Fic: Locked In (Supernatural, Castiel/Dean, Gabriel/Sam)
Title: Locked In
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Spoilers: Set during season five, when Sam, addicted to demon blood, is forced to detox.
Summary: Castiel needs help - Dean is falling apart and Sam is detoxing. So Castiel calls on his brother and surprisingly, Gabriel answers. Somebody needs to be there to tie their shoelaces.
Castiel was silent for almost ten minutes before he put out the call. Sam's screams were not stopping. Castiel understood why Dean had left for the scrapyard and why Bobby had stayed upstairs. The sounds were more than distressing. They tore at him in a way that he was unused to experiencing.
He could also hear Dean's prayers and pain.
Castiel threaded his own prayers with Sam's anguished screams. It was shamefully unfair, using what he had read in his brother in this way, but he was on an unfamiliar knife edge of worry, foreboding, and pain. He needed help. His grace was steadily diminishing and there was only so much he could do alone. Angels had always formed garrisons for good reason.
There was an urgent flutter of wings, then Gabriel appeared. His mouth was full of sticky candy.
“What stupid thing did they do now?”
Gabriel sounded exasperated, so very human, but his eyes fixed on the panic room door for a moment. Castiel felt relief. It left him a little unsteady on his feet. Emotions surged in him stronger every day and he was still becoming used to their effects, how they colored everything. His stomach still hurt from all the meat he had consumed so recently.
“Whoa, bro, what stupid thing did you do?” Gabriel frowned at him, the candy now gone. He stepped closer. “Do you need to throw up?”
Castiel gave a pained grimace and leaned heavily against the wall. It was going to be some time until his vessel did not feel so uncomfortable. He closed his eyes. He could feel his wings dragging on the ground.
There was the touch of fingers to his temple. Gabriel, as impatient as ever, was not going to wait for explanations.
Castiel tried to concentrate on what had happened that day, but everything since he had last seen his brother became tangled up with it, muddy and disorganized. His control was slipping and he was too close to tiredness. Gabriel saw everything.
There was a tiny pause, like a breath, and then Gabriel moved. Castiel opened his eyes. His stomach now felt settled and stable. He no longer had the disquieting urge to empty it. He inclined his head in thanks.
“What have they done to you?” Gabriel wondered, eyebrows knitted. “You're falling fast, little brother. Soon, you'll be crashing without a parachute.”
“They opened my eyes,” Castiel replied. “I did the rest.”
Gabriel appraised him. There was something like amused pride hidden in his expression. Castiel stood a little straighter.
“Well, well, well, the little soldier's all grown up and Dad’s not here to give you the speech and salute.” Gabriel's eyes shifted, like he was daring Castiel to contradict him.
Castiel lowered his eyes. Their Father was still missing. Gabriel snorted and shook his head. He leaned against the wall, resigned and comfortable.
“Never know when to give up, huh, Cas? Makes you practically a Winchester.”
“Lucifer burning this world is not our Father’s will.”
“So why isn't he here? Sticking Lucifer back downstairs, putting out all the fires, stopping the apocalypse?”
Castiel had no answers. He had not stopped looking despite how quickly his grace was diminishing and how difficult flying had subsequently become. Their Father would not stay away unless he was forced to or perhaps this was a test, to see how his children, heavenly and earthly, would choose and cope without his guidance. Such things were not unknown, but, Castiel had now decided, they were also unfair.
The screams had stopped. In the silence, Sam was sobbing apologies to people who weren’t there. The demon blood was trying to keep its grip on him. Castiel did not envy the nights that lay ahead of the younger Winchester.
He wished, sudden and hard, that he could take it all away.
He was not the only one who wished that. There was something troubled and raw in the lines of Gabriel's face. He cared and he did not want to. He was not as good at hiding how he felt as he believed. Or perhaps this had torn his infuriating mask off.
His wings were raised protectively. For Sam, Castiel noted. The reason Gabriel had come when Castiel had called, the reason he had stayed. With a shaky tendril of Grace, Castiel tentatively reached towards his brother. Gabriel’s breath stumbled, clearly caught off guard by the gesture, but he did not reject it. How long had it been since he had been so close to one of the Host? Castiel pressed his Grace closer, firm and welcoming.
