FIC - Yeah, You Shook Me
Title: Yeah, You Shook Me (Sam/Castiel)
Rating: R for implied sex and dark themes
Warnings: crazy people, mention of character death, bloodplay
Summary: Neither of them could ever be sure of anything now.
A/N: This is written for orbiting_saturn for the fandom_helps fic auction. Her prompt was for crazy!Cas/crazy!Sam sharing a bed. I certainly hope this is at least something like what you wanted. I have one more fic to write for the auction, and that one will be up soon.
Castiel counted the lines, once, twice, one more time just to be sure. Same as before, six of them, straight and perfect in a row down the back of Sam’s arm.
“Do you still have enough? Is it enough?” he asked, because if it wasn’t enough, things would get worse.
Not that things weren’t already bad. Castiel was crazy, yeah, but not so crazy that he didn’t realize how crazy he was. It wasn’t that big a deal, considering that the man with whom he was sharing a bed was out of his mind as well. It made him feel a little better about it, during those rare moments when he was lucid enough to consider their situation. There was something that made him think this would be worse if he were alone.
Those moments didn’t really come up all that often.
Sam was humming, Castiel thought maybe he recognized the tune but he wasn’t sure, of course, he wasn’t sure.
When was he sure of anything?
Six lines. He was sure of those.
The humming, though. What was that…oh. Oh yes yes yes, well, what else would it be? Only something that was capable of breaking what was left of them into even smaller, more erratic pieces, tiny little shards of men just floating around in the air. Castiel could see it, when he closed this eyes. Little pieces of Sam, little pieces of himself, just bouncing off each other, moving with the wind, never landing anywhere, always staying airborne, occasionally sticking to each other.
Sam was still at it. Hmmmmm….hmm hmmm…hmm…hmm…hmm…
There was barely any strength left in either of them, physically, after having spent the past several hours, possibly days (there was just no way for either of them to gauge time anymore) engaged in every type of sexual intercourse that existed, as far as either of them knew.
Castiel hadn’t received an answer to his question, but it hardly mattered now that he’d forgotten he’d asked it. The lines on the back of Sam’s arm were still bleeding a little, flowing downward toward the sheets and forming a fascinating pattern.
They looked like letters, then like rain, a moment later they had started dancing and moving on their own, and Castiel studied them intently. They were nice, the pictures, constantly changing and then staying the same, always painted red. Not as nice as the lines, though. Because the lines were what mattered. The lines made the pictures. And the lines were perfect. Straight and even and slashed into Sam’s skin at the same tempo as the tune he kept humming to himself. Or maybe Sam was humming for him. There was always a chance that Sam thought Castiel was there, and that he was real. Sadly, since he had no way of knowing with certainty whether or not he was there, or real, he had no way to assure Sam of either of those things.
He was fairly certain he was real, most of the time. But there was an entirely different matter. He could be there, physically, lying next to Sam, enjoying the pretty blood patterns, but honestly, he could be anywhere. Sometimes he was sitting on a park bench having a conversation with Dean on a sunny day, then it would start to rain and Dean wasn’t there, and Cas wasn’t in a park, he was standing on a streetcorner and his mind would clear out just for a moment. Never too much longer than a moment, though. He’d realize where he was, and then he’d find himself studying a butterfly resting gently on his fingers. He would stare at it for…well, however much time he spent staring at it, and then his mind would move to the next frame and Sam would be smiling at him with vacant eyes, asking what he was looking at. If he told Sam it was a butterfly, Sam would usually start talking about how pretty it was and how sweet it was for Cas to have brought it in from the rain.
Was it really raining, though?
Neither of them could ever answer that question.
Sam stopped humming and rolled over, taking the patterns on his arm out of Castiel’s line of vision.
There wasn’t anyone else to look for them, so they never had anywhere to be. Not even the supernatural had any interest in these two men, a former hunter and a fallen angel, because they were both completely insane and of no use to anyone. Even a monster would get no satisfaction from killing them, because they were no threat.
“He’s not here anymore”, Sam said, breaking Cas from his the scene in his mind and causing him to look over at the other man in the bed. Even having been driven stark raving mad as a result of his grace being lost, he still recognized Sam’s beauty, his unique qualities, and of course the thread that held them together - the loss that had cost both of them the ability to connect with reality the vast majority of the time.
