collegedropout: (pic#7179534)
Sam Winchester ([personal profile] collegedropout) wrote1994-04-09 11:14 pm

Some 2014 Thread

The angels have left, Satan has won, and everything's over. Not that Sam would know. Sam's buried in his own body, smothered under layers and layers of darkness. He hasn't seen light in years; Lucifer talked to him a lot, let him feel the rumble of death through his own bones. He's killed a lot of people. And for a long time, there's only defeat — no struggle, no relighting of his soul, nothing but surrender. He knows Dean is out there, somewhere, because Lucifer tells him Dean keeps trying to kill him. 

He understands. 

It's hard to say what happens, where he wakes up — violently wakes up, like a nightmare hitting a crescendo of screams and motion. It's absurd, really. They wipe out some family hiding out in a half-destroyed apartment complex with a flick of their fingers (well, Sam can only assume; he smells the blood). Lucifer looks down at the speckled red mess and there's toys scattered there, dolls and jacks and a football. There's old, ripped comic books. There are little green plastic men that make Sam/Lucifer's chest stutter. His body feels numb, then cold, then too hot, and Sam pries away at the walls around him, screaming and crying in his own mind. Flashes of memory hit him like punches to his sternum and leave afterimages of Dean — Dean punching him in the face, Dean patting him on the back, Dean clinging onto him for dear life. He couldn't remember the last time he saw him, really saw him, and he remembers Goodbye, Sam.

Sam fights. It's a long, painful fight, and he's caught up in the celestial light of Lucifer, so overpowering that he feels himself being ripped and pulled every which way in the chaos of the struggle. But he doesn't want to go back into the dark. He needs to get out. Needs to fix this, no matter what — he's let him take too much. Even if it inevitably mutilates his spirit, destroys it, makes it tattered waves of energy invisible on the wind, he holds on for dear life and screams with his own mouth for the first time in a long time.

And then Lucifer's grace pours out of him, and light surrounds him for miles in every direction. His soul flutters in exhaustion, rattling and clinging to his lips while the devil dissipates altogether. And then his spirit is nestled again in his heart, or his lungs, or his brain, and it settles miserably there. 



Sam wanders blindly, for a few days. While everything starts to fit back into place. He sort of... gets where he is, but it's foggy, and his memory is exhausted from the internal battle. Colors smear and blend, and every so often a wavy smudge that is shaped human runs off, away from him, and he's not completely sure why yet. He's still trying to remember how to walk and move and be a person again; he trips a lot, staining the white pants he's wearing with mud. The coat is eventually discarded, and muscle memory rolls his sleeves in the heat.

He walks and walks, doesn't feel tired, feels like he's slept for lifetimes. He eventually starts recognizing everything: dirt, skin, blood, bruises, corpses. Flowers. Animals and orange-red skylines. They're beautiful. He and Dean used to watch sunsets and stars and things he'd say'd be girly. He... needs to find him. The guy usually gets really anxious when his little brother goes missing, right? They need to be a team again. Sam'll convince him. 

Sam staggers toward a meadow, a group of trees. He's sweaty and his hair's disheveled and there's a vacant expression about him, blood dried on his upper lip and chin from his nose. There's a lot being processed right now. He just — needs a minute. 

It'll get better when he finds the others.

Everything's fine now. 
satinpanties: zatgun (angels sang out an immaculate chorus)


[personal profile] satinpanties 2014-04-10 03:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Risa's a long line of warmth against him, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed, her breathing soft and steady. He doesn't normally let her - or anyone else spend the night, but he'd been too exhausted that night to think about cleaning up and shoving her elsewhere and truthfully, he just hadn't cared. Summoning up any sort of ability to give a shit was getting harder, especially this late at night, and it's not like he's sleeping full nights anyway.

He catches a few hours of sleep and wakes up at the sound of something outside, his whole body jerking up, reaching for the gun by the bed. It's nothing - it's always nothing this close to the camp, but that doesn't mean he doesn't jolt awake at the slightest shift or sound.

