the crystal ship, pg, supernatural
Title: The Crystal Ship
Author: poptartmuse
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1212
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, obviously :)
Spoilers: Up through 5x10
Warnings: Just some heavy angst and sad.
Summary: Dean wants to protect his younger brother, by whatever means necessary--even if that does mean playing his part. Castiel objects. Pre-slash.
Instructions: Press play, and listen while you read. :)
The Crystal Ship - The Doors
Dean says he’s going out for a walk.
“Need some air.”
Sam watches as the doors closes behind him. In his periphery, Sam can sense the beat of large, dark wings and he knows that Castiel is gone as well.
Just Sammy and his guilt. That’ll make for a fun night.
Sam flips on the pay-per-view.
--
Dean stops in the middle of an empty parking lot, seeing it as good a place as any. He pulled out his favorite knife-the one Dad got him for his fourteenth birthday with the twisted blade and the corrugated edges. Dean lifts the instrument before his eyes, and it glints in the moonlight with a near liquid sheen.
A rustle in the dark, a wing flap, and Dean rushes to hide the knife in his jacket pocket.
“I said I was getting some air. No need for company, really, Cas,” Dean remarks to the blackness in front of him. Castiel appears by his side in a long moment.
“I don’t like being unaware of your location,” Castiel murmurs.
“So you followed me.”
“So I followed you.”
“Well that’s real swell of you, Cas, but I was kind of itching for some alone time, so if you wouldn’t mind-” Dean starts, and he feels a thin line of perspiration begin to accumulate on the back of his neck.
“I saw the knife, Dean. You’re calling the archangel Michael here. You’re saying yes.”
Dean feels his body freeze, like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. He doesn’t look at Castiel, doesn’t flinch when the angel grabs his wrist and reveals the handle still resting in Dean’s palm.
“Don’t do this, Dean. There has to be another way.”
“No, Cas,” Dean grits out finally, ripping his arm away and turning to face his companion. “There isn’t. There is no other option. No get out of jail free card. God is dead, or gone, but he sure as hell ain't here! He’s not coming back to save our sorry asses. If you think I’m gonna stand here and watch Lucifer walk around in Sam’s meatsuit, think again.” Dean is practically yelling now. “So yeah, I’m telling Michael yes. If one of us has to go, it should be me. I’ve died before, twice in fact, and I know I die in the not-so-distant future. What’s the point in trying to extend my life as a human when I can’t save what’s left of my disintegrated, broken family? When I can’t save the one person in the world that I care about that’s still alive?”
Dean rubs his eyes. Castiel is staring at him like a lost child.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You won’t survive Michael. He’ll be using your image, but your soul will have been burned away the instant he enters you, Dean. You’ll be gone, entirely,” Castiel urges, eyes bright. He puts a hand over his mouth and drags it down, his mouth tight and pale. “Without a soul to weigh, you cannot enter Heaven’s gates. You’ll be in limbo.”
Dean’s eyes widen for a split-second, and then return to a grey look of steely determination.
“It’s the only way. We’ve tried everything, Cas-the colt was a bust, Gabriel’s no where to be found, and Lucifer’s getting stronger every minute longer we let him survive.”
“God is out there, Dean; you have to have faith he will come to our aid,” Castiel insists. “You have to believe that you can survive this.”
Dean looks over at Cas as if the world was ending. Dean thinks it an apropos expression. He sinks into a squat, with his arms around his knees. The elder Winchester takes a heaving breath.
“Why do you even care, Cas?” Dean asks coldly. “If I let Michael in, the world is saved.”
Castiel takes a step back, somehow smaller.
“I,” Castiel starts and then stops. He bites his inner cheek, searching for truth. “Think of what would be left. The kind of world you’d be saving.”
“It’s the same world, Cas. Just without me in it.”
“A world without you in it,” Castiel repeats. The angel’s eyes go cold.
“If you choose to call upon Michael, there is little I can do to stop you,” Castiel starts again, prying the knife from Dean’s hand and pressing the blade against Dean’s calloused palm. “I’ll even write the sigils necessary to bring him forth.” Castiel presses the knife harder, the serrated edge dangerously close to drawing blood. “But I’m asking you not to do this.” His voice, hollow at the beginning of his speech, is now raw and full of unsaid emotion.
Castiel takes a step forward, so that they are inches apart. “Please, Dean.”
