The Apocalypse is Not a Buddy Show, 5/?
Title: The Apocalypse is Not a Buddy Show, 5/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Anna
Genre: Drama, Humour
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: Just because you're fallen, doesn't mean you can't fight demon crime. Set late Season 4: Spoilers up to 5.02
Two of them, two shots - and the child-demon and the woman in the corner went down. The third demon, possessing the old man, didn’t so much as turn around. His shoulders flexed, though, almost like a wild animal preparing to take its prey down.
“Well, look who’s here,” he said slowly: “Daddy’s little disappointment and his replacement sidekick. Our favorite substitute heroes.” Spinning fast, he raised a hand, causing the planks Cas and Dean had been leaning against to crumble in from the alley. They stumbled forwards into the warehouse. Castiel felt abruptly trapped, limbs pinioned like an insect’s he’d seen, pinned to a board in a museum. The demon was holding him, and the residues of his power were insufficient to match it. From the anger in Dean’s face, and the rigid lines of his body, Castiel knew the demon was doing the same to him.
Sam looked up, glanced at them, barely registering interest. Dean said Sam’s name in that way humans did which Castiel thought meant a lot of things. Sam looked past his brother and frowned, asking,
“Dean? What are you doing here?”
“We are rescuing you,” Castiel said: “repeated and forced administration of intoxicants is an assault upon free will.”
“Castiel,” Sam half-smiled regretfully, but his gaze did not move from the remains of the alley wall. The demons were not assaulting him now: why did he not struggle?
““Excuse him,” said the demon, as though he had read Castiel’s mind. “We haven’t been feeding him much. Got to string it out at first, you understand, can’t have him getting too strong before he comes round to our way of seeing things.”
“And what way would that be?” Dean snarled.
“The pragmatic one,” said the demon: “self-preservation.”
“You are not, as the phrase is, ‘gunning’ for the apocalypse?” Castiel asked carefully.
“Oh, why not?” shrugged the demon that pinned them: “The apocalypse is happening, whether we like it or not. You think Hell is a democracy? They don’t take suggestions from our pay grade. We’re just trying to get in on the ground floor. Bringing Lilith a present,” jerking his head, he indicated Sam. “Why kill a wild animal when you can tame it?”
“You piece of shit,” Dean struggled furiously against the invisible bonds.
“Play nice,” the demon scolded, and Dean grunted in pain. With that expenditure of effort, Castiel felt the demon’s control over him waver ever so slightly. He turned his attention inwards, focusing on the residues of his energy. He felt the divine spark inside him, dulled, but invincible. Castiel envisaged a flame, flittering deep in a pile of embers, willed it to grow and spark up again.
“Why don’t you be sensible for once, Dean?” the demon asked. “Join the winning side. So, we can’t offer you Heaven. Big deal. Eternal boredom, toe the party line, sit around taking orders from douchebags like Zachariah? You’d hate it. Look, you’re a talented torturer, got a positive penchant for lust, greed to spare, and a healthy measure of the old wrath going…no doubt you’re headed for downstairs anyway. Hell, your whole family will be here soon.”
“Why don’t you be sensible and let us go before I think up whole new ways to turn you inside out and burn the inside of your skin off, you pathetic bitch?”
Something in Castiel twisted. There was hatred in the human’s voice, and bloodlust. You ask me to open that door and walk through it, he remembered the half-warning, half-plea, you will not like what walks back out But the demon just grinned revoltingly, revealing teeth worn down in a decaying mouth, and ran its tongue round its lips:
“What d’you say, Sammy?” it called out. “Reckon big brother and his wingman should join the party?”
“Party’s over,” Sam said, and Castiel’s heart rose, realizing that Sam had been working quietly on the ropes holding him all the time. Though what he was going to do was a mystery at this point - he appeared barely strong to stand, and was gripping the back of the chair for support. Sam extended one hand, towards the demon, slowly, and Castiel realized he was about to attempt an exorcism.
“Lamia!” shouted the old demon, and Castiel saw that the demon possessing the woman had pulled itself up against the back wall. She was smiling, holding one arm out - and Sam’s gaze went to her automatically. Castiel sensed Dean’s hope fall.