It wasn't enough sleep but he's less groggy and more aware, so he shoves at Risa with his knee, watching her roll her eyes and sleepily reach for her clothing. Once, he thinks he might have let her stay longer, might have been glad for her company. She's rough around the edges, but so is everyone else in the camp and she fits well with him. Once, he thinks he would have been grateful for some kind of normalcy, but there's none of that left anymore.

She shrugs on her bra, and her worn pair of jeans and scrubs a hand over her eyes tiredly. She doesn't get pissed when he does this, thankfully - calls him a fucked up sonuvabitch sometimes, but he figures that's deserved and true and it's not like it changes anything anyway. "Meeting at eight," Dean says quietly, his voice a little wrecked, uneven from sleep. There's no real response, just a sleepy murmur of acknowledgement and the door closes.

It's a little fucked he sleeps better with someone there, most nights. He's missed the steady breathing of someone else in the room; when the rest of the world was falling apart and everyone was dying, having some proof that someone else was still alive out there was more of a relief than anything else. The door clicks shut and Dean rolls out of bed to take a quick shower, running the pump and rinsing himself off quickly, before getting dressed. He needs to grab something to eat and then plan out the next mission, because Chuck's gonna have a fit of they run out of toilet paper. Cas ought to be coming back this morning, anyway, which is a fucking relief because much as he drives Dean up a goddamn wall, it's like having his right arm missing sometimes and it makes him even more uncomfortable. He settles down to wait, thumbing over maps and hotzones, a cup of lukewarm coffee at hand.
fornicated: (dean you're a moron)

[personal profile] fornicated 2014-04-10 03:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Most days he's lucky if he feels the faintest shift in the air. Losing his grace - falling meant he was blind and deaf and dumb in all the ways that he couldn't afford to be, not if he wanted to be useful to Dean. When the rest of the angels had left, he'd felt it, but there'd always been this hum in the back of his mind, this sensation of something else and he knew it was Lucifer. He couldn't use it for anything so he never told Dean, but the moment the archangel leaves Sam's body, he knows.

They pull the van over, because Castiel's going to be sick all over the side of the fucking road, the air feeling like it's gotten too hot, too oppressive. He hears someone make a snide comment about ODing, and he ignores it. Fucking Rick doesn't know what he's talking about.

Castiel spits bile onto the ground, and gropes back for the water bottle he keeps in his bag, washing his mouth out and spitting, once, twice, and a third time to rid himself of the taste.

"We'll camp here," he says unsteadily, and doesn't feel any better when none of them question him; he's too busy trying to figure out what changed. What happened, why.

Camp sets up and one of the others takes first watch, while Castiel tries to fight the sense that something's wrong, and he needs to find it, figure out what it is. He doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to tell Dean, doesn't know how he's supposed to explain any of this but hopefully he doesn't need to. If the devil's gone, all the way, that means they have a chance; it also means he doesn't know what Dean's going to do.

I'm taking a walk, he mumbles, watching Jim wave him off. They've cleared the area and it's nowhere near the hot zones but there's something. He doesn't know what, it's just something and he walks towards it, feeling this pull at the last parts and pieces of his grace. Maybe it's nothing, but he keeps his gun out anyway, walking until he nearly runs into Sam. There's the momentary fear - the terror of running straight into Lucifer and the gun swings up, leveled at Sam's head because no matter how much Dean thinks he's a fucking druggie, he doesn't go out fucked up on missions.

It takes a moment, though - a moment to realize it's not Lucifer, it's not the devil under his skin, it's just Sam. There's nothing else in there, just the bloodied up meatsuit of the Lucifer and Castiel just stares.

fornicated: (Oh is that so)

[personal profile] fornicated 2014-04-10 04:39 pm (UTC)(link)
It's instinct - the fear, the sense that something's wrong and he should take him out, because this is wrongwrongwrong. He should listen to it - Dean would never forgive him if he didn't try to take Lucifer down, but the problem is this...isn't him. Castiel stays straight and tense, uncertain as he presses the gun into Sam's stomach.

