Fic: 'Denial is a River'
Title: Denial is a River
Rating: PG-13
Characters and/or Pairing: Demon!Dean/Castiel, Demon!Sam
Word Count: 1500
Summary: Dean doesn't do well with things he can't fix.
A/N: IMPORTANT - This fic is part of my Darkside Verse, and probably won't make much sense unless you've watched the original trilogy of videos it sprang from.
It distresses Sam, watching the change come slowly over Castiel. The loss of flight marks its dramatic beginning, but after that come other, more subtle symptoms too. The angel falls asleep in the back of the Impala. He sneezes, and looks so stunned by the involuntary action it’s comical. He doesn’t react in time to the motel keys Sam tosses at him one night and they sail straight past his head. Frankly, it’s kind of weird.
Weirder still is watching Dean’s response - or, rather, his lack thereof. No one would argue that, even taking into account all the supernatural benefits of being a demon, his brother’s true superpower is his raging sense of denial. To Sam’s complete absence of surprise, Dean simply refuses to acknowledge that anything untoward is happening to their angelic companion. He doesn’t want to talk about it, certainly doesn’t want to deal with the problem in any sensible, grown-up manner. His one and only concession, as far as Sam can tell, is that he stops sending Castiel out on pizza runs. Awesome.
So here they are, acting for all the world as if everything is normal (or their version thereabouts): sitting in some backwater diner in the early hours of the morning, Cas and Dean opposite him behind his brother’s mound of greasy junk food, while Sam enjoys the blissful come-down of a demon blood hit. It’s humming pleasantly in his veins, stolen power sparking across his skin like static electricity, so that if he moves too fast small objects in the vicinity move with him. Only a few minutes ago he’d come this close to burning his brother’s face off when he’d coughed and the salt shaker had exploded. Dean had all but shrieked, frantically shucking off his salt-speckled jacket with an ungainly wriggle, while next to him Cas had uttered a long-suffering sigh and set about sweeping clear the table like this particular fiasco took place more often than he’d like.
In retrospect, it’s more than a little funny, and Sam finds that he’s grinning obnoxiously at the memory.
Across the table, Dean takes a moment to cram a handful of fries into his mouth (unsalted, obviously) before flipping him the bird. “Dude,” he snaps, around a mouthful of half-masticated potato, “You suck.”
Sam laughs with mild surprise, and his rebellious powers crackle again like a shot of exhilaration, so that across the diner a coffee cup shoots from the waitress’s hand and she lets out a little sob of angry fright. Almost immediately she shoots a look across at them, at Sam in particular, and he favours her with his most predatory smirk in return. She hates them, he can sense it, although she probably doesn’t have any idea as to why. It’s simply that dark part of the human brain, the old atavistic instincts screaming at her to run and run and never look back towards the men sat at table three.
He winks at her, amused.
“Any idea where we’re headed next?” Dean asks suddenly, recalling his attention.
Sam shrugs. They meander pretty aimlessly, these days, without mission or motivation to guide them. Sometimes a hunter will give merry chase, entertaining them for a day or two, and other times Sam’s need for demon blood means they have to do a little hunting of their own - but for the most part, their time is whiled away driving for the sake of driving; hitting whatever sad tourist traps they happen to pass by; throwing darts at maps and following where chance leads them. Something as simple as a flip of a coin will often decide whether towns remain unharmed when they leave, or as flaming wrecks in the rear-view mirror. They live entirely by whim.
“We never did get round to seeing the Grand Canyon,” Sam suggests after a minute’s thought, a fleeting memory of being human and wistful drifting through his head.
Dean snorts. “Good as any other hole in the ground, I guess,” he consents. “Can get going in the morning if-” He stops speaking abruptly, blinking as a hand reaches across his field of vision to snatch at his fries. Both demons turn to regard Cas wordlessly as the angel chews with a look of intense concentration.
It’s not entirely unheard of for Cas to pick at the occasional morsel of food, but it’s only ever been due to Dean’s prompting. He’s never taken the initiative, as far as Sam can remember - in fact, he’s never seemed anything but highly reluctant to consume even the smallest rations.