“I just want to protect him,” Dean whispers, his face contorting into a sob. “I’m the older brother, it’s been my job since day one to keep him out of harm’s way, and look at the bang-up brilliant job I’ve done so far.” A deep breath. “This is the least I can do. I can make sure Sammy live into ripe old age without being possessed by the goddamn devil. I saw The Exorcist twice, I know how it goes for the vessel.” Dean looks up at Castiel, begging him with a look to laugh or even crack a smile. Castiel does neither.
“If you really think Sam could live with himself after you do this,” Castiel says softly, “then go ahead and do it.”
Tears brim in Dean’s eyes. “Sam’s stupid sometimes, he doesn’t know what’s best for him.”
Castiel is quiet. The world is quiet around them.
“Then I’m stupid sometimes, too,” the angel says. Dean closes his eyes and feels a tear skid down his cheek.
“I guess you’re more human than you thought, Cas,” Dean grins through his grief. “I guess we’re rubbing off on you.”
Castiel lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder; his fingers are icy.
“Don’t,” Castiel whispers. “Don’t, please.”
Dean has a brief vision of little Sammy, pre-adolescent Sam from his past, begging his past-self to stop tickling him. Dean, don’t, don’t, please! Stop it, Dean! The innocent giggles ring through Dean’s head. Dean was the best tickler, even better than Dad. He made Sam piss his pants once or twice in the process.
Well, maybe that made him worse, too.
Suddenly Dean’s mind flashes to an image of Sam in a white suit. Dean visibly shudders. No. He won't let that happen. Not to Sammy.
“Are you cold?” Castiel asks. Dean locks eyes with him, lips a thin line of resolution.
“Not for long,” Dean replies, and placing his hand on top of Castiel’s, he presses down and makes the first cut.
The sigils take only a moment. Castiel won't look at Dean as he chants Michael's name and some Latin that Dean recognizes in his blood, rather than in memory.
A bright light, and Dean says the word of acquiescence.
It only hurts for a moment, and then-nothing.
--
Sam hears the floorboard creak and instantly knows he’s not alone. Castiel appears in his line of sight, as well as another figure to his left. The angel's eyes are red.
“Dean?” he calls out.
A pause.
“I am not your brother.”
Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You'd rather cry, I'd rather fly
Author: poptartmuse
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1212
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, obviously :)
Spoilers: Up through 5x10
Warnings: Just some heavy angst and sad.
Summary: Dean wants to protect his younger brother, by whatever means necessary--even if that does mean playing his part. Castiel objects. Pre-slash.
Instructions: Press play, and listen while you read. :)
The Crystal Ship - The Doors
Dean says he’s going out for a walk.
“Need some air.”
Sam watches as the doors closes behind him. In his periphery, Sam can sense the beat of large, dark wings and he knows that Castiel is gone as well.
Just Sammy and his guilt. That’ll make for a fun night.
Sam flips on the pay-per-view.
--
Dean stops in the middle of an empty parking lot, seeing it as good a place as any. He pulled out his favorite knife-the one Dad got him for his fourteenth birthday with the twisted blade and the corrugated edges. Dean lifts the instrument before his eyes, and it glints in the moonlight with a near liquid sheen.
A rustle in the dark, a wing flap, and Dean rushes to hide the knife in his jacket pocket.
“I said I was getting some air. No need for company, really, Cas,” Dean remarks to the blackness in front of him. Castiel appears by his side in a long moment.
“I don’t like being unaware of your location,” Castiel murmurs.
“So you followed me.”
“So I followed you.”
“Well that’s real swell of you, Cas, but I was kind of itching for some alone time, so if you wouldn’t mind-” Dean starts, and he feels a thin line of perspiration begin to accumulate on the back of his neck.
“I saw the knife, Dean. You’re calling the archangel Michael here. You’re saying yes.”
Dean feels his body freeze, like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. He doesn’t look at Castiel, doesn’t flinch when the angel grabs his wrist and reveals the handle still resting in Dean’s palm.
“Don’t do this, Dean. There has to be another way.”
“No, Cas,” Dean grits out finally, ripping his arm away and turning to face his companion. “There isn’t. There is no other option. No get out of jail free card. God is dead, or gone, but he sure as hell ain't here! He’s not coming back to save our sorry asses. If you think I’m gonna stand here and watch Lucifer walk around in Sam’s meatsuit, think again.” Dean is practically yelling now. “So yeah, I’m telling Michael yes. If one of us has to go, it should be me. I’ve died before, twice in fact, and I know I die in the not-so-distant future. What’s the point in trying to extend my life as a human when I can’t save what’s left of my disintegrated, broken family? When I can’t save the one person in the world that I care about that’s still alive?”
Dean rubs his eyes. Castiel is staring at him like a lost child.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You won’t survive Michael. He’ll be using your image, but your soul will have been burned away the instant he enters you, Dean. You’ll be gone, entirely,” Castiel urges, eyes bright. He puts a hand over his mouth and drags it down, his mouth tight and pale. “Without a soul to weigh, you cannot enter Heaven’s gates. You’ll be in limbo.”
Dean’s eyes widen for a split-second, and then return to a grey look of steely determination.
“It’s the only way. We’ve tried everything, Cas-the colt was a bust, Gabriel’s no where to be found, and Lucifer’s getting stronger every minute longer we let him survive.”
“God is out there, Dean; you have to have faith he will come to our aid,” Castiel insists. “You have to believe that you can survive this.”
Dean looks over at Cas as if the world was ending. Dean thinks it an apropos expression. He sinks into a squat, with his arms around his knees. The elder Winchester takes a heaving breath.
“Why do you even care, Cas?” Dean asks coldly. “If I let Michael in, the world is saved.”
Castiel takes a step back, somehow smaller.
“I,” Castiel starts and then stops. He bites his inner cheek, searching for truth. “Think of what would be left. The kind of world you’d be saving.”
“It’s the same world, Cas. Just without me in it.”
“A world without you in it,” Castiel repeats. The angel’s eyes go cold.
“If you choose to call upon Michael, there is little I can do to stop you,” Castiel starts again, prying the knife from Dean’s hand and pressing the blade against Dean’s calloused palm. “I’ll even write the sigils necessary to bring him forth.” Castiel presses the knife harder, the serrated edge dangerously close to drawing blood. “But I’m asking you not to do this.” His voice, hollow at the beginning of his speech, is now raw and full of unsaid emotion.
Castiel takes a step forward, so that they are inches apart. “Please, Dean.”
“I just want to protect him,” Dean whispers, his face contorting into a sob. “I’m the older brother, it’s been my job since day one to keep him out of harm’s way, and look at the bang-up brilliant job I’ve done so far.” A deep breath. “This is the least I can do. I can make sure Sammy live into ripe old age without being possessed by the goddamn devil. I saw The Exorcist twice, I know how it goes for the vessel.” Dean looks up at Castiel, begging him with a look to laugh or even crack a smile. Castiel does neither.
“If you really think Sam could live with himself after you do this,” Castiel says softly, “then go ahead and do it.”
Tears brim in Dean’s eyes. “Sam’s stupid sometimes, he doesn’t know what’s best for him.”
Castiel is quiet. The world is quiet around them.
“Then I’m stupid sometimes, too,” the angel says. Dean closes his eyes and feels a tear skid down his cheek.
“I guess you’re more human than you thought, Cas,” Dean grins through his grief. “I guess we’re rubbing off on you.”
Castiel lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder; his fingers are icy.
“Don’t,” Castiel whispers. “Don’t, please.”
Dean has a brief vision of little Sammy, pre-adolescent Sam from his past, begging his past-self to stop tickling him. Dean, don’t, don’t, please! Stop it, Dean! The innocent giggles ring through Dean’s head. Dean was the best tickler, even better than Dad. He made Sam piss his pants once or twice in the process.
Well, maybe that made him worse, too.
Suddenly Dean’s mind flashes to an image of Sam in a white suit. Dean visibly shudders. No. He won't let that happen. Not to Sammy.
“Are you cold?” Castiel asks. Dean locks eyes with him, lips a thin line of resolution.
“Not for long,” Dean replies, and placing his hand on top of Castiel’s, he presses down and makes the first cut.
The sigils take only a moment. Castiel won't look at Dean as he chants Michael's name and some Latin that Dean recognizes in his blood, rather than in memory.
A bright light, and Dean says the word of acquiescence.
It only hurts for a moment, and then-nothing.
--
Sam hears the floorboard creak and instantly knows he’s not alone. Castiel appears in his line of sight, as well as another figure to his left. The angel's eyes are red.
“Dean?” he calls out.
A pause.
“I am not your brother.”
Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You'd rather cry, I'd rather fly