"You-- what?"

It doesn't make sense. He's talking and it's like it's another language, because Castiel can't wrap his mind around this. He puts the gun down slowly - he can't, Dean's going to hate him, won't ever forgive him but he can't, not until he knows what's going on.

He doesn't hug Sam back, just presses his hand to Sam's side, squeezing and trying to push him back.

"Sam. Sam, step back."
fornicated: (no tell me more really)

[personal profile] fornicated 2014-04-10 04:50 pm (UTC)(link)
He's going to be sick again. It was bad enough feeling the last angel on Earth leave, but now -- now this. Cas swallows down bile, staring mutely at the other man, not sure what on earth he's supposed to do right now. Lucifer could still come back - he can't risk taking him in, can he?

"Sam, look at me." Castiel reaches out, gripping his jaw tightly, trying to force him to look at him and see if it's really him in there, or if it's some kind of trick. His stomach twists itself up in knots, lips pressed thin. "Where is Lucifer?"
fornicated: (dean you're a moron)

[personal profile] fornicated 2014-04-10 05:11 pm (UTC)(link)
Torn apart.

His stomach twists itself up into knots even worse, even further, eyes widening a moment. Lucifer can't get torn apart - there's no way. They've been trying for so long to kill him, there's just no way it happened like that. Michael and the rest of the angels were long gone.

Cas feels his mouth go dry, staring mutely as he tries to comprehend this. He's too sober for this.

"The little green men."

Jesus Christ. A hand drags over his face, trying to work this out.

"We're -- you need to be quiet, do you understand? I'm going to take you back and we'll go to Dean, but I need you to not talk to anyone but me."
fornicated: (DEPRESSION)

[personal profile] fornicated 2014-04-10 05:42 pm (UTC)(link)
"You're a mess, Sam."

His voice softens just a touch. A mess internally and externally, and he shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around Sam's shoulders. It's not big enough to do much, not really, but it makes Cas feel better at the very least. They need to get him back, the sooner, the better.

He ushers him back to camp, slow and steady, and isn't surprised when Rick gets into his face, demanding to know what's going on, who the fuck this is. He's not Dean - can't just tell him to fuck off and sit down, so he drags Sam closer, protective, and says that he's a friend, someone Dean knows, so back the fuck off.

They're less than a day out of the camp, and he was going to settle, spend the night there but now he wants to get back, make sure they're there as soon as possible. "Pack up, we'll head back. Dean's going to want to see him."

Grudgingly, they obey, and Cas ushers him back to the back of the van, urging him up. "Come on. Sit, don't touch anything."
fornicated: (DEPRESSION)

[personal profile] fornicated 2014-04-10 06:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Do you think Dean's still mad at me.

Yeah, he thinks that's a pretty safe bet, because Dean's mad at everyone and anyone. He's not sure what's going to happen, but he knows it's not going to be pretty.

It's almost reflex now, to do the tests - Sam passes all of them, not that it surprises him, and Cas presses his face into his hands a moment as he tries to work this out.

"I think you should just be quiet for right now, Sam. Do you need something to drink?"
fornicated: (DEPRESSION)

[personal profile] fornicated 2014-04-10 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Clearly. Castiel uncaps his water, and hands it over to him, shifting as they hit a bump in the road that sends him catching himself.

"Just be quiet a while, Sam."

It's easier than talking about this, easier than processing this right now. People are giving them looks, trying to place the face, and he's so, so grateful none of them realize who he is. He can already imagine Rick gunning him down, trying to impress Dean and it's terrifying.
fornicated: (Default)

[personal profile] fornicated 2014-04-10 06:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Thankfully, no one tries to do anything - they side eye Sam, but they don't outright attack him, don't ask any questions. They shift drivers halfway through, and Castiel dozes off for a few moments between watching Sam warily. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to fall, as it were, waiting for things to go south, but they don't.

They make it back, everyone hungry and a little cranky and it's just barely morning when Cas opens the back of the van, and reaches out to help Sam out of there. "Don't talk to anyone, just follow me." The last thing he needs is someone recognizing him before he gets him to Dean.

The others are shooed away, while Cas leads him to his cabin, the whole room smelling faintly of incense, fresh sheets on the bed. He doesn't have anything that will fit Sam well, but he ushers him into the room and locks the door behind them, nudging him to the center.

"I'll get you something to eat, but you should..." Cas hesitates a moment, and then shakes his head, grabbing some of the cans he has stored, fixing him up with something simple for the time being. He passes clothing over, and gets him set up with a bucket of luke-warm water, and a washcloth, pointing to it.

"I'm going to get Dean. Can you wash yourself?"
satinpanties: fenostol (bloodiest battle the world ever saw)

[personal profile] satinpanties 2014-04-10 07:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Castiel inclines his head just faintly and once the process starts, he leaves the room locking the door behind him. It takes two pills to get into a mindset where he can talk to Dean, but he's already on edge, realizing people are watching him. He'd hustled Sam in so quickly that it's no wonder that people are wondering what's up.

The conversation goes just about as poorly as expected, all things considered.

It's not long after Sam is settled with the soldiers in his pockets that Dean bursts into the room, gun in hand and shoves Sam back, pressing his elbow against his throat.

This is a trick. The normal means of fucking with them just aren't cutting it, so it's a trick, it's some kind of joke, and the devil is probably getting his rocks off, watching them freak the fuck out. Dean won't have it; if Cas is too stoned to tell what the fuck is going on, he'll take care of this. He might not have the colt but he'll fucking figure something out.

"You finally decide you got bored playing chicken?"
satinpanties: fenostol (bloodiest battle the world ever saw)

[personal profile] satinpanties 2014-04-10 08:46 pm (UTC)(link)
No. No, he's not letting him play this game. He won't do it - he can't. If it was just him, fine, he'd let them both get taken down, but there are other people, there's the rest of the world and he can't -

"Shut the fuck up, Lucifer," Dean snarls, and presses harder, and doesn't know if he's relieved or not that it's easy, that he can do this.

He's using his face and his voice and it's nauseating, and he needs it to stop.

"Don't you dare say my name. What's your fucking game, I'm not an idiot."
satinpanties: fenostol (and only one will survive)

glazes over this so i don't write the whole thing

[personal profile] satinpanties 2014-04-10 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Castiel lingers at the doorway for a moment, hands clenching into fists because he knows if he gets involved it'll just get worse- Dean'll stop. Dean has to stop, he'll -


He jerks forward and rips him off of Sam, dodging the sloppy swing that Dean aims at his jaw, shoving him back. He's going to get his dumb ass killed, but he won't watch him kill Sam when there's nothing left of Lucifer in there. Cas plants himself square in front of the taller man, and he's only distantly aware of the argument that happens, but it ends with Dean on the other side of the room, staring them down while Cas presses cool hands to his throat, makes sure he's okay.

"What the hell happened to you?"
satinpanties: fenostol (as far as the eye can see)

[personal profile] satinpanties 2014-04-10 10:00 pm (UTC)(link)
"He's fucking crazy."

Dean steps over and Cas shoves him back; it's not hard, but it's enough to make Dean think twice and stare at the ex-angel like he can't quite fathom him mouthing off like that.

Castiel crouches down, and presses his hands to Sam's own, trying to get him to drop them down, to not hurt himself, because that's what he's worried about right now. There's the click of a gun behind him, and Cas shifts, blocking Sam's body with his own.

"Lucifer's not here, Dean," Cas says over his shoulder, and glances back. "I haven't fallen that far."


Dean stares both of them down, tense and waiting, like he's expecting everything to come crashing down, Lucifer to pop up and say just kidding and try to kill him, kill all of them.

"Look at me, Sam." Dean comes up behind him, stands over Castiel's shoulder, gun held loosely in one hand. "What's the last thing you remember?"

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