“We could use your help, brother,” he offered quietly.
“Oh, I'm sure you could. What a team you are. I'm surprised you can all tie your shoelaces,” Gabriel snorted.
But he did not say “no.”
Dean's prayers had not stopped. They bit into Castiel. He barely flinched, but the pain was deep.
Gabriel simply raised his eyebrows, unaffected, as he snapped a candy bar into existence. Sam let out a particularly pained sob. Gabriel's expression didn't appear to change. But Castiel saw how his eyes found the panic room door as though drawn there, how his expression fractionally narrowed, how he still did not fly away.
“Mardi Gras was dull this year anyway,” Gabriel commented, snapping in an opulent-looking chair. “This is much more entertaining.”
His words would have angered Dean, but Castiel saw how they feinted and concealed. Gabriel did not want to get hurt again. He was wrestling desperately with two instincts. Sam made him care and Gabriel hated that and what it could do. Part of him wanted to leave immediately, but he didn’t. And he had the perfect cover for being there. The Winchesters in pain were one of his favorite things to watch after all.
Now the only person he was fooling was himself.
What Castiel saw inside Gabriel could not be a trick. Castiel wondered if he had looked the same way when he had become....attached to Dean, if he had glowed, if that was why he found it so easy to read Gabriel now. He could leave to see to Dean. Sam would not be alone, Gabriel's Grace told him that much.
Castiel paused and with a slight hesitation, let his hand clasp Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel's eyes followed the movement, but he did not dislodge Castiel. He had been separated from the garrisons for so long. Castiel found being cut off from the Host intolerable; he could not imagine enduring it for centuries. It was no wonder that Gabriel had found comfort and distracting pleasure in humanity. He had learned how to numb the ache in order to survive, in order to lose himself.
And all the while his Grace had burned inside of him.
*
It was late. Castiel had spoken with Dean at length and had then stayed until sleep and choked-up emotion had finally consumed the elder Winchester. Only then did Castiel return to the panic room. Gabriel was still sat there - he had stayed. Relief made Castiel's steps falter. Gabriel's expression was haunted. Sam was silent.
“He’s all cried out for now,” Gabriel supplied. “Fell asleep a half hour ago.”
He looked drained. There was a lingering smell of burning, and impossible handprints were impressively visible on the panic room door, as though someone had pressed so hard against it from the outside that it had started to melt. Something ached inside Castiel in response. Yet he was also guiltily eased, by the Grace of a brother so close by.
“You need sleep too, little brother,” Gabriel pointed out. “Before you fall down.”
Castiel nodded. Sleep was no longer a stranger to him. Dean was waiting in one of Bobby’s rooms, still believing himself an empty shell, hollowed-out and useless, no matter what Castiel had told him, the patterns he had drawn across Dean’s skin. Dean needed him, though he would not say the words aloud. Castiel heard him anyway.
Gabriel smiled slowly. “You always did need a map.”
Castiel tilted his head. He had decided that Gabriel would never make complete sense again. He had lived too long as a pagan god, enjoyed humanity’s flesh for too many years. But the archangel was still in there and somehow Sam had unknowingly stoked that flame brighter than any reasoning could. It sounded like a familiar road. Castiel was grateful for it.
“You are welcome here, Gabriel,” Castiel said carefully, meaningfully.
Gabriel snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure Deano will say that right from the heart.”
But there was something in the cracks of Gabriel’s smile, which Castiel acknowledged with a nod. Gabriel shook his head and materialized a bowl piled high with ice-cream. That was when Castiel left, the faint pulse of Gabriel's Grace a reassurance as he retired to where Dean was fitfully trying to sleep.
Castiel paused beside the bed, before stripping away the trenchcoat and jacket and sinking purposefully onto the covers. Dean would be grateful for the barrier. They both needed sleep and Dean also required comfort should his nightmares return. Castiel welcomed any chance to ease Dean’s pain. Dean stilled as Castiel entered his personal space, but he did not push Castiel away. Castiel breathed in the smell that had become uniquely soothing to him outside of Heaven’s gates - beer, fast food, car oil, gunpowder, blood, sweat, Dean - and closed his eyes.