After a somewhat prolonged silence, Dean raises a bemused eyebrow. “Yanno,” he offers eventually, “if you’d wanted something, I could’ve ordered it without breaking the bank, Cas. Just ask.”
But the angel shakes his head, looking vaguely annoyed. “I don’t want anything. I don’t like this food. I’m just…” He frowns even harder, before finishing miserably, “Hungry.”
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, but Dean obviously doesn’t grasp the significance for a few seconds. “Hungry? I thought you didn’t need-” He stops. “Oh.”
They both watch with sinking realisation as Cas picks disdainfully at the remains of the fries, then starts in on the last half of Sam’s abandoned milkshake. No one says anything, because everyone present is aware that this isn’t a casual case of the munchies. It’s a human need, another symptom. With trepidation, Sam glances across at his brother, already anticipating Dean’s reaction.
Sure enough, the other demon is already fidgeting restlessly, his expression carefully blank. He’s only showing his fake green human eyes, which is as sure a sign as any that he’s trying to hide whatever misbegotten notion is passing through his head right now. Sam wants to reach out and shake some sense into him, but he’s already too late as Dean gets jerkily to his feet and makes some kind of unhelpful hand gesture out towards where they parked the car. “I, uh, I’m gonna go - I have… Just - Yeah.” And without further elaboration, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the diner, slamming the door behind him.
Sam sighs resignedly. When confronted with direct evidence, Dean’s concentrated efforts at denial don’t always resolve themselves in the best ways.
Neither he nor Cas look up as the Impala starts up with a snarl, tires skidding on gravel outside the window as Dean makes a swift strategic exit into the night. It’s hardly unexpected. Slumped in the far corner of their booth, Cas is engaged in eyeing the last crumbs and smears of ketchup that are left on his plate, so Sam takes pity and flags down the resentful waitress, ordering a meal of salad, sandwich and coffee that he hopes the angel won’t find too offensive. That done, he sets about damage control.
“…Least you can share in Dean’s love of pie, now.”
Admittedly, it’s not exactly his most skilful gambit.
Castiel flashes a narrow-eyed glare at him, visibly bristling. “I’m not foolish, Sam. I’m aware of what this means.”
“Oh good, because I’m not.”
The angel appears to shrink even further into the corner, wrapped defensively in his coat. “It’s… unfeasible for the pair of you to support a human. And without powers, I’m no longer of any practical use to you. It would only be sensible for you to leave me behind.” He flicks a glance out at the empty parking lot. “Dean is no doubt coming to the same conclusion as we speak.”
In all honesty, Sam very much doubts that, but he knows Castiel won’t believe it until he hears the words from Dean’s mouth alone. So until Dean gets over his current freak-out, Sam is only able to shake his head helplessly.
“Cas, we’re not gonna ditch you at the side of the road or something-”
The waitress chooses that moment to arrive with the food, just as Castiel says with deadly seriousness, “I’m thankful for that, Sam. I have no wish to live alone as a human. I’d much prefer you to kill me.”
The salad hits the floor with a crash of broken crockery, and Sam sighs loudly with annoyance. The girl doesn’t even bother to apologise, just runs for the perceived safety of the counter. Rubbing a tired hand down his face, Sam regards the angel across from him despairingly.
“Jeez, Cas, that’s not what I meant-”
Blue eyes go instantly wide with alarm, and Castiel almost overturns his hot coffee as he lunges forward to grasp the demon’s wrist. “Sam, please, you must do this for me. Do not leave me alive without Dean, without… both of you. One small mercy is all I’m asking-”
Sam pries him loose with more force than necessary, scowling. “God, will you shut up a moment?! I’m trying to tell you that nothing’s going to change! No one’s leaving you behind, no one’s fucking… mercy killing you, alright?!” He rolls his shoulders testily, thoroughly exasperated as Cas stares at him without comprehension. “Just… eat your sandwich.”
The angel blinks at him, then at the food, then picks it up obediently. “I thought-”
“Well don’t.” Sam is so not the person who should be dealing with this. When Dean gets over himself enough to come back and get them, Sam is going to unapologetically dump this problem straight in his brother’s lap, let him fix it. Freakin’ angels…
Rating: PG-13
Characters and/or Pairing: Demon!Dean/Castiel, Demon!Sam
Word Count: 1500
Summary: Dean doesn't do well with things he can't fix.
