Fic: God's in the detail (11.09 coda)
[Spoilers. All just 11.09 spoilery stuff beneath here (click to open)]Now, see, I can't be having Sammy in the Cage.
Even if it's actually a small c cage of Rowena's creation. Nope. Uh uh. I mean, yes, the H/C fan in me is sort of rubbing her hands together, but...if Show's record on dealing with the Big Issues is anything to go by (Dean's Hell experience, Dean's alcoholism) then they'll give this some cursory treatment and then drop it like a hot potato and this time, they've actually got a lot closer to outright stating what might happen with the inneuendo than they usually do so...just...no. This is a Really Big Issue. Do it properly or leave it alone. Preferably the latter.
Don't get me wrong. I freakin' loved the episode. (And I love all the fabulous fic and meta that's come out of it too!) I'm just terrified of what's to come.
So this is sort of...sort of...a fixit fic...because I can't leave Sammy so powerless and vulnerable...
--
Title: God’s in the detail
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda.
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Spoilers: Episode 11.09
Word Count: ~850
Warnings: Oblique hints at prior non-con
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Summary: They have a plan. God’s in the detail. The Devil’s in the detail too.
--
The library. The Witching hour.
Three figures stand in shadowy tableau around a fragile, worn, old Book, its parchment pages brittle. The text is too faded to read in daylight, but it glows steadily under the night’s full moon.
Sam’s fear has him frozen in place.
Dean’s sudden deep breath is harsh in the still and the quiet. “I don’t like it,” he says, like it’s something new. “It’s a bad idea.”
Castiel nods. “The risk is great. But it might work.”
The lump in Sam’s throat is swelling, stretching up and down, and the feeling, the sensation, of choking, of his throat being stretched too wide, brings forth a tsunami of memories.
He tries to hyperventilate quietly so as not to disturb the intense staring match that Dean and Castiel are having.
“See, that might just doesn’t work for me. If I’m gonna risk, Sammy, then this has to be a sure thing.”
The sound Castiel makes is impatient, frustrated. “We’re talking about Lucifer,” he says, blue eyes fierce. “Arguably the most powerful archangel in existence. There are no guarantees.”
Sam’s fingernails are blunt, but he’s squeezing his fists hard enough for them to make indents in his palms anyway. There are some guarantees with Lucifer. He wants Sam. He believes he owns Sam. And he will hurt Sam, if he gets a chance to.
Castiel turns the book toward Dean and the two of them hunch over it, muttering, arguing, fingers jabbing at the parchment. They should be wearing white gloves. That’s an ancient text. Did Dean even wash his hands after he ate that bucket of fried chicken?
Dean’s right. This is a bad idea. Maybe they should just pack a bag and head to the coast. Salt in the air, sand between their toes and gently lapping water. They can sit on the beach, watch the waves, eat junk food and wait for Amara to unmake existence.
What’s so great about existence anyway? It’s all fear and fighting and waiting for Death, with a few good things thrown in along the way to keep you hooked. Intermittent positive reinforcement, like the slot machines in Vegas.
Sam closes his eyes and remembers chugging down gallons of demon blood.
He tries to find the same strength he had then.
Strength born of blissful ignorance.
Ignorance that he’ll never get back.
“Sammy?”
Sam meets his brother’s eyes. “Sorry, what?”
Dean gets right up in Sam’s face, too close. He lays a hand on Sam’s arm and then bites at his lip, pupils large and sorrowful. Sam knows his brother can feel the fine tremors running through him.
“You don’t have to do this,” Dean says, his breath warm and intimate as it ghosts across Sam’s lips.
Sam feels a single tear well up in his eye and fall slowly down his cheek. He wipes at it and takes a deep breath, his throat suddenly free of obstruction. The air hits his lungs, fills them, and he feels his terror recede.
There is no one else who can do this. And it needs to be done. But it’s still his choice. If he chooses the beach, Dean will back his play.
“I know,” he says.
Dean doesn’t say anything. Just stands there. Too close. One hand on Sam’s arm. Breathing.
Sam matches his next inhalation to Dean’s. Breathes out with him.
In.
Out.
“I know,” Sam repeats. “But it’s our best shot.”
“Rowena will think she has the upper hand,” Castiel says from where he’s leaning against the table. “And Crowley’s lust for Amara’s power will make him under estimate you. They’ll believe what they want to believe and we’ll be encouraging that.”
Castiel moves forward, stands beside Dean and, inclines his head. “I believe you can do this, Sam. You are smart and you are strong and you are good.”
“And I’ll be with you,” Dean says, “every step of the way.”
Castiel frowns. “He must do the final step alone. There is no getting around that.”
Dean’s eyes darken and his lips turn down. “I’ll be right outside.”
Sam manages a smile. In all honesty, when he’s inside that Cage with Lucifer it won’t matter whether Dean’s on the other side of the bars or the other side of town.
He appreciates the sentiment, though.
“But it’s your choice,” Dean adds. “We can still find another way.”
Sam huffs. They probably can. But this way is their best shot and they all know it.
Sam’s blood is pumping through his veins, zinging with adrenalin. He swings his arms and pushes through Dean and Castiel, sits down at the table and looks over their notes.
The moon is starting to set and the words on the Book are fading into obscurity again.
Sam’s made up his mind. He’s doing this. He’s going to take his fiddle and go play with the Devil and no matter how terrified he is when he’s down there, he’s going to win.
“Let’s go over the plan again,” he says, foot tapping relentlessly against the library floor. “Let’s not forget; God’s in the detail, guys.”