“Not so fast,” Lamia admonished, drawing a knife slowly across her forearm. “You aren’t going anywhere without this, Sam, and you know it.”
Sam faltered. His eyes were drawn inexorably to the thin stream of crimson. The chair rattled against the stone floor as his hands trembled. Castiel stared, unable to look away, as the younger Winchester drew in a breath, and the tip of his tongue escaped to run lightly over cracked lips.
“Don’t,” said Dean quietly.
Sam’s eyes flickered between his brother and the stream of blood. It was impossible, Castiel knew: any second now, Sam was going to drop the chair and lunge towards the blood. They couldn’t help it. Humans liked to think of themselves as cerebral creatures, able to pacify the demands of their bodies with their controlling minds, but they were fooling themselves. Deprive them enough, and they’ll break. Why was Famine a horseman, after all? It wasn’t even a failing. It was just the way they were put together. Anna was right. This wasn’t fair.
But these Winchesters never failed to surprise him. Sam said,
“No,” and turned back to the demon pinning them, held up one hand again, and the knifeblade of pain which his captor felt reverberated through the angel. Sam wasn’t strong enough to exorcise the demon, not after four days with barely any sustenance, but his assault on the demon loosened its hold enough for Castiel to break it. Castiel turned on the demon and used his summoned energy to bend its will backwards, long enough for Dean to shoot it with enough rock salt to disable it. Then he fired on the female demon again, whilst Castiel hurriedly chalked devils’ traps around their captives. Sam tried to help, over Dean’s protests, but in truth he wasn’t very useful. Castiel didn’t know what to say, and kept sneaking little glances at Sam from the corner of his vessel’s eye. He didn’t understand how Sam had resisted the blood, and the younger Winchester’s essence was completely obscured to him. He could see nothing inside.
“So,” said Dean casually when the traps were finished, sitting Sam back in the chair but disguising the action as a playful shove, “How’d they get the drop on you?” He produced a flask of water from his bag and handed it to his brother.
“They didn’t,” Sam said, when he’d finished drinking: “I went with them.”
Part Six
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Anna
Genre: Drama, Humour
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: Just because you're fallen, doesn't mean you can't fight demon crime. Set late Season 4: Spoilers up to 5.02
Two of them, two shots - and the child-demon and the woman in the corner went down. The third demon, possessing the old man, didn’t so much as turn around. His shoulders flexed, though, almost like a wild animal preparing to take its prey down.
“Well, look who’s here,” he said slowly: “Daddy’s little disappointment and his replacement sidekick. Our favorite substitute heroes.” Spinning fast, he raised a hand, causing the planks Cas and Dean had been leaning against to crumble in from the alley. They stumbled forwards into the warehouse. Castiel felt abruptly trapped, limbs pinioned like an insect’s he’d seen, pinned to a board in a museum. The demon was holding him, and the residues of his power were insufficient to match it. From the anger in Dean’s face, and the rigid lines of his body, Castiel knew the demon was doing the same to him.
Sam looked up, glanced at them, barely registering interest. Dean said Sam’s name in that way humans did which Castiel thought meant a lot of things. Sam looked past his brother and frowned, asking,
“Dean? What are you doing here?”
“We are rescuing you,” Castiel said: “repeated and forced administration of intoxicants is an assault upon free will.”
“Castiel,” Sam half-smiled regretfully, but his gaze did not move from the remains of the alley wall. The demons were not assaulting him now: why did he not struggle?
““Excuse him,” said the demon, as though he had read Castiel’s mind. “We haven’t been feeding him much. Got to string it out at first, you understand, can’t have him getting too strong before he comes round to our way of seeing things.”
“And what way would that be?” Dean snarled.
“The pragmatic one,” said the demon: “self-preservation.”
“You are not, as the phrase is, ‘gunning’ for the apocalypse?” Castiel asked carefully.
“Oh, why not?” shrugged the demon that pinned them: “The apocalypse is happening, whether we like it or not. You think Hell is a democracy? They don’t take suggestions from our pay grade. We’re just trying to get in on the ground floor. Bringing Lilith a present,” jerking his head, he indicated Sam. “Why kill a wild animal when you can tame it?”
