A City Broken Into
Title: A City Broken Into
Summary: From a prompt at an ohsam comment-fic meme which, simply put, went as follows: Naomi orders Castiel to kill Sam.
Characters: Sam, Dean, Cas, Naomi.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Blood and language. That's about it.
When Castiel opens his eyes, Naomi is there. He closes his eyes and opens them, finds himself in an abandoned parking lot, but he still hears her voice.
“You must kill him, Castiel. He is a traitor to the cause, a rebel and an abomination-”
“Cas?”
Sam and Dean come into focus in front of him. “Yes,” he says blindly, wonders what he just agreed to.
Sam’s brow knits together. “Are you okay, Cas? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately-”
“You should return home.” Cas cuts him off, not intending to be as harsh as he’d sounded. Sam blinks and Dean raises an eyebrow.
“You’re calling the shots here. You ready to go, Sam?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam replies, eyes not leaving the angel. Cas looks away, the feeling of ants crawling on his skin impossible to ignore. He knows something is wrong.
Kill him, Castiel.
The next few weeks, Naomi plunges deeper into Castiel’s mind, furrows into the nooks and crannies of his will. She jerks his limbs and words like a puppet, thrusting Sam away emotionally. Castiel winces as Sam is shunted out of conversations; he pounds his fists against the walls of his mind as Naomi turns his back to the younger Winchester brother.
More than once, Dean demands to know what’s gotten into him, why he’s acting like an ‘angelic #######’ to Sam. Naomi shrugs Cas’s shoulders and replies brusquely that he hasn’t been doing anything Sam didn’t deserve. Dean bristles visibly, but Naomi zaps their now shared vessel out of the Batcave before Dean can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean.
Sam reassures Dean it’s okay, the stress is getting to everyone, but Dean says that’s ######## and Castiel wants to scream you’re right, you’re right, Dean, now help me, please-
Sam Winchester must die, Castiel. You will kill him.
Another major bloodshed in Heaven distracts Naomi for a few days, the murder of her supposed brethren infuriating her and Castiel both. But Castiel is hostage to himself and can do nothing but watch his brothers and sisters fall, even as he slips farther down himself and hears vaguely the sounds of prayers he knows are directed at him.
Taking Sam is easy, the trust the man has in Castiel weakened but not gone; when the angel appears with the signature whoosh of wings, Sam does not run or shout for Dean. Blind faith, Castiel thinks. Undeserved faith, now run, Sam, go-
Instead, he stands up, treading carefully towards Castiel.
“Where have you been, Cas? We’ve been praying to you-” Naomi moves his feet forwards at the same time that Sam takes a step back. “Cas, are you okay?”
Naomi pushes away Cas’s attempts at regaining control and ignores his mute screams. She places his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You will come with me now,” she tells him, and as Sam falls unconscious, his knees hit cold stone floor of a deserted warehouse six hours away from Dean, away from safety.
This is for the greater good, Castiel. Look at what he’s done, what he’s become.
Naomi takes his hand and worms it into his pocket, finds his knife.
The first day is blood and confusion. Sam speaks a lot until Naomi silences him with Castiel’s fingers. All any of them know is the blade Castiel holds in hands that are not entirely his own.
The second day, Sam does not speak much, whether from lack of things to say or the wound snaking through and over his lips. The quiet is irrelevant. Cas can read the question in Sam’s eyes as clear as though he’d said it aloud. Why, Castiel?
Cas screams against Naomi, clawing at the walls she’s put up inside him, finds a foothold, and he can feel his eyes widen, his own eyes, even as Sam screams louder.
He does not remember much of the next few minutes, but when he comes to he’s immediately made aware of a furious pain in his temples, but a blessed pain for the fact that he can feel it, can reach up his hands and rub there to relieve the pain slightly. As his fingers trail his forehead his eyes open wide and he whips around.
Sam is watching him with huge brown eyes, ignoring the blood dripping down into them from the crude halo Naomi cut around his head. His breath comes fast, matching the blood that pumps from a deep gash in his side.
Castiel stands before him in the blink of an eye. The true depth of Naomi’s cruelty strikes him in an instant; he can offer no comfort to Sam as his hand was the one that hurt him.
Tortured him for three days, his mind reminds him. He tells his mind to shut up.
“Castiel?” Sam gasps, “What- wh-”
“It’s better if you don’t speak,” he warns Sam, softly. He pauses for a moment, regret coursing through his veins. “I am sorry, Sam. Truly.”
Sam just blinks at him. He is confused, Cas thinks, and hurt. “I cannot heal you-” not with Naomi keeping tabs, too risky, too dangerous “-but I can bring you to Dean.”
Two days later, Sam wakes up in a hospital bed with Dean on one side and Castiel on the other. He flinches -doesn’t mean to but does- and the angel averts his eyes.
In a quiet voice, he explains what happened: how Naomi took control, how weak he was, how he was sorry, Sam, so, so sorry.
When he’s finished, Sam is silent for a very long time. Only when Cas starts to get up, mumbling about Dean, does he bring himself to speak, a single word choked out through a damaged throat.