“My brother?”
“Uh-huuuuuhhhhhh. You makes the lines, and he goes. He’s not happy, though, Castiel. He’s going to be back. He loves me so much, he’d never leave me, not for good.”
“Of course he loves you, Sam.” Castiel giggled, resting his head on Sam’s chest.
“My brother too.”
“Lucifer is not your brother, you silly thing.” Still with the giggling, Castiel couldn’t quite seem to stop himself, the idea of Lucifer being Sam’s brother was just so ludicrous. “He’s my brother, Sam. Mine.” Castiel may not have much, and maybe they weren’t really brothers anymore, but he held on to the idea that the other angels were still his family. He didn’t want to have no family. That would make him like - Oh. Just another ten seconds of lucidity and he had it, he got it.
Sam didn’t have to say it, but he did anyway. “I mean my brother, Cas. Dean. He’s gone too. Gone to be with the angels. Not like you and Lucifer, but the other angels, maybe angels we never met.”
“I’m not an angel, Sam. I’m a man like you. I’m a man and I like you.” Another giggle. That one got Sam to chuckle too. He turned again, lines on his arm exposed to Cas again.
“You want? There’s still some left.”
Castiel didn’t answer, just leaned forward and erased the patterns and pictures of the dripping blood with his tongue. Once he was finished, all that was left were the lines.
“You made him go away. No more brother.” Sam was still smiling as he said the words, though his eyes remained as empty as they usually were.
Castiel had no idea whether Sam was referring to Lucifer or Dean. He cut himself on the blade he was still holding because he wasn’t paying attention, but didn’t really notice until Sam started speaking again. Angry this time, a slightly different look on his face but not really all that different. “Those lines are for me, Cas. You don’t get lines. You don’t need lines.”
The scene changed again and Castiel was walking into an old barn, slowly, making his way toward Sam, who was waiting there to shove a knife into his chest. Sam was humming again. Hmmmm…hmmm hmm…hmm…hmm…hmm.
Rating: R for implied sex and dark themes
Warnings: crazy people, mention of character death, bloodplay
Summary: Neither of them could ever be sure of anything now.
A/N: This is written for orbiting_saturn for the fandom_helps fic auction. Her prompt was for crazy!Cas/crazy!Sam sharing a bed. I certainly hope this is at least something like what you wanted. I have one more fic to write for the auction, and that one will be up soon.
Castiel counted the lines, once, twice, one more time just to be sure. Same as before, six of them, straight and perfect in a row down the back of Sam’s arm.
“Do you still have enough? Is it enough?” he asked, because if it wasn’t enough, things would get worse.
Not that things weren’t already bad. Castiel was crazy, yeah, but not so crazy that he didn’t realize how crazy he was. It wasn’t that big a deal, considering that the man with whom he was sharing a bed was out of his mind as well. It made him feel a little better about it, during those rare moments when he was lucid enough to consider their situation. There was something that made him think this would be worse if he were alone.
Those moments didn’t really come up all that often.
Sam was humming, Castiel thought maybe he recognized the tune but he wasn’t sure, of course, he wasn’t sure.
When was he sure of anything?
Six lines. He was sure of those.
The humming, though. What was that…oh. Oh yes yes yes, well, what else would it be? Only something that was capable of breaking what was left of them into even smaller, more erratic pieces, tiny little shards of men just floating around in the air. Castiel could see it, when he closed this eyes. Little pieces of Sam, little pieces of himself, just bouncing off each other, moving with the wind, never landing anywhere, always staying airborne, occasionally sticking to each other.
Sam was still at it. Hmmmmm….hmm hmmm…hmm…hmm…hmm…
There was barely any strength left in either of them, physically, after having spent the past several hours, possibly days (there was just no way for either of them to gauge time anymore) engaged in every type of sexual intercourse that existed, as far as either of them knew.
Castiel hadn’t received an answer to his question, but it hardly mattered now that he’d forgotten he’d asked it. The lines on the back of Sam’s arm were still bleeding a little, flowing downward toward the sheets and forming a fascinating pattern.
