suptober day eleven: drag
ficlet featuring swearing, dark themes, serial killer!dean, serial killer!cas
There was something spectacularly brutal about carrying a dead body.
The wrapping of the corpse – whether it was warm and pliable or cold and struck with rigor mortis – and trying to keep limbs inside the bag; heaving it out of the car onto the ground; dragging it to its final resting place.
There was a distinctive, cracking thud as the head hit the ground. Dean dropped the feet with a wince and stepped forward to shut the back door of the Impala. It creaked too much. He made a mental note to oil all the doors and picked up the feet again.
Walking backwards, he dragged the body with him, adjusting his grip on the ankles when he stepped through a muddy puddle. The forest he’d chosen for burial filtered the full moon through its trees, white dappling the ground. He knew there was a sinkhole about half a mile in from where he parked, which was too far to throw the heavy bundle over his shoulder.
So, he dragged it.
Rustling from the woods around him was drowned out by the plastic tarp sliding across the ground, catching sticks and leaves. He wasn’t bothered by the sound cancelling effect; he was scarier than anything he’d find in the woods tonight.
It took too much time to get to the sinkhole; Dean was half the size of the guy he’d taken down, and still winded from the fight, but eventually he saw the abandoned cabin half-swallowed by the earth.
Except there was someone standing by the cabin. He was Dean’s height, similarly built, and in the bright moonlight he looked pale under his dark hair.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Dean groaned. His ribs hurt, his face was hot and swollen where he’d caught a right hook on his cheekbone, he was sweating too much for a cool night…
This was the absolute last thing he needed.
“What the fuck are you doing here,” he groused.
The man shrugged easily, tilting his head so his blue eyes caught the moonlight.
“Your car is conspicuous,” came the reply, deep voice rippling with amusement.
Dean rolled his eyes.
“Don’t worry about helping, just stand there, that’s great.”
He continued his slow progression, the body clearing a path through the pine needles. Once or twice it caught on a rock or a stick, but a sharp tug was enough to keep it moving.
Dean could feel Castiel’s eyes on him as he rearranged his grip as he got to the edge of the sink hole. He got down onto his knees for better leverage, braced himself, and pushed. It rolled, plastic crinkling, and then it was gone.
The moonlight was blocked suddenly, and he looked up; Castiel was standing next to him one second, then dropped to a crouch. His bright eyes burned as his bit his lower lip. Dean swallowed.
“You were in my territory tonight,” said Castiel quietly, then raised his hand to touch the swelling on Dean’s cheek.
Dean leaned into the touch despite himself, even as Castiel pressed down, shivers of pain sparking across his face.
“Not on purpose,” he muttered, looking down. “I was just enjoying my night until him.”
Castiel clucked his tongue, fingers trailing up Dean’s face to push into his hair. His grip tightened, tilting Dean’s face towards him. Dean swallowed.
“You’re the prettiest serial killer I know, Dean Winchester.”
“Back atchya, Cas,” he managed before Castiel crashed into him, bruising kisses down his throat and collarbone.
Right as Dean gasped out a moan, pushing back, the attention stopped and Cas was pulling away and standing up.
“I’ll see you on your next run, Dean. Stay out of my hunting grounds.”
Then he was gone, and Dean was left to drag himself back to his feet and walk back to his car alone, kicking pine needles and twigs back onto the disturbed earth.
Making dinner, thinking about the writing exercise/character study thing I'll never finish. How it would've ended with Sam convincing Dean to sleep with him at the end of s3, because he's not going to be able to save him from Hell and Sam believes his feelings for Dean are sending him to Hell eventually anyway so Dean can at least give him this. And Dean says yes because he wants to, praying Sam doesn't really have the same fate as him.
But that's just preamble to what I was really thinking about:
When Sam finally gets the opportunity to ask Castiel if he's really going to Hell for how he feels about Dean, Cas says yes. Because he wants Sam out of the way. 👀
Always and Forever? For the 3 word prompt thing? If i understand? I love your writing.
A red glass pane emitted a dull flickering glow at the end of the room, casting two silhouettes of figures in thrones. One of the shadows was sprawled out, one leg hung over the arm while they toyed with their crown, while the other slouched back in their chair, waiting impatiently.
Castiel stumbled as the guards behind him shoved him forwards and to his knees. He didn’t need to be cuffed, he didn’t walk into Hell to start a war, he was here to see the men in charge.
“You can leave now.” A voice that was all too familiar echoed through the room, but he kept his eyes down. Footsteps retreated and they were quickly left in silence. No one dared to disobey anymore, second chances were no longer a luxury given.
“Have you considered our offer?” The other voice asked.
“Yes,” Castiel said, his shoulders sagging. He could barely recognise his own voice anymore.
A shadow came into view as he took a shaky breath, letting the heat of the room fill his lungs. Fingers curled under his chin, tilting his head up, his gaze lifting to meet green eyes and a wicked smile.
“And you agree?”
Castiel glanced over to Sam who watched them intently from his throne. “Yes.”
Dean guided him to standing, his eyes lingering on his lips before looking over to Sam and nodding him over. He took his time crossing the floor to meet them before handing Dean the first blade. Castiel’s heart beat heavy in his chest.
“I’ve always wondered what would happen”— Dean dragged the blade across his skin, his eyes flicking to black —“if an angel drank demon blood.” He held his arm out to him, blood dripping onto the floor. “Go on.”
Castiel’s lips met his skin, his pulse hot and sweet like honeyed copper. It burned at first, like trying to drink boiling water, but quickly dulled as the flood of new power washed over him. Everything sharpened, his scenes heightened. He pulled back, panting, the blue glow in his eyes flickering before dying.
“You’re with us now, Cas, forever and always,” Dean leaned in, his breath was hot against his ear. “Welcome home.”
After Castiel has been missing for over a year, Sam and Dean are starting to feel like all hope is lost when a familiar face waltzes back into the bunker, but this time he is out for blood.
Created for @spndarkbingo
Square Filled: free space!
Rating: T
Tags/Warnings: Dark!Cas, language, violence.
Word Count: 901
Creator’s Note: based on this post
Back In Black
Sam and Dean sat, leaning over the dinning room table in the bunker. Papers were strewn out, lining every inch of it. Sam typed anxiously on his laptop.
“We have no fucking leads!” Dean shouted, wiping the table clean of the papers. He covered his face with his hands, resisting the urge to break everything in sight.
Cas was gone. They’d seen hide nor hair of him for almost a year. They’d done everything. Dean prayed until his face was blue, and his voice was gone. Sam called every contact they had, broke keys on his laptop searching day in and day out. There was no sign of him.
“We just have to try harder.” Sam said with a sigh.
“How?? What haven’t we done already?” Dean asked desperately. “What is there left to do?” He kicked his chair, sending it flying, slamming against the fridge door.
“We will find something. There’s a way. There’s always a way.”
“Maybe not this time, Sammy.” Dean said, forcing himself to stand up straight. He walked to his decanter and drank the whiskey straight from it. “I’m going to bed.” He said defeated.
“Come on, man. It’s still early.”
Dean shook his head. “It stopped being early months ago. It’s way too fucking late.”
Dean turned to leave when they looked up. A click and a groan. The sound of the lock on the bunker being turned. Someone was coming in. Dean sat down the decanter and pulled his gun from his hip.
Sam followed his lead and held out his own weapon, clicking the safety off.
Who knew about the bunker? Who had a key?
Sam and Dean exchanged a look as the door swung open.
A pair of polished black dress shoes were the first thing they saw stepping on to the landing. Dean followed the legs up. It was a man, in an expensive tailored suit. It fit the curve of the muscle of his thighs. His black shirt was prestinely tucked in and covered with an open sport coat. He removed his crimson tie and wrapped it around his hand, as if to use it as a weapon of pleasure, or torture. Deans eyes landed on the two open buttons at the top of his shirt. He swallowed hard, as even in the darkness he recognized the shape of the man in the bunker.
“Cas?”
He smiled devilishly down at the boys. He wasn’t wearing a trench coat this time. He had ditched the drab beige and blue tie for something that fit him. For something a little more inherinetly sexual. That wasn’t the only thing that changed, though. The way he walked down the stairs lackadaisically, and ran his fingers down the railing along the stairs as if he was touching the thigh of a woman.
He licked his lips before he spoke. “Hello Dean.”
Deans heart skipped a beat. Something was very wrong. He recognized the glint in his eyes. It was the same as when Lucifer was riding Cas. When he wasn’t in control.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked, feeling the tension between the two.
“I could ask you the same. I’m gone for a minute and you two tear the bunker apart.” Cas gestured to the mess that Dean had just made. He wrapped his tie around his hand once more.
“Who dresssed you, man?” Dean asked. In all the years Cas had been with him he could count on a single hand how many times he’d seen Cas out of his normal angel uniform.
“Oh this old thing?” Cas asked, tilting his head to the side. “You like it?”
“No.” Dean frowned, looking away. Something was wrong. Really fucking wrong.
“What? I’m not making you beg for it this time? Am I being too direct?” Cas pouted, tapping his recently shaved chin.
Dean backed up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Cas cleared his throat, “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.” He said, just as he had the first time they met, but this time there was a twinkle in his eye.
“Yeah, I know that.”
Cas grabbed Dean by his collar. Gripping it in both hands. “I raised you.” He purred. “But no one saved me.” His eyes flickered black and Dean swallowed bile that rose in his throat.
“No.”
“Yes!” Cas said, throwing his hands in the air with a laugh. “I was promoted surprisingly quickly.” He smiled wrapping the tie again, before turning and whipping Dean across the cheek with it.
Sam took a step toward Cas, with his gun still raised.
“Tsk tsk, little Samuel. Stay where you are. This is between me and Dean.”
Dean looked to Cas, blood pooling on the cut on his cheek. “What the fuck happened Cas?”
Cas smiled, showing all of his teeth, the blue of his eyes gone. The man he knew was gone. Something else stood in his skin. His eyes flickered back and his face melted a bit. “You want to know what happened to me? Where it all went wrong?” He leaned forward, and for second Dean thought Cas would kiss him. Their mouths were a breath apart. “You.”
Dean closed his eyes as pain rolled through him. The guilt. The blame. When his eyes opened again Cas was gone. He blinked away. As quickly as he was there he was gone.
So, after I finish failing at NaNoWriMo (and yeah I'm super in my feels about that but none of you need an extra large helping of my insecurities as a writer and a human), I'll be back at writing more of Fall & Rise. Updates soon!
Suddenly thinking about the idea that Cas was maliciously out for Sam from the start. Thinking about powers!Sam and 'you didn't need the feather to fly, Dumbo.' About the early seasons implication that the special kids had, or were already predicted to have, psychic powers before they were fed demon blood. My headcanon that the blood was a way to mark them and taint them, not to give them the powers.
Thinking about Ruby convincing Sam he needed demon blood and getting him addicted, reliant on her and easily fooled. Thinking about the sacrifice of Lilith for the final seal.
Thinking about how no one else ever has been shown to need to drink demon blood before housing a powerful being, angel or demon.
Thinking about how much blood castiel said Sam needed to drink... it would've involved sacrifices, basically.
If I read this with dark intent, this could be Cas manipulating Sam so he would be corrupted, weak against Lucifer once he was possessed.
If I take it a step further, these things could be signs of early machinations by Chuck to try to get the apocalypse going.
