FIC - Brewing
Title: Brewing
Author: verucasalt123
Rating: R
Genre/pairing: gen/none
Characters:Sam, Dean, mentions of Cas and Crowley
Word count:
Summary: Sam dreams something that already happened.
Spoilers: 6x20 and forward
A/N: SPOILERS for the end of season 6. Figured this was my last chance to post something about what might have happened next, with season 7 starting in a few days, so here’s a tiny ficlet that focuses on Sam being really pissed off.
A week had passed since Castiel, Godstiel, whoever the motherfuck, had disappeared before their eyes. Sam was still struggling with his integration of the Hell memories into his own reality, but aware enough to take in his surroundings.
Bobby was as silent as Sam had ever seen him. Sober, shockingly, but silent. There was a chance that Bobby, who didn’t give trust away easily, was suffering more from recent events than expected. He had considered Cas a friend, and it wasn’t like Bobby was the kind of guy who offered up his friendship to just anyone. This particular loss had seemed to hit him in a way that even his friend Jack Daniels wouldn’t be able to console. Hell, Bobby hadn’t even given his buddy Jack a chance to try, which was a testament to his shattered emotional state. Sam had seen his surrogate father kicked when he was down before, but never like this. So part of his anger was on behalf of Bobby.
Sam had his own sense of unforgivable rage. Knowing that Cas, Castiel, God, had purposefully pushed down the wall that had previously been keeping him sane and functioning was devastating, in more ways than one. It was hard work, trying to separate memories from what was real, but he put all of his considerable amount of effort into it. Not that all that effort kept him from waking up in a puddle of his own spit with his brother hovering over him or suffering the aftershocks of a seizure more than once, but hey, most days he could pour his own coffee. And that was something, right? He was caught off guard by the undiluted hatred he felt every time he thought of Castiel, though. Yes, he’d been dishonest, he’d made a deal with a demon for reasons he’d thought at the time were justified, and it’s not like Sam didn’t get that. It’s not like Sam didn’t know that, hadn’t fucking lived it himself. But pushing down his wall, breaking him like this, threatening his brother and his almost-dad…those things seemed indefensible and like there was nothing that could be done to repair them, no matter what. Not that Castiel seemed interested in repairing anything now. If there was even any Castiel left in there.
So, yeah, those were tough to cope with. Trying to sort out what was real and what wasn’t, trying to live with the fact that someone he thought was his friend had done something so awful to him, trying to get a read on Bobby’s feelings with nothing to go on but one-syllable responses or just grunts any time Sam tried to speak to him. All of them were difficult tasks.
Every single bit of it paled in comparison to what he saw on the rare instances when he laid eyes on his brother. There were moments when Sam thought maybe he’d beg to be thrown back into the Pit rather than face the despair in his Dean’s eyes. Sam might have had repercussions that were more difficult to deal with, as far as the whole no-Wall-not-sure-if-he-was-in-Hell-random-seizure-or-blackout thing went. But when he looked at Dean…his heart had never been so broken, and nothing else had ever filled him with such fury. He thought sometimes, when he looked at his brother, that maybe he hated Castiel more than he’d ever hated Azazel. Granted, Azazel had killed his mother, but Sam didn't even remember Mary. Azazel had killed Jess, but as much as he had loved her, Sam's devotion to Dean was paramount to even that.
Dean had been through much more than his fair share of betrayal, loss, grief and self-loathing in his barely more than thirty years on this planet (plus the 40 or so in Hell, but who’s counting?), but he’d been pushed over the sharp edge of an invisible precipice by Castiel.
Dean’s angel. The one he’d insulted and laughed at, the one he’d argued with and treated with disrespect over and over, the one who’d fought by his side countless times, the one, no matter what either of them were willing to acknowledge, that Dean had loved. More than anyone else? Well, not more than he loved Sam. That was a given. But differently, yes, in another way, Dean had loved Castiel more than he’d loved anyone in his life who wasn’t family. Certainly in a way that Dean had never loved another man before, Sam knew this for sure, despite any protest made by his brother.
And there was no further proof needed. Dean had lost his father, and come out the other side of it with a strength that he hadn’t known he had before. Dean had lost his brother, and had still kept a promise he knew was nothing but a façade because goddamnit he had made the fucking promise. But this…it just didn’t look to Sam that his brother was going to come back from this one. Looking at Dean now was almost like standing on level ground and staring at someone you loved in a deep, deep hole, with no rope or ladder or other means in which to pull them back up. The emptiness in Dean’s eyes was something Sam had never seen in his life, not at Stull, not at their father’s pyre, not at what he imagined was there when he held Sam up in the mud and rain at Cold Oak.
