Who: Castiel and Sam Winchester When: New Year's Eve Where: Sam's apartment Summary: Multiple bad situations all collide into an even worse one Warnings: PG-13 for blood and stupid destructive behavior
Sat was sat at the kitchen table, watching Castiel carefully as he rolled up his sleeve. A dagger lay on the wooden surface next to a small glass tumbler.
This should have been an emotional moment, and perhaps it was in some ways - they had succeeded in psyching each other out so that they thought this was the only solution. The two days between now and running out of Crowley's blood had been hard. Incredibly hard, and rather than taking the chance that the plan had failed and they were facing an uncertain future... well. Here they were. About to do the unthinkable.
After losing Dean, the risk was too high not to act. Castiel had never been that confident in Crowley's plan, and as the past few days had gone by, he'd become less and less certain, and he wasn't going to watch Sam possibly die when he could do something so simple to prevent it.
He hadn't done enough for Dean; he'd be certain he didn't make the same mistake.
Finishing rolling his sleeve, he picked up the knife, glancing at Sam once just to gauge him. Despite Castiel's depressed apathy there was no forgetting what had happened in August, and there was still a part of him that was cautious. But Sam seemed calm, and with no additional fanfare Castiel pressed the knife to the side of his arm.
It barely registered as hurting, and instead he was glad on some level to be doing something. Holding his arm over the glass, it would take a short time to fill to the desired amount; he hadn't cut that deeply. He needed to use that arm without any issue, after all, because if he couldn't questions would be asked, and no one was to find out about
( ... )
He was quiet, eyes focused on what he was doing instead of on Sam, watching his own blood drip into the glass. Sam had mentioned the healing before, and it made sense for it to be a side effect, though he disregarded the last thing Sam stated. That could easily have been a psychological effect, and likely was; didn't he feel similarly on demon blood
( ... )
Comments 6
Sat was sat at the kitchen table, watching Castiel carefully as he rolled up his sleeve. A dagger lay on the wooden surface next to a small glass tumbler.
This should have been an emotional moment, and perhaps it was in some ways - they had succeeded in psyching each other out so that they thought this was the only solution. The two days between now and running out of Crowley's blood had been hard. Incredibly hard, and rather than taking the chance that the plan had failed and they were facing an uncertain future... well. Here they were. About to do the unthinkable.
Reply
He hadn't done enough for Dean; he'd be certain he didn't make the same mistake.
Finishing rolling his sleeve, he picked up the knife, glancing at Sam once just to gauge him. Despite Castiel's depressed apathy there was no forgetting what had happened in August, and there was still a part of him that was cautious. But Sam seemed calm, and with no additional fanfare Castiel pressed the knife to the side of his arm.
It barely registered as hurting, and instead he was glad on some level to be doing something. Holding his arm over the glass, it would take a short time to fill to the desired amount; he hadn't cut that deeply. He needed to use that arm without any issue, after all, because if he couldn't questions would be asked, and no one was to find out about ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment