Here we are, part two and this one looks like it is going to turn into a bit of a monster, I'm sorry, it's hard to write, but it's not hard, if you follow me. If you don't... it's difficult to explain.
The smile when you tore me apart.
You took my heart,
Deceived me right from the start.
You showed me dreams,
I wished they'd turn into real.
You broke a promise and made me realize.
It was all just a lie
Castiel sighs and unfolds himself from the chair, stretching out muscles that have cramped from several hours of disuse and too long in an uncomfortable chair. Part of him wishes that a long with the strange diminishment of his grace, sleep had been a part of his new life, because at least that way he could also slumber away the time that the Winchester boys stay asleep. He cannot, has attempted it and found lying on his back with his eyes closed incredibly unstimulating.
Most nights he simply reads, waits until Dean and Sam are asleep, although many nights Sam simply waits until Dean goes to sleep and slips out when he thinks that Castiel is not looking, uncomfortable around him even after everything that they have all been through and Castiel finds that he does not blame him. It is hard, however, to be so completely cut off from his family and friends and not have another to converse with into the long night, if just so that he can keep the increasingly terrible memories away, so that he can stop dwelling on the past and keep his mind in the present, in finding a solution to their problem.
So he reads, ancient texts and heavy tomes and most of them he can read by the dim light of the street lamps outside, his eye sight still being that of an angel it would seem, but tonight the book he reads is older than usual, is thicker and more faded and he finds that even with unnaturally good eye sight, he cannot reliably make out the text. He takes the tome into the bathroom, aware that Sam slipped out several hours ago but not yet concerned enough to risk waking Dean, the harsh light making the characters on the page stand out, stark against the age coloured paper.
Truthfully, he used to find a measure of enjoyment in reading, perusing the writings of mankind and using it to form some tiny level of understanding of them, but even then he had been a warrior, first and foremost, above all things, and it had been something that he had only managed to do on occasion. Reading is rapidly losing it's appeal.
The soft click of the motel room door alerts Castiel to the return of the wayward younger brother and he grunts in satisfaction for a moment, until something else registers on a level on his consciousness, that the presence is something wrong, something alien and familiar all at once, light and dark and tainted. It makes him understand why humans would use that bizarre term describing their blood running cold, because that is exactly how he feels right now and it causes him to lay the book to one side.
When he opens the door he sees Sam leaning over Dean on the bed and the dark stain of blood on his wrist. Castiel takes a step forward, hears Sam whispering soothing, dark, words to Dean, laying a free hand on his head, holding him in place and Castiel can feel Dean's fear as though it is his own, because it is his own. He closes the distance, tries to wrench Sam away and is surprised when the younger man backhands him hard enough to fling him against the flimsy motel wall across the room, hears Dean moan his name, confused, as he tries to struggle off the bed, fighting against a hand that belongs to Sam-who-is-not-Sam as he is pushed back down again, eyes unfocused and a drop of crimson at the side of his mouth, a drop that the creature holding him down thumbs into his mouth almost lovingly.
"Hush, Dean," 'Sam' purrs. "Just relax, let it take you."
"Sam?" Dean is afraid, confused and Castiel knows without a doubt now that this is not Sam, knows that this is someone else as Sam smooths Dean's hair back and plants a comforting kiss on his hairline. It all feels wrong, so wrong, and Castiel reaches for the sword that lies so close, and yet so far away. "I would not do that, little brother," Sam murmurs.
"Lucifer," Castiel hisses the name, continuing to reach for the blade and his former brother laughs, the sound chilling, harsh, a sound that is not Sam's laugh, gestures with the hand that is not on Dean's chest, the hand that is now only stained with the remnant of blood, and the sword shifts away from him.
"I could kill him, you know," Lucifer muses, Dean is still now, his breathing rapid, stuttering, Lucifer trailing Sam's hand along his chest, turns to Castiel long enough to smirk at him, the light of his darkened grace shining behind brown eyes that were once filled with warmth. "Stand up, Dean," he commands, steps away and watches as Dean clumsily gets to his feet. "But you see, Castiel, where is the fun in that. Look at him, a slave to the blood I have given him, controlled by the grace an angel, even one as blackened as I."
"Then why do you not do it?" Castiel demands, getting to his feet but keeping his distance, not sure what will happen if he gets too close.
"Because I do not need to," he gestures and Dean crosses towards Castiel, the angel can see warring emotions in the man's eyes, Dean is not completely unaware of what is happening, "and because if I control him, I control you and I have uses for you, Castiel."
SPN
At the sound of her name, Katie turns and looks at the one who would intrude on her private agonies, sees a man that she had never dared to believe she would have the opportunity to see again.
"Norman?" The man has salt and pepper hair, not as thick as it once was, and he is dressed in black of a priest. Despite her mood, her obvious need to lash out at something, she has to smile, because Norman was one of the bright points of her childhood, one of her father's friends. Her Uncle Norm, the priest with his strange collection of old books, embraces her, tells her that her mother had told him about her disappearance, about Richard, all the things that have gone wrong for her since her father died and she finds herself breaking down in his arms, finally releasing all of the terrible feelings that she has bottled up since she finally stopped in her service as a vessel.
Norman takes her from the church, then, leads her to his house which is only just down the path, settles her in the library while he goes to make her a cup of coffee, allows her time to compose herself, to find a story to tell or an excuse to make and she lets her eyes roam over the books that line the walls, books that she has not seen since she was a child and she gets to her feet, reaches up and takes one down, immersing herself in it. She is so deeply concentrated on the book that she does not hear Norman return, does not even notice the coffee that he sets next to her until he touches her hair, smiles and leaves her to her reading.
She reads for hours, moving around the room, to the desk so that she can take notes. Norman persuades her to stay that night, the night after and the night after that, for a week, for two weeks, while she makes her way through the books and when he asks what she is looking for she tells him that she is trying to rediscover her faith. He accepts that, it makes her feel terrible, but he accepts it, does not push, does not question and she is grateful for it.
Eventually, one night, she falls asleep over an open book, eyes having drooped closed over the course of ten minutes until her head is rested on the ancient paper and soft snores escape her. She is so far under that she does not feel the air shift or hear the beat of heavy wings, does not notice the soft brush of pale fingers against her forehead as the angel who has appeared pushes her deeper into sleep, deep enough that he can tilt her back in the chair without waking her.
His clothes are immaculate and his black hair is neat and close cropped, brown eyes narrowed as he gestures and the pages in the book flip until they lie open on fresh page, the words shifting and distorting until they say what he wants them to say, not what they should say. He glances at her, lays her head back on the page, whispers something to her, voice so soft that it does not carry then brushes her forehead again.
"Wake," he breathes and is gone in a flutter of wings and a rush of air as she stirs, looks blearily at the page and read the words he has left there, reaches for her phone and hits one on her speed dial.
"Sam? I found it."
SPN
Lucifer paces the room, looks at the demon who has brought the news of their failure against a cohort of angels. He gestures and another steps forward, a demon who's eyes flash red and he motions with one hand, the sound of dog snarling fills the room and the demon and meat suit are ripped to pieces before them. He is beginning to think that the only way to do this is to do it himself.
He is spared the musings and the resulting aggravation by the ringing of Sam's cell phone in his pocket, the cell phone that he keeps charged because he knows that it helps to prevent the friends of the Winchester family from getting suspicious. When he hears what this girl, this Katie, has to say, however, he knows that it is time to stop lying low and start taking action.
Dean and Castiel are imprisoned in the same room, for ease more than anything else. The human has free movement about the room and Castiel is slumped in the middle, surrounded by traps and wards designed to bind angels. Dean does not move much these days, simply sits and stares at Castiel, his eyes glazed with confusion and fear and the angel is no more responsive, the set of him defeated, his eyes dull and exhausted. Lucifer smirks at that, enjoys that he has broken Heaven's weapon and his pet, that he has the human tied to him and obedient, jumping to his commands, though there is resistance there. Thing is, just as demon blood makes humans strong, makes them powerful, the blood of angels steals strength and will, takes all that makes humans, human and Lucifer likes that. Likes taking from humans what makes them favoured and twisting their will to his darkness.
"Put these on," he commands, throwing cowled robes in their direction, Dean obeying thoughtlessly and Castiel doing the same after a moment of hesitation, a moment where Lucifer silently assures him that he will kill Dean before the other angel's eyes, kill him slowly and painfully and make Castiel watch every moment. Knows Castiel obeys because he thinks that as long as Dean is alive there is a chance, a small sliver of hope that they will be able to escape and kill Lucifer.
In his pride, Lucifer knows that it cannot be so.
Sparkling angel, I couldn't see
Your dark intentions, your feelings for me.
Fallen angel, tell me why?
What is the reason, the thorn in your eye?
Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care.
Artemis
