Fic: Devil's Dance
Title: Devil's Dance
Author: Tahirire
Word count: 1,112
Rating: R (language)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Lilith, Castiel
Spoilers: Very, VERY vague s4. Nothing specific
Genre: Pure future self-indulgent speculation. Or something.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns the boys, my soul, and most of my brain. I own nothing useful. :-)
Warnings: This is the link to my generic warning post, aka, my list of fics in which I kill off people. If this fic isn't on there, then no one dies! If it is, they do! If you like to be surprised, don't click it!
Beta: Many thanks to blacklid and samidha , you two crack me up.
Devil’s Dance
He drums his fingers restlessly on the tabletop, the hollow sounds of impact seeming small against the chaos all around him. He feels the angel’s wings feathering the air, Castiel’s immense power sending out the beacon, calling for reinforcements.
“Are you ready now?” He snaps moodily, not caring if he sounds ungrateful. This was his war, and it’s not his fault the angels stepped into it. It’s time for them to start playing by his rules.
“We are close. Another day, maybe, before they arrive.”
He bites his lip, stops himself from saying what he wants to say. What he settles on saying probably isn’t any better.
“Forget you then. It’s been long enough, I’m leaving.”
He pushes back from the table forcefully, tipping the wooden chair to the floor and striding for the doorway.
Castiel frowns, but doesn’t move to stand in his way. “You cannot. You will die.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. It matters a great deal.”
He pauses in the doorway, looks the angel in the eyes. “Stay or come with me, I don’t care.” His voice hardens into Winchester-tempered steel, and in his mind’s eye, he’s never looked more like his father.
His voice is low and calm, but it offers no room for argument.
“I’m going after my brother.”
Castiel watches him leave and prays he can succeed.
~*~
It’s been three months since he’s seen his brother.
Lilith is waiting for him. He knew she would be, but of course he was never the one she really wanted; so when he sees her he feels no fear, only relief.
She comes in person, no little girls’ games; every inch of her a succubus. He can almost see the fine tendrils of lust dripping off her blood-red nails, swirling into the skin of his brother’s bare shoulder like an invisible caress.
She smiles, slow and wide.
“Well. I didn’t think you’d ever show. I missed you.” She tilts her head, curious. “Have you finally decided to come home?”
He’s not here to play games. He doesn’t want to talk. He looks into her wicked eyes, and his voice is deadly serious. “Let him go.”
She laughs, trilling. “You can’t mean that. Look at him! He’s exactly where he wants to be!”
His brother soaks up every word she speaks with rapt attention, awe in his eyes even as her claws dig into his bare skin, small rivers running red down his chest, soaking into the denim of his jeans. On his right hip rides the Colt, a sign that Lilith trusts him with her life.
His stomach churns at the sight, but he shakes his head, firm. “I said, let. Him.Go.”
Lilith’s laugh vanishes. “You’re too late,” she spits. “He’s mine.”
No. That can’t be true. It’s not true, it -
Lilith whispers to her consort, grinning flirtatiously. He nods, his eyes blank, and rolls his shoulders. He moves forward.
“Man, come on, this isn’t you.” He holds his ground. He can feel power surging all around him, tightening his chest and lungs. He refuses to budge.
His brother stops in front of him, a thoughtful look piercing the haze.
“Hey, hey.” He whispers, longing to reach out. “You with me?”
Lilith’s soldier blinks once, eyes darkening, smiles, and moves.
Before he can register what’s happened, he’s on the floor. The power is suffocating now, and his lip is bleeding. He touches the blood, reeling from shock, and then he realizes that his brother punched him, hard.
He looks up into those dark eyes, searching for a sign of recognition, but all he sees is bloodlust and feral power. He slumps in defeat. Castiel was right, he shouldn’t have come here.
Lilith moves to his side, staring down at him thoughtfully as his brother turns away. “Pity,” she sighs. “I’d have liked to have had you both.” She reaches with long, slender claws to trace the lines of his neck, stroking softly. “It’s such a shame to waste all this potential.”
Her grip firms, and he fights hard against her, struggling for air. “You … won’t … win,” he snarls. “He belongs … with me.”
Her perfect red lips open to respond, freezing in an ‘o’ shape as a gunshot echoes through the air. Orange flashes of light flow from her center like waves. Her eyes grow large and wide with disbelief.
Her hand falls away from his neck, and he breathes the sweet air and smiles, the kind of smile that says fuck you.
“I told you he was mine, bitch.”
~*~
Castiel arrives five minutes too late to actually be of any help, but the important thing is, he has backup. It is not his fault that the brothers do not appear grateful.
Dean shoves the Colt into his hands on his way to the car, one arm slung around Sam for support.
“There’s your damn key, the whore’s dead, we’re goin’ to Vegas, don’t bother us.” He states brusquely, moving past the angel like he isn’t even there.
A few steps later, though, he pauses, reaching to tilt his brother’s chin upwards in the light of the street lamp. “Jesus, Sam. I clocked you good.” Dean winces and wipes his fingers on Sam’s flannel shirt, because hey - it’s Sam’s blood.
Castiel doesn’t understand. Hours ago, Sam tore out of the base camp without hesitation, defying Heaven and Hell to see his brother again, and now they are … complaining. He watches in disbelief as they walk away, muttering all the while.
Sam grimaces, batting Dean’s hand away. “Dude, next time you go undercover, I’m so not coming after your sorry ass.”
“I had to sell it, didn’t I?”
“I think you were having a little too much fun.” Sam retorts.
Dean looks offended. “Hey, I resent that. Earning that gun was hard work.”
“Right, like you didn’t just spend three months having mind-blowing demon goddess sex,” Sam snorts loudly.
Dean’s eyes twinkle.
“Oh, gross. How’s the shoulder?” Sam asks, demanding a subject change.
“Pft. You’re one to talk. And it’ll be fine once you stop leanin’ on it.” Dean retorts even as his arm clutches Sam just a little bit tighter.
Sam swallows, shakes his head, leans even harder. “Tough. Holding back the fire really kicks my ass. I need to sleep for a week.”
“Next time, just go ahead and fry the sucker.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “You were in the way, moron!”
They limp to the car, each supporting the other, never saying anything important, and Castiel smiles softly as he watches the burning light of their souls shine in the night as they drive away.