Fic: Ink (Sam/Castiel)
Title: Ink
Author: thunder_nari
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Spoilers: up to 5.22, AU after that so no spoilers for season six
Warnings: Um...character death kind of?
Word Count: ~1800
Notes/Prompts: Written for the sassy_otp exchange for zempasuchil. Prompt used was 'Cas dreamwalking'. As well as I stole the 'writing on the body' bit from another prompt and used the like 'wings'. I hope you like this! Thanks to puchuupoet for the quick beta!
Summary: Sam is stuck in Hell with Lucifer and Michael...it's not as exciting as it sounds but Castiel is there to deliver him from boredom.
Ink
**
In Hell Sam sleeps.
Sam dives into the hole and expects to hit the bottom and come out a lot worse off. He expects Hell to be like Hell, whatever that is. What he gets is a rose garden. All bright green and red buds which burst out of the red clay ground and climb up the walls, covering what Sam expects are supports made out of bone. Which means the ground is probably made out of decay (which probably makes good compost, his mind supplies, and maybe that’s why the rose garden flourishes). The vines and leaves of the bushes curve above them like a trellis and do their best to block out the sickly green sky and the chains and the bodies.
It is Lucifer’s cage and he’s decorated it the way he likes. Hell is absolutely nothing like Hell.
It’s boring. The cage isn’t that big, and pretty roses aside, there’s nothing to look at. Mostly because Lucifer has full control back and Lucifer is busy sitting in a corner, refusing to look at Michael. Which is fine because Michael isn’t looking at him either. He’s taken Adam to his own side of the cage and it’s like a proverbial line has been drawn down the middle. Lucifer isn’t talking to Sam, either. Sam hasn’t seen such a sullen tantrum since Dad took the Impala’s keys from Dean for a week for getting a nick on the door when he was sixteen.
Sam spends a little while being relieved that there’s nothing worse to contend with than an occasional scrape from an errant thorn. Then he starts wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. When Lucifer will stop being quietly angry about the whole thing and start taking it out on Sam, or maybe when some demons will find them. But Lucifer never says a word to him, the demons seem to have no idea where the cage actually lays, and soon enough, Sam is bored. It’s stupid, when he catches himself wishing something would happen, because this is Hell and he’s more than fine with nothing ever happening.
He spends a lot of time thinking about Dean, about what he’s doing now, about what they managed to do together, about what they used to do. He tries to plan an escape but always comes up empty. Then he just starts sleeping a lot and not long after that, Castiel shows up.
Sam dreams about driving in the Impala. Maybe because it’s the last thing he has a real clear memory of, the line between him and Lucifer coming into focus and shifting just enough in Sam’s favor. He’d been looking at the Impala and now he dreams about driving around in it. Sometimes Dean is there, sometimes Sam is alone. Of course, he’s alone when Castiel pops into existence beside him and it takes until Castiel speaks before Sam realizes this isn’t part of his dream.
“Hello, Sam.”
Sam's hands tighten over the steering wheel, twisting over the leather a little before he lets out a deep breath. Two words remind him this isn’t real, he’s in a cage with a bitchy archangel and, oh yeah, he’s dead. He resents Castiel for breaking the illusion of open roads and a destination that involves Dean waiting for him for a good two seconds before his breath catches. Castiel is here, Castiel the angel that hauled Dean out of Hell once.
“Are we going?”
“Not yet.”
All of Sam’s quickly constructed hope crumbles. “What the hell do you mean not yet?”
“It’s not that easy.” Of course it never has been and Sam doesn’t know why that’s as disappointing as it is. “For starters, you’re stuck in the cage. I can’t get your body out without opening the locks again.” Sam feels himself start to slump, that he’s stuck here with a creature that lives forever and probably throws tantrums of the same length. “However, it may be possible to slip your soul through the cracks and return you to Heaven.”
“But I'd still be dead.” Sam doesn't ask and his shoulders sag.
“It's the best I can offer,” Castiel says in apology.
Sam kind of wants to sulk about it but he doesn't want to be like Lucifer and really, what more can he ask for? He's being offered a place in Heaven and he's pissy about that? He'd like to see Dean again but he supposes he will eventually if he wants to get really romantic about it. “It's good, Cas, thanks. So...what do we do?”
“A ritual,” Castiel says and when Sam blinks, he finds them in a motel room, the Impala and the never ending road long gone.
The room is like a dozen others he and Dean have been in over the years. Garish and not outstanding, something to easily blend into the background and Sam dismisses the location change easily.