A/N: IMPORTANT - This fic is part of my Darkside Verse, and probably won't make much sense unless you've watched the original trilogy of videos it sprang from.
It distresses Sam, watching the change come slowly over Castiel. The loss of flight marks its dramatic beginning, but after that come other, more subtle symptoms too. The angel falls asleep in the back of the Impala. He sneezes, and looks so stunned by the involuntary action it’s comical. He doesn’t react in time to the motel keys Sam tosses at him one night and they sail straight past his head. Frankly, it’s kind of weird.
Weirder still is watching Dean’s response - or, rather, his lack thereof. No one would argue that, even taking into account all the supernatural benefits of being a demon, his brother’s true superpower is his raging sense of denial. To Sam’s complete absence of surprise, Dean simply refuses to acknowledge that anything untoward is happening to their angelic companion. He doesn’t want to talk about it, certainly doesn’t want to deal with the problem in any sensible, grown-up manner. His one and only concession, as far as Sam can tell, is that he stops sending Castiel out on pizza runs. Awesome.
So here they are, acting for all the world as if everything is normal (or their version thereabouts): sitting in some backwater diner in the early hours of the morning, Cas and Dean opposite him behind his brother’s mound of greasy junk food, while Sam enjoys the blissful come-down of a demon blood hit. It’s humming pleasantly in his veins, stolen power sparking across his skin like static electricity, so that if he moves too fast small objects in the vicinity move with him. Only a few minutes ago he’d come this close to burning his brother’s face off when he’d coughed and the salt shaker had exploded. Dean had all but shrieked, frantically shucking off his salt-speckled jacket with an ungainly wriggle, while next to him Cas had uttered a long-suffering sigh and set about sweeping clear the table like this particular fiasco took place more often than he’d like.
In retrospect, it’s more than a little funny, and Sam finds that he’s grinning obnoxiously at the memory.
Across the table, Dean takes a moment to cram a handful of fries into his mouth (unsalted, obviously) before flipping him the bird. “Dude,” he snaps, around a mouthful of half-masticated potato, “You suck.”
Sam laughs with mild surprise, and his rebellious powers crackle again like a shot of exhilaration, so that across the diner a coffee cup shoots from the waitress’s hand and she lets out a little sob of angry fright. Almost immediately she shoots a look across at them, at Sam in particular, and he favours her with his most predatory smirk in return. She hates them, he can sense it, although she probably doesn’t have any idea as to why. It’s simply that dark part of the human brain, the old atavistic instincts screaming at her to run and run and never look back towards the men sat at table three.
He winks at her, amused.
“Any idea where we’re headed next?” Dean asks suddenly, recalling his attention.
Sam shrugs. They meander pretty aimlessly, these days, without mission or motivation to guide them. Sometimes a hunter will give merry chase, entertaining them for a day or two, and other times Sam’s need for demon blood means they have to do a little hunting of their own - but for the most part, their time is whiled away driving for the sake of driving; hitting whatever sad tourist traps they happen to pass by; throwing darts at maps and following where chance leads them. Something as simple as a flip of a coin will often decide whether towns remain unharmed when they leave, or as flaming wrecks in the rear-view mirror. They live entirely by whim.
“We never did get round to seeing the Grand Canyon,” Sam suggests after a minute’s thought, a fleeting memory of being human and wistful drifting through his head.
Dean snorts. “Good as any other hole in the ground, I guess,” he consents. “Can get going in the morning if-” He stops speaking abruptly, blinking as a hand reaches across his field of vision to snatch at his fries. Both demons turn to regard Cas wordlessly as the angel chews with a look of intense concentration.
It’s not entirely unheard of for Cas to pick at the occasional morsel of food, but it’s only ever been due to Dean’s prompting. He’s never taken the initiative, as far as Sam can remember - in fact, he’s never seemed anything but highly reluctant to consume even the smallest rations.