“You piece of shit,” Dean struggled furiously against the invisible bonds.
“Play nice,” the demon scolded, and Dean grunted in pain. With that expenditure of effort, Castiel felt the demon’s control over him waver ever so slightly. He turned his attention inwards, focusing on the residues of his energy. He felt the divine spark inside him, dulled, but invincible. Castiel envisaged a flame, flittering deep in a pile of embers, willed it to grow and spark up again.
“Why don’t you be sensible for once, Dean?” the demon asked. “Join the winning side. So, we can’t offer you Heaven. Big deal. Eternal boredom, toe the party line, sit around taking orders from douchebags like Zachariah? You’d hate it. Look, you’re a talented torturer, got a positive penchant for lust, greed to spare, and a healthy measure of the old wrath going…no doubt you’re headed for downstairs anyway. Hell, your whole family will be here soon.”
“Why don’t you be sensible and let us go before I think up whole new ways to turn you inside out and burn the inside of your skin off, you pathetic bitch?”
Something in Castiel twisted. There was hatred in the human’s voice, and bloodlust. You ask me to open that door and walk through it, he remembered the half-warning, half-plea, you will not like what walks back out But the demon just grinned revoltingly, revealing teeth worn down in a decaying mouth, and ran its tongue round its lips:
“What d’you say, Sammy?” it called out. “Reckon big brother and his wingman should join the party?”
“Party’s over,” Sam said, and Castiel’s heart rose, realizing that Sam had been working quietly on the ropes holding him all the time. Though what he was going to do was a mystery at this point - he appeared barely strong to stand, and was gripping the back of the chair for support. Sam extended one hand, towards the demon, slowly, and Castiel realized he was about to attempt an exorcism.
“Lamia!” shouted the old demon, and Castiel saw that the demon possessing the woman had pulled itself up against the back wall. She was smiling, holding one arm out - and Sam’s gaze went to her automatically. Castiel sensed Dean’s hope fall.
“Not so fast,” Lamia admonished, drawing a knife slowly across her forearm. “You aren’t going anywhere without this, Sam, and you know it.”
Sam faltered. His eyes were drawn inexorably to the thin stream of crimson. The chair rattled against the stone floor as his hands trembled. Castiel stared, unable to look away, as the younger Winchester drew in a breath, and the tip of his tongue escaped to run lightly over cracked lips.
“Don’t,” said Dean quietly.
Sam’s eyes flickered between his brother and the stream of blood. It was impossible, Castiel knew: any second now, Sam was going to drop the chair and lunge towards the blood. They couldn’t help it. Humans liked to think of themselves as cerebral creatures, able to pacify the demands of their bodies with their controlling minds, but they were fooling themselves. Deprive them enough, and they’ll break. Why was Famine a horseman, after all? It wasn’t even a failing. It was just the way they were put together. Anna was right. This wasn’t fair.
But these Winchesters never failed to surprise him. Sam said,
“No,” and turned back to the demon pinning them, held up one hand again, and the knifeblade of pain which his captor felt reverberated through the angel. Sam wasn’t strong enough to exorcise the demon, not after four days with barely any sustenance, but his assault on the demon loosened its hold enough for Castiel to break it. Castiel turned on the demon and used his summoned energy to bend its will backwards, long enough for Dean to shoot it with enough rock salt to disable it. Then he fired on the female demon again, whilst Castiel hurriedly chalked devils’ traps around their captives. Sam tried to help, over Dean’s protests, but in truth he wasn’t very useful. Castiel didn’t know what to say, and kept sneaking little glances at Sam from the corner of his vessel’s eye. He didn’t understand how Sam had resisted the blood, and the younger Winchester’s essence was completely obscured to him. He could see nothing inside.
“So,” said Dean casually when the traps were finished, sitting Sam back in the chair but disguising the action as a playful shove, “How’d they get the drop on you?” He produced a flask of water from his bag and handed it to his brother.
“They didn’t,” Sam said, when he’d finished drinking: “I went with them.”
Part Six