“You'll need to take your shirt off.” And Castiel is already shrugging out of his trench coat, letting it pool down to the floor, making Sam raise his eyebrows.
“Um. What does this ritual entail exactly?”
Castiel is barely paying attention to Sam's momentary discomfort but Sam wouldn't expect him to. Castiel never got social niceties; stripping down is probably considered normal in his books. He takes off his tie and jacket while he answers. “Think of it like the carvings on your ribs, just more elaborate. Only I want to hide your soul, not your body. Take off your shirt and lay down on your stomach.”
“...Okay.” Sam goes with it, only a little hesitantly but he trusts Castiel and he wants to get out of here. He pulls his shirt off over his head, watching Castiel unbutton his dress shirt until Castiel gives him a pointed look that he should lay down. Sam does, settling on his front but keeping his head tilted so he can watch Castiel and the next thing he knows, the room is filled with wings.
He thinks he makes some sort of embarrassing startled noise but one minute they're alone in a dim ugly room and the next, huge wings are spreading from Castiel's back, taking up all the space around them. Deep black or maybe midnight, what light there is reflects streaks of blue through the feathers and Sam can't stop gawking. He nearly squawks a protest when Castiel reaches for one of the long pinions and with a quick jerk, plucks it free.
“Cas...”
“Settle,” Castiel says and Sam does, still not sure but resting down on the bed and Castiel sits next to him, weight dipping the mattress. His wings sweep across the room and settle around them and Sam wants to keep staring but Castiel's hand presses to the back of his head and eases him down until Sam rests on the pillow and closes his eyes. “This may take awhile but try not to move.”
Sam hears something, the snick of a box cutter maybe, and the scent of copper blood fills the air, prompting him to open his eyes and watch as Castiel dips the quill of his feather in the fresh trickle of red on his forearm. Castiel catches his eye as the angel leans over and touches the quill tip high on Sam's shoulder blade. Sam shivers at the scratch of it across his skin as Castiel begins writing.
“It's an imprint on your soul,” Castiel says, taking more ink from the blood of his arm as he writes. “It should shield you from Lucifer and Michael and allow you to bypass the cages defenses.”
“And using your own feather?”
“Strengthens the magic. As does my blood.”
“Mm,” Sam hums agreement while Castiel draws across his back with smooth strokes of the quill.
The further Castiel goes down his back, the more relaxed and boneless Sam feels. Safe and secure in the knowledge that he'll be getting out of here soon. Castiel's wings shield them from the rest of the room and Sam suspects, Lucifer's suspicion. And Lucifer's temper which has maybe been weighing on Sam a little more than he'd thought, not even realized until Castiel had come and taken the influence away. He's still trapped in the cage but he feels a bit more free with every line the quill marks onto him.
When Castiel reaches the dip at the small of his back and makes a strange sort of purr, Sam realizes a couple things. One, he's buried his fingers into Castiel's nearest wing and is stroking a fingertip along the spine of a feather and two, he's kind of hard and making little motions against the mattress. He stills immediately, mumbles a quiet “Sorry” against the pillow he turns his hot face against but can't seem to work up enough energy to feel that embarrassed.
“How are you feeling,” Castiel asks and Castiel's breath is against his back when the angel leans over to inspect his work and write in another symbol. His blood is starting to crack and dry on Sam's skin but that doesn't feel as uncomfortable as it should. Sam's not entirely sure he's in the room at all.
“Kind of...like floating.”
“Then it's working. You will return to Heaven and I'll join you shortly, after I've retrieved your brother.”
Sam's fingers still work against Castiel's feathers and the angel's voice is raspier than usual. “Um... Adam? You're gonna do this with Adam?”
A short huff of laughter is felt against Sam's back. “I may keep my wings to myself though.”
“Oh. Oh, good, cause... That's kind of weird.” Kind of weird to think about Castiel sharing the same intimate - really? - moment with his half-brother when Sam is vaguely thinking that he wants to get his hands on Castiel's wings again and when he's still half-hard pushing against the mattress.
Castiel definitely laughs this time, a soft knowing noise and before he finishes the last symbol at the base of Sam's spine, he leans up and brushes his mouth against the back of Sam's neck. “I'll see you soon.” The last line is put in place and the room falls away from Sam. Or he rises from the room and through the cracks of the rose garden and the box and finally Hell.
Sam opens his eyes to an asphalt road and walks along it until Castiel and Adam find him. He's a little relieved when it takes Dean a lot longer to get there.