After a somewhat prolonged silence, Dean raises a bemused eyebrow. “Yanno,” he offers eventually, “if you’d wanted something, I could’ve ordered it without breaking the bank, Cas. Just ask.”
But the angel shakes his head, looking vaguely annoyed. “I don’t want anything. I don’t like this food. I’m just…” He frowns even harder, before finishing miserably, “Hungry.”
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, but Dean obviously doesn’t grasp the significance for a few seconds. “Hungry? I thought you didn’t need-” He stops. “Oh.”
They both watch with sinking realisation as Cas picks disdainfully at the remains of the fries, then starts in on the last half of Sam’s abandoned milkshake. No one says anything, because everyone present is aware that this isn’t a casual case of the munchies. It’s a human need, another symptom. With trepidation, Sam glances across at his brother, already anticipating Dean’s reaction.
Sure enough, the other demon is already fidgeting restlessly, his expression carefully blank. He’s only showing his fake green human eyes, which is as sure a sign as any that he’s trying to hide whatever misbegotten notion is passing through his head right now. Sam wants to reach out and shake some sense into him, but he’s already too late as Dean gets jerkily to his feet and makes some kind of unhelpful hand gesture out towards where they parked the car. “I, uh, I’m gonna go - I have… Just - Yeah.” And without further elaboration, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the diner, slamming the door behind him.
Sam sighs resignedly. When confronted with direct evidence, Dean’s concentrated efforts at denial don’t always resolve themselves in the best ways.
Neither he nor Cas look up as the Impala starts up with a snarl, tires skidding on gravel outside the window as Dean makes a swift strategic exit into the night. It’s hardly unexpected. Slumped in the far corner of their booth, Cas is engaged in eyeing the last crumbs and smears of ketchup that are left on his plate, so Sam takes pity and flags down the resentful waitress, ordering a meal of salad, sandwich and coffee that he hopes the angel won’t find too offensive. That done, he sets about damage control.
“…Least you can share in Dean’s love of pie, now.”
Admittedly, it’s not exactly his most skilful gambit.
Castiel flashes a narrow-eyed glare at him, visibly bristling. “I’m not foolish, Sam. I’m aware of what this means.”
“Oh good, because I’m not.”
The angel appears to shrink even further into the corner, wrapped defensively in his coat. “It’s… unfeasible for the pair of you to support a human. And without powers, I’m no longer of any practical use to you. It would only be sensible for you to leave me behind.” He flicks a glance out at the empty parking lot. “Dean is no doubt coming to the same conclusion as we speak.”
In all honesty, Sam very much doubts that, but he knows Castiel won’t believe it until he hears the words from Dean’s mouth alone. So until Dean gets over his current freak-out, Sam is only able to shake his head helplessly.
“Cas, we’re not gonna ditch you at the side of the road or something-”
The waitress chooses that moment to arrive with the food, just as Castiel says with deadly seriousness, “I’m thankful for that, Sam. I have no wish to live alone as a human. I’d much prefer you to kill me.”
The salad hits the floor with a crash of broken crockery, and Sam sighs loudly with annoyance. The girl doesn’t even bother to apologise, just runs for the perceived safety of the counter. Rubbing a tired hand down his face, Sam regards the angel across from him despairingly.
“Jeez, Cas, that’s not what I meant-”
Blue eyes go instantly wide with alarm, and Castiel almost overturns his hot coffee as he lunges forward to grasp the demon’s wrist. “Sam, please, you must do this for me. Do not leave me alive without Dean, without… both of you. One small mercy is all I’m asking-”
Sam pries him loose with more force than necessary, scowling. “God, will you shut up a moment?! I’m trying to tell you that nothing’s going to change! No one’s leaving you behind, no one’s fucking… mercy killing you, alright?!” He rolls his shoulders testily, thoroughly exasperated as Cas stares at him without comprehension. “Just… eat your sandwich.”
The angel blinks at him, then at the food, then picks it up obediently. “I thought-”
“Well don’t.” Sam is so not the person who should be dealing with this. When Dean gets over himself enough to come back and get them, Sam is going to unapologetically dump this problem straight in his brother’s lap, let him fix it. Freakin’ angels…