“Stay,” Sam says, and Cas does.
Summary: From a prompt at an ohsam comment-fic meme which, simply put, went as follows: Naomi orders Castiel to kill Sam.
Characters: Sam, Dean, Cas, Naomi.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Blood and language. That's about it.
When Castiel opens his eyes, Naomi is there. He closes his eyes and opens them, finds himself in an abandoned parking lot, but he still hears her voice.
“You must kill him, Castiel. He is a traitor to the cause, a rebel and an abomination-”
“Cas?”
Sam and Dean come into focus in front of him. “Yes,” he says blindly, wonders what he just agreed to.
Sam’s brow knits together. “Are you okay, Cas? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately-”
“You should return home.” Cas cuts him off, not intending to be as harsh as he’d sounded. Sam blinks and Dean raises an eyebrow.
“You’re calling the shots here. You ready to go, Sam?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam replies, eyes not leaving the angel. Cas looks away, the feeling of ants crawling on his skin impossible to ignore. He knows something is wrong.
Kill him, Castiel.
The next few weeks, Naomi plunges deeper into Castiel’s mind, furrows into the nooks and crannies of his will. She jerks his limbs and words like a puppet, thrusting Sam away emotionally. Castiel winces as Sam is shunted out of conversations; he pounds his fists against the walls of his mind as Naomi turns his back to the younger Winchester brother.
More than once, Dean demands to know what’s gotten into him, why he’s acting like an ‘angelic #######’ to Sam. Naomi shrugs Cas’s shoulders and replies brusquely that he hasn’t been doing anything Sam didn’t deserve. Dean bristles visibly, but Naomi zaps their now shared vessel out of the Batcave before Dean can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean.
Sam reassures Dean it’s okay, the stress is getting to everyone, but Dean says that’s ######## and Castiel wants to scream you’re right, you’re right, Dean, now help me, please-
Sam Winchester must die, Castiel. You will kill him.
Another major bloodshed in Heaven distracts Naomi for a few days, the murder of her supposed brethren infuriating her and Castiel both. But Castiel is hostage to himself and can do nothing but watch his brothers and sisters fall, even as he slips farther down himself and hears vaguely the sounds of prayers he knows are directed at him.
Taking Sam is easy, the trust the man has in Castiel weakened but not gone; when the angel appears with the signature whoosh of wings, Sam does not run or shout for Dean. Blind faith, Castiel thinks. Undeserved faith, now run, Sam, go-
Instead, he stands up, treading carefully towards Castiel.
“Where have you been, Cas? We’ve been praying to you-” Naomi moves his feet forwards at the same time that Sam takes a step back. “Cas, are you okay?”
Naomi pushes away Cas’s attempts at regaining control and ignores his mute screams. She places his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You will come with me now,” she tells him, and as Sam falls unconscious, his knees hit cold stone floor of a deserted warehouse six hours away from Dean, away from safety.
This is for the greater good, Castiel. Look at what he’s done, what he’s become.
Naomi takes his hand and worms it into his pocket, finds his knife.
The first day is blood and confusion. Sam speaks a lot until Naomi silences him with Castiel’s fingers. All any of them know is the blade Castiel holds in hands that are not entirely his own.
The second day, Sam does not speak much, whether from lack of things to say or the wound snaking through and over his lips. The quiet is irrelevant. Cas can read the question in Sam’s eyes as clear as though he’d said it aloud. Why, Castiel?
Cas screams against Naomi, clawing at the walls she’s put up inside him, finds a foothold, and he can feel his eyes widen, his own eyes, even as Sam screams louder.
He does not remember much of the next few minutes, but when he comes to he’s immediately made aware of a furious pain in his temples, but a blessed pain for the fact that he can feel it, can reach up his hands and rub there to relieve the pain slightly. As his fingers trail his forehead his eyes open wide and he whips around.
Sam is watching him with huge brown eyes, ignoring the blood dripping down into them from the crude halo Naomi cut around his head. His breath comes fast, matching the blood that pumps from a deep gash in his side.
Castiel stands before him in the blink of an eye. The true depth of Naomi’s cruelty strikes him in an instant; he can offer no comfort to Sam as his hand was the one that hurt him.
Tortured him for three days, his mind reminds him. He tells his mind to shut up.
“Castiel?” Sam gasps, “What- wh-”
“It’s better if you don’t speak,” he warns Sam, softly. He pauses for a moment, regret coursing through his veins. “I am sorry, Sam. Truly.”
Sam just blinks at him. He is confused, Cas thinks, and hurt. “I cannot heal you-” not with Naomi keeping tabs, too risky, too dangerous “-but I can bring you to Dean.”
Two days later, Sam wakes up in a hospital bed with Dean on one side and Castiel on the other. He flinches -doesn’t mean to but does- and the angel averts his eyes.
In a quiet voice, he explains what happened: how Naomi took control, how weak he was, how he was sorry, Sam, so, so sorry.
When he’s finished, Sam is silent for a very long time. Only when Cas starts to get up, mumbling about Dean, does he bring himself to speak, a single word choked out through a damaged throat.
“Stay,” Sam says, and Cas does.