The Devil’s in the detail too, but they’re counting on nobody remembering that.
--
Even if it's actually a small c cage of Rowena's creation. Nope. Uh uh. I mean, yes, the H/C fan in me is sort of rubbing her hands together, but...if Show's record on dealing with the Big Issues is anything to go by (Dean's Hell experience, Dean's alcoholism) then they'll give this some cursory treatment and then drop it like a hot potato and this time, they've actually got a lot closer to outright stating what might happen with the inneuendo than they usually do so...just...no. This is a Really Big Issue. Do it properly or leave it alone. Preferably the latter.
Don't get me wrong. I freakin' loved the episode. (And I love all the fabulous fic and meta that's come out of it too!) I'm just terrified of what's to come.
So this is sort of...sort of...a fixit fic...because I can't leave Sammy so powerless and vulnerable...
--
Title: God’s in the detail
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda.
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Spoilers: Episode 11.09
Word Count: ~850
Warnings: Oblique hints at prior non-con
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Summary: They have a plan. God’s in the detail. The Devil’s in the detail too.
--
The library. The Witching hour.
Three figures stand in shadowy tableau around a fragile, worn, old Book, its parchment pages brittle. The text is too faded to read in daylight, but it glows steadily under the night’s full moon.
Sam’s fear has him frozen in place.
Dean’s sudden deep breath is harsh in the still and the quiet. “I don’t like it,” he says, like it’s something new. “It’s a bad idea.”
Castiel nods. “The risk is great. But it might work.”
The lump in Sam’s throat is swelling, stretching up and down, and the feeling, the sensation, of choking, of his throat being stretched too wide, brings forth a tsunami of memories.
He tries to hyperventilate quietly so as not to disturb the intense staring match that Dean and Castiel are having.
“See, that might just doesn’t work for me. If I’m gonna risk, Sammy, then this has to be a sure thing.”
The sound Castiel makes is impatient, frustrated. “We’re talking about Lucifer,” he says, blue eyes fierce. “Arguably the most powerful archangel in existence. There are no guarantees.”
Sam’s fingernails are blunt, but he’s squeezing his fists hard enough for them to make indents in his palms anyway. There are some guarantees with Lucifer. He wants Sam. He believes he owns Sam. And he will hurt Sam, if he gets a chance to.
Castiel turns the book toward Dean and the two of them hunch over it, muttering, arguing, fingers jabbing at the parchment. They should be wearing white gloves. That’s an ancient text. Did Dean even wash his hands after he ate that bucket of fried chicken?
Dean’s right. This is a bad idea. Maybe they should just pack a bag and head to the coast. Salt in the air, sand between their toes and gently lapping water. They can sit on the beach, watch the waves, eat junk food and wait for Amara to unmake existence.
What’s so great about existence anyway? It’s all fear and fighting and waiting for Death, with a few good things thrown in along the way to keep you hooked. Intermittent positive reinforcement, like the slot machines in Vegas.
Sam closes his eyes and remembers chugging down gallons of demon blood.
He tries to find the same strength he had then.
Strength born of blissful ignorance.
Ignorance that he’ll never get back.
“Sammy?”
Sam meets his brother’s eyes. “Sorry, what?”
Dean gets right up in Sam’s face, too close. He lays a hand on Sam’s arm and then bites at his lip, pupils large and sorrowful. Sam knows his brother can feel the fine tremors running through him.
“You don’t have to do this,” Dean says, his breath warm and intimate as it ghosts across Sam’s lips.
Sam feels a single tear well up in his eye and fall slowly down his cheek. He wipes at it and takes a deep breath, his throat suddenly free of obstruction. The air hits his lungs, fills them, and he feels his terror recede.
There is no one else who can do this. And it needs to be done. But it’s still his choice. If he chooses the beach, Dean will back his play.
“I know,” he says.
Dean doesn’t say anything. Just stands there. Too close. One hand on Sam’s arm. Breathing.
Sam matches his next inhalation to Dean’s. Breathes out with him.
In.
Out.
“I know,” Sam repeats. “But it’s our best shot.”
“Rowena will think she has the upper hand,” Castiel says from where he’s leaning against the table. “And Crowley’s lust for Amara’s power will make him under estimate you. They’ll believe what they want to believe and we’ll be encouraging that.”
Castiel moves forward, stands beside Dean and, inclines his head. “I believe you can do this, Sam. You are smart and you are strong and you are good.”
“And I’ll be with you,” Dean says, “every step of the way.”
Castiel frowns. “He must do the final step alone. There is no getting around that.”
Dean’s eyes darken and his lips turn down. “I’ll be right outside.”
Sam manages a smile. In all honesty, when he’s inside that Cage with Lucifer it won’t matter whether Dean’s on the other side of the bars or the other side of town.
He appreciates the sentiment, though.
“But it’s your choice,” Dean adds. “We can still find another way.”
Sam huffs. They probably can. But this way is their best shot and they all know it.
Sam’s blood is pumping through his veins, zinging with adrenalin. He swings his arms and pushes through Dean and Castiel, sits down at the table and looks over their notes.
The moon is starting to set and the words on the Book are fading into obscurity again.
Sam’s made up his mind. He’s doing this. He’s going to take his fiddle and go play with the Devil and no matter how terrified he is when he’s down there, he’s going to win.
“Let’s go over the plan again,” he says, foot tapping relentlessly against the library floor. “Let’s not forget; God’s in the detail, guys.”
The Devil’s in the detail too, but they’re counting on nobody remembering that.
--