Author: thunder_nari
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Spoilers: up to 5.22, AU after that so no spoilers for season six
Warnings: Um...character death kind of?
Word Count: ~1800
Notes/Prompts: Written for the sassy_otp exchange for zempasuchil. Prompt used was 'Cas dreamwalking'. As well as I stole the 'writing on the body' bit from another prompt and used the like 'wings'. I hope you like this! Thanks to puchuupoet for the quick beta!
Summary: Sam is stuck in Hell with Lucifer and Michael...it's not as exciting as it sounds but Castiel is there to deliver him from boredom.
Ink
**
In Hell Sam sleeps.
Sam dives into the hole and expects to hit the bottom and come out a lot worse off. He expects Hell to be like Hell, whatever that is. What he gets is a rose garden. All bright green and red buds which burst out of the red clay ground and climb up the walls, covering what Sam expects are supports made out of bone. Which means the ground is probably made out of decay (which probably makes good compost, his mind supplies, and maybe that’s why the rose garden flourishes). The vines and leaves of the bushes curve above them like a trellis and do their best to block out the sickly green sky and the chains and the bodies.
It is Lucifer’s cage and he’s decorated it the way he likes. Hell is absolutely nothing like Hell.
It’s boring. The cage isn’t that big, and pretty roses aside, there’s nothing to look at. Mostly because Lucifer has full control back and Lucifer is busy sitting in a corner, refusing to look at Michael. Which is fine because Michael isn’t looking at him either. He’s taken Adam to his own side of the cage and it’s like a proverbial line has been drawn down the middle. Lucifer isn’t talking to Sam, either. Sam hasn’t seen such a sullen tantrum since Dad took the Impala’s keys from Dean for a week for getting a nick on the door when he was sixteen.
Sam spends a little while being relieved that there’s nothing worse to contend with than an occasional scrape from an errant thorn. Then he starts wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. When Lucifer will stop being quietly angry about the whole thing and start taking it out on Sam, or maybe when some demons will find them. But Lucifer never says a word to him, the demons seem to have no idea where the cage actually lays, and soon enough, Sam is bored. It’s stupid, when he catches himself wishing something would happen, because this is Hell and he’s more than fine with nothing ever happening.
He spends a lot of time thinking about Dean, about what he’s doing now, about what they managed to do together, about what they used to do. He tries to plan an escape but always comes up empty. Then he just starts sleeping a lot and not long after that, Castiel shows up.
Sam dreams about driving in the Impala. Maybe because it’s the last thing he has a real clear memory of, the line between him and Lucifer coming into focus and shifting just enough in Sam’s favor. He’d been looking at the Impala and now he dreams about driving around in it. Sometimes Dean is there, sometimes Sam is alone. Of course, he’s alone when Castiel pops into existence beside him and it takes until Castiel speaks before Sam realizes this isn’t part of his dream.
“Hello, Sam.”
Sam's hands tighten over the steering wheel, twisting over the leather a little before he lets out a deep breath. Two words remind him this isn’t real, he’s in a cage with a bitchy archangel and, oh yeah, he’s dead. He resents Castiel for breaking the illusion of open roads and a destination that involves Dean waiting for him for a good two seconds before his breath catches. Castiel is here, Castiel the angel that hauled Dean out of Hell once.
“Are we going?”
“Not yet.”
All of Sam’s quickly constructed hope crumbles. “What the hell do you mean not yet?”
“It’s not that easy.” Of course it never has been and Sam doesn’t know why that’s as disappointing as it is. “For starters, you’re stuck in the cage. I can’t get your body out without opening the locks again.” Sam feels himself start to slump, that he’s stuck here with a creature that lives forever and probably throws tantrums of the same length. “However, it may be possible to slip your soul through the cracks and return you to Heaven.”
“But I'd still be dead.” Sam doesn't ask and his shoulders sag.
“It's the best I can offer,” Castiel says in apology.
Sam kind of wants to sulk about it but he doesn't want to be like Lucifer and really, what more can he ask for? He's being offered a place in Heaven and he's pissy about that? He'd like to see Dean again but he supposes he will eventually if he wants to get really romantic about it. “It's good, Cas, thanks. So...what do we do?”
“A ritual,” Castiel says and when Sam blinks, he finds them in a motel room, the Impala and the never ending road long gone.
The room is like a dozen others he and Dean have been in over the years. Garish and not outstanding, something to easily blend into the background and Sam dismisses the location change easily.