Downstairs, an archangel beat his wings.
-the end
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Spoilers: Set during season five, when Sam, addicted to demon blood, is forced to detox.
Summary: Castiel needs help - Dean is falling apart and Sam is detoxing. So Castiel calls on his brother and surprisingly, Gabriel answers. Somebody needs to be there to tie their shoelaces.
Castiel was silent for almost ten minutes before he put out the call. Sam's screams were not stopping. Castiel understood why Dean had left for the scrapyard and why Bobby had stayed upstairs. The sounds were more than distressing. They tore at him in a way that he was unused to experiencing.
He could also hear Dean's prayers and pain.
Castiel threaded his own prayers with Sam's anguished screams. It was shamefully unfair, using what he had read in his brother in this way, but he was on an unfamiliar knife edge of worry, foreboding, and pain. He needed help. His grace was steadily diminishing and there was only so much he could do alone. Angels had always formed garrisons for good reason.
There was an urgent flutter of wings, then Gabriel appeared. His mouth was full of sticky candy.
“What stupid thing did they do now?”
Gabriel sounded exasperated, so very human, but his eyes fixed on the panic room door for a moment. Castiel felt relief. It left him a little unsteady on his feet. Emotions surged in him stronger every day and he was still becoming used to their effects, how they colored everything. His stomach still hurt from all the meat he had consumed so recently.
“Whoa, bro, what stupid thing did you do?” Gabriel frowned at him, the candy now gone. He stepped closer. “Do you need to throw up?”
Castiel gave a pained grimace and leaned heavily against the wall. It was going to be some time until his vessel did not feel so uncomfortable. He closed his eyes. He could feel his wings dragging on the ground.
There was the touch of fingers to his temple. Gabriel, as impatient as ever, was not going to wait for explanations.
Castiel tried to concentrate on what had happened that day, but everything since he had last seen his brother became tangled up with it, muddy and disorganized. His control was slipping and he was too close to tiredness. Gabriel saw everything.
There was a tiny pause, like a breath, and then Gabriel moved. Castiel opened his eyes. His stomach now felt settled and stable. He no longer had the disquieting urge to empty it. He inclined his head in thanks.
“What have they done to you?” Gabriel wondered, eyebrows knitted. “You're falling fast, little brother. Soon, you'll be crashing without a parachute.”
“They opened my eyes,” Castiel replied. “I did the rest.”
Gabriel appraised him. There was something like amused pride hidden in his expression. Castiel stood a little straighter.
“Well, well, well, the little soldier's all grown up and Dad’s not here to give you the speech and salute.” Gabriel's eyes shifted, like he was daring Castiel to contradict him.
Castiel lowered his eyes. Their Father was still missing. Gabriel snorted and shook his head. He leaned against the wall, resigned and comfortable.
“Never know when to give up, huh, Cas? Makes you practically a Winchester.”
“Lucifer burning this world is not our Father’s will.”
“So why isn't he here? Sticking Lucifer back downstairs, putting out all the fires, stopping the apocalypse?”
Castiel had no answers. He had not stopped looking despite how quickly his grace was diminishing and how difficult flying had subsequently become. Their Father would not stay away unless he was forced to or perhaps this was a test, to see how his children, heavenly and earthly, would choose and cope without his guidance. Such things were not unknown, but, Castiel had now decided, they were also unfair.
The screams had stopped. In the silence, Sam was sobbing apologies to people who weren’t there. The demon blood was trying to keep its grip on him. Castiel did not envy the nights that lay ahead of the younger Winchester.
He wished, sudden and hard, that he could take it all away.
He was not the only one who wished that. There was something troubled and raw in the lines of Gabriel's face. He cared and he did not want to. He was not as good at hiding how he felt as he believed. Or perhaps this had torn his infuriating mask off.
His wings were raised protectively. For Sam, Castiel noted. The reason Gabriel had come when Castiel had called, the reason he had stayed. With a shaky tendril of Grace, Castiel tentatively reached towards his brother. Gabriel’s breath stumbled, clearly caught off guard by the gesture, but he did not reject it. How long had it been since he had been so close to one of the Host? Castiel pressed his Grace closer, firm and welcoming.