They looked like letters, then like rain, a moment later they had started dancing and moving on their own, and Castiel studied them intently. They were nice, the pictures, constantly changing and then staying the same, always painted red. Not as nice as the lines, though. Because the lines were what mattered. The lines made the pictures. And the lines were perfect. Straight and even and slashed into Sam’s skin at the same tempo as the tune he kept humming to himself. Or maybe Sam was humming for him. There was always a chance that Sam thought Castiel was there, and that he was real. Sadly, since he had no way of knowing with certainty whether or not he was there, or real, he had no way to assure Sam of either of those things.
He was fairly certain he was real, most of the time. But there was an entirely different matter. He could be there, physically, lying next to Sam, enjoying the pretty blood patterns, but honestly, he could be anywhere. Sometimes he was sitting on a park bench having a conversation with Dean on a sunny day, then it would start to rain and Dean wasn’t there, and Cas wasn’t in a park, he was standing on a streetcorner and his mind would clear out just for a moment. Never too much longer than a moment, though. He’d realize where he was, and then he’d find himself studying a butterfly resting gently on his fingers. He would stare at it for…well, however much time he spent staring at it, and then his mind would move to the next frame and Sam would be smiling at him with vacant eyes, asking what he was looking at. If he told Sam it was a butterfly, Sam would usually start talking about how pretty it was and how sweet it was for Cas to have brought it in from the rain.
Was it really raining, though?
Neither of them could ever answer that question.
Sam stopped humming and rolled over, taking the patterns on his arm out of Castiel’s line of vision.
There wasn’t anyone else to look for them, so they never had anywhere to be. Not even the supernatural had any interest in these two men, a former hunter and a fallen angel, because they were both completely insane and of no use to anyone. Even a monster would get no satisfaction from killing them, because they were no threat.
“He’s not here anymore”, Sam said, breaking Cas from his the scene in his mind and causing him to look over at the other man in the bed. Even having been driven stark raving mad as a result of his grace being lost, he still recognized Sam’s beauty, his unique qualities, and of course the thread that held them together - the loss that had cost both of them the ability to connect with reality the vast majority of the time.
“My brother?”
“Uh-huuuuuhhhhhh. You makes the lines, and he goes. He’s not happy, though, Castiel. He’s going to be back. He loves me so much, he’d never leave me, not for good.”
“Of course he loves you, Sam.” Castiel giggled, resting his head on Sam’s chest.
“My brother too.”
“Lucifer is not your brother, you silly thing.” Still with the giggling, Castiel couldn’t quite seem to stop himself, the idea of Lucifer being Sam’s brother was just so ludicrous. “He’s my brother, Sam. Mine.” Castiel may not have much, and maybe they weren’t really brothers anymore, but he held on to the idea that the other angels were still his family. He didn’t want to have no family. That would make him like - Oh. Just another ten seconds of lucidity and he had it, he got it.
Sam didn’t have to say it, but he did anyway. “I mean my brother, Cas. Dean. He’s gone too. Gone to be with the angels. Not like you and Lucifer, but the other angels, maybe angels we never met.”
“I’m not an angel, Sam. I’m a man like you. I’m a man and I like you.” Another giggle. That one got Sam to chuckle too. He turned again, lines on his arm exposed to Cas again.
“You want? There’s still some left.”
Castiel didn’t answer, just leaned forward and erased the patterns and pictures of the dripping blood with his tongue. Once he was finished, all that was left were the lines.
“You made him go away. No more brother.” Sam was still smiling as he said the words, though his eyes remained as empty as they usually were.
Castiel had no idea whether Sam was referring to Lucifer or Dean. He cut himself on the blade he was still holding because he wasn’t paying attention, but didn’t really notice until Sam started speaking again. Angry this time, a slightly different look on his face but not really all that different. “Those lines are for me, Cas. You don’t get lines. You don’t need lines.”
The scene changed again and Castiel was walking into an old barn, slowly, making his way toward Sam, who was waiting there to shove a knife into his chest. Sam was humming again. Hmmmm…hmmm hmm…hmm…hmm…hmm.