“You'll need to take your shirt off.” And Castiel is already shrugging out of his trench coat, letting it pool down to the floor, making Sam raise his eyebrows.
“Um. What does this ritual entail exactly?”
Castiel is barely paying attention to Sam's momentary discomfort but Sam wouldn't expect him to. Castiel never got social niceties; stripping down is probably considered normal in his books. He takes off his tie and jacket while he answers. “Think of it like the carvings on your ribs, just more elaborate. Only I want to hide your soul, not your body. Take off your shirt and lay down on your stomach.”
“...Okay.” Sam goes with it, only a little hesitantly but he trusts Castiel and he wants to get out of here. He pulls his shirt off over his head, watching Castiel unbutton his dress shirt until Castiel gives him a pointed look that he should lay down. Sam does, settling on his front but keeping his head tilted so he can watch Castiel and the next thing he knows, the room is filled with wings.
He thinks he makes some sort of embarrassing startled noise but one minute they're alone in a dim ugly room and the next, huge wings are spreading from Castiel's back, taking up all the space around them. Deep black or maybe midnight, what light there is reflects streaks of blue through the feathers and Sam can't stop gawking. He nearly squawks a protest when Castiel reaches for one of the long pinions and with a quick jerk, plucks it free.
“Cas...”
“Settle,” Castiel says and Sam does, still not sure but resting down on the bed and Castiel sits next to him, weight dipping the mattress. His wings sweep across the room and settle around them and Sam wants to keep staring but Castiel's hand presses to the back of his head and eases him down until Sam rests on the pillow and closes his eyes. “This may take awhile but try not to move.”
Sam hears something, the snick of a box cutter maybe, and the scent of copper blood fills the air, prompting him to open his eyes and watch as Castiel dips the quill of his feather in the fresh trickle of red on his forearm. Castiel catches his eye as the angel leans over and touches the quill tip high on Sam's shoulder blade. Sam shivers at the scratch of it across his skin as Castiel begins writing.
“It's an imprint on your soul,” Castiel says, taking more ink from the blood of his arm as he writes. “It should shield you from Lucifer and Michael and allow you to bypass the cages defenses.”
“And using your own feather?”
“Strengthens the magic. As does my blood.”
“Mm,” Sam hums agreement while Castiel draws across his back with smooth strokes of the quill.
The further Castiel goes down his back, the more relaxed and boneless Sam feels. Safe and secure in the knowledge that he'll be getting out of here soon. Castiel's wings shield them from the rest of the room and Sam suspects, Lucifer's suspicion. And Lucifer's temper which has maybe been weighing on Sam a little more than he'd thought, not even realized until Castiel had come and taken the influence away. He's still trapped in the cage but he feels a bit more free with every line the quill marks onto him.
When Castiel reaches the dip at the small of his back and makes a strange sort of purr, Sam realizes a couple things. One, he's buried his fingers into Castiel's nearest wing and is stroking a fingertip along the spine of a feather and two, he's kind of hard and making little motions against the mattress. He stills immediately, mumbles a quiet “Sorry” against the pillow he turns his hot face against but can't seem to work up enough energy to feel that embarrassed.
“How are you feeling,” Castiel asks and Castiel's breath is against his back when the angel leans over to inspect his work and write in another symbol. His blood is starting to crack and dry on Sam's skin but that doesn't feel as uncomfortable as it should. Sam's not entirely sure he's in the room at all.
“Kind of...like floating.”
“Then it's working. You will return to Heaven and I'll join you shortly, after I've retrieved your brother.”
Sam's fingers still work against Castiel's feathers and the angel's voice is raspier than usual. “Um... Adam? You're gonna do this with Adam?”
A short huff of laughter is felt against Sam's back. “I may keep my wings to myself though.”
“Oh. Oh, good, cause... That's kind of weird.” Kind of weird to think about Castiel sharing the same intimate - really? - moment with his half-brother when Sam is vaguely thinking that he wants to get his hands on Castiel's wings again and when he's still half-hard pushing against the mattress.
Castiel definitely laughs this time, a soft knowing noise and before he finishes the last symbol at the base of Sam's spine, he leans up and brushes his mouth against the back of Sam's neck. “I'll see you soon.” The last line is put in place and the room falls away from Sam. Or he rises from the room and through the cracks of the rose garden and the box and finally Hell.
Sam opens his eyes to an asphalt road and walks along it until Castiel and Adam find him. He's a little relieved when it takes Dean a lot longer to get there.