“We could use your help, brother,” he offered quietly.
“Oh, I'm sure you could. What a team you are. I'm surprised you can all tie your shoelaces,” Gabriel snorted.
But he did not say “no.”
Dean's prayers had not stopped. They bit into Castiel. He barely flinched, but the pain was deep.
Gabriel simply raised his eyebrows, unaffected, as he snapped a candy bar into existence. Sam let out a particularly pained sob. Gabriel's expression didn't appear to change. But Castiel saw how his eyes found the panic room door as though drawn there, how his expression fractionally narrowed, how he still did not fly away.
“Mardi Gras was dull this year anyway,” Gabriel commented, snapping in an opulent-looking chair. “This is much more entertaining.”
His words would have angered Dean, but Castiel saw how they feinted and concealed. Gabriel did not want to get hurt again. He was wrestling desperately with two instincts. Sam made him care and Gabriel hated that and what it could do. Part of him wanted to leave immediately, but he didn’t. And he had the perfect cover for being there. The Winchesters in pain were one of his favorite things to watch after all.
Now the only person he was fooling was himself.
What Castiel saw inside Gabriel could not be a trick. Castiel wondered if he had looked the same way when he had become....attached to Dean, if he had glowed, if that was why he found it so easy to read Gabriel now. He could leave to see to Dean. Sam would not be alone, Gabriel's Grace told him that much.
Castiel paused and with a slight hesitation, let his hand clasp Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel's eyes followed the movement, but he did not dislodge Castiel. He had been separated from the garrisons for so long. Castiel found being cut off from the Host intolerable; he could not imagine enduring it for centuries. It was no wonder that Gabriel had found comfort and distracting pleasure in humanity. He had learned how to numb the ache in order to survive, in order to lose himself.
And all the while his Grace had burned inside of him.
*
It was late. Castiel had spoken with Dean at length and had then stayed until sleep and choked-up emotion had finally consumed the elder Winchester. Only then did Castiel return to the panic room. Gabriel was still sat there - he had stayed. Relief made Castiel's steps falter. Gabriel's expression was haunted. Sam was silent.
“He’s all cried out for now,” Gabriel supplied. “Fell asleep a half hour ago.”
He looked drained. There was a lingering smell of burning, and impossible handprints were impressively visible on the panic room door, as though someone had pressed so hard against it from the outside that it had started to melt. Something ached inside Castiel in response. Yet he was also guiltily eased, by the Grace of a brother so close by.
“You need sleep too, little brother,” Gabriel pointed out. “Before you fall down.”
Castiel nodded. Sleep was no longer a stranger to him. Dean was waiting in one of Bobby’s rooms, still believing himself an empty shell, hollowed-out and useless, no matter what Castiel had told him, the patterns he had drawn across Dean’s skin. Dean needed him, though he would not say the words aloud. Castiel heard him anyway.
Gabriel smiled slowly. “You always did need a map.”
Castiel tilted his head. He had decided that Gabriel would never make complete sense again. He had lived too long as a pagan god, enjoyed humanity’s flesh for too many years. But the archangel was still in there and somehow Sam had unknowingly stoked that flame brighter than any reasoning could. It sounded like a familiar road. Castiel was grateful for it.
“You are welcome here, Gabriel,” Castiel said carefully, meaningfully.
Gabriel snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure Deano will say that right from the heart.”
But there was something in the cracks of Gabriel’s smile, which Castiel acknowledged with a nod. Gabriel shook his head and materialized a bowl piled high with ice-cream. That was when Castiel left, the faint pulse of Gabriel's Grace a reassurance as he retired to where Dean was fitfully trying to sleep.
Castiel paused beside the bed, before stripping away the trenchcoat and jacket and sinking purposefully onto the covers. Dean would be grateful for the barrier. They both needed sleep and Dean also required comfort should his nightmares return. Castiel welcomed any chance to ease Dean’s pain. Dean stilled as Castiel entered his personal space, but he did not push Castiel away. Castiel breathed in the smell that had become uniquely soothing to him outside of Heaven’s gates - beer, fast food, car oil, gunpowder, blood, sweat, Dean - and closed his eyes.
Downstairs, an archangel beat his wings.
-the end