “Sitting here with these books any longer is going to give us allergies, not answers.”
“Dean, you either have allergies or you don’t,” Sam says, frowning over a dusty tome. He’s kneading his left hand furiously, the muscles around his eyes twitching. “We’ve found so much; what’s to say there isn’t more?”
♥ ♥ ♥
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