Bobby and Sam both wanted to try to find a way to stop Castiel, to destroy him before he made things even worse. But it was difficult to maintain a conversation, even once Bobby started using more than one word at a time, about making a plan when Dean’s ghost passed by them on his way to the kitchen for another bottle of whiskey or a cup of coffee. He wouldn’t join in on the conversation. Hell, he wouldn’t join in on any conversation.
Sam thought he’d known what it felt like to lose your one true love. After Castiel turned on his brother, he realized he’d been horribly wrong, which only made the anger inside him grow exponentially.
If they could come up with a plan and destroy Castiel, Dean would never recover. If Cas was already gone and the only thing left was this God-thing and his swallowed Purgatory souls, Dean would never recover. If Cas realized the error if his ways and crawled back on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness, Dean would still never recover.
Arrogant piece of shit worthless ex-Angel, he’d taken Sam’s brother and replaced him with a shell, he’d broken the spirit of a man who was fucking made of spirit. And all it did was make Sam hate Castiel more and more with each passing second.
Author: verucasalt123
Rating: R
Genre/pairing: gen/none
Characters:Sam, Dean, mentions of Cas and Crowley
Word count:
Summary: Sam dreams something that already happened.
Spoilers: 6x20 and forward
A/N: SPOILERS for the end of season 6. Figured this was my last chance to post something about what might have happened next, with season 7 starting in a few days, so here’s a tiny ficlet that focuses on Sam being really pissed off.
A week had passed since Castiel, Godstiel, whoever the motherfuck, had disappeared before their eyes. Sam was still struggling with his integration of the Hell memories into his own reality, but aware enough to take in his surroundings.
Bobby was as silent as Sam had ever seen him. Sober, shockingly, but silent. There was a chance that Bobby, who didn’t give trust away easily, was suffering more from recent events than expected. He had considered Cas a friend, and it wasn’t like Bobby was the kind of guy who offered up his friendship to just anyone. This particular loss had seemed to hit him in a way that even his friend Jack Daniels wouldn’t be able to console. Hell, Bobby hadn’t even given his buddy Jack a chance to try, which was a testament to his shattered emotional state. Sam had seen his surrogate father kicked when he was down before, but never like this. So part of his anger was on behalf of Bobby.
Sam had his own sense of unforgivable rage. Knowing that Cas, Castiel, God, had purposefully pushed down the wall that had previously been keeping him sane and functioning was devastating, in more ways than one. It was hard work, trying to separate memories from what was real, but he put all of his considerable amount of effort into it. Not that all that effort kept him from waking up in a puddle of his own spit with his brother hovering over him or suffering the aftershocks of a seizure more than once, but hey, most days he could pour his own coffee. And that was something, right? He was caught off guard by the undiluted hatred he felt every time he thought of Castiel, though. Yes, he’d been dishonest, he’d made a deal with a demon for reasons he’d thought at the time were justified, and it’s not like Sam didn’t get that. It’s not like Sam didn’t know that, hadn’t fucking lived it himself. But pushing down his wall, breaking him like this, threatening his brother and his almost-dad…those things seemed indefensible and like there was nothing that could be done to repair them, no matter what. Not that Castiel seemed interested in repairing anything now. If there was even any Castiel left in there.
So, yeah, those were tough to cope with. Trying to sort out what was real and what wasn’t, trying to live with the fact that someone he thought was his friend had done something so awful to him, trying to get a read on Bobby’s feelings with nothing to go on but one-syllable responses or just grunts any time Sam tried to speak to him. All of them were difficult tasks.
Every single bit of it paled in comparison to what he saw on the rare instances when he laid eyes on his brother. There were moments when Sam thought maybe he’d beg to be thrown back into the Pit rather than face the despair in his Dean’s eyes. Sam might have had repercussions that were more difficult to deal with, as far as the whole no-Wall-not-sure-if-he-was-in-Hell-random-seizure-or-blackout thing went. But when he looked at Dean…his heart had never been so broken, and nothing else had ever filled him with such fury. He thought sometimes, when he looked at his brother, that maybe he hated Castiel more than he’d ever hated Azazel. Granted, Azazel had killed his mother, but Sam didn't even remember Mary. Azazel had killed Jess, but as much as he had loved her, Sam's devotion to Dean was paramount to even that.
Dean had been through much more than his fair share of betrayal, loss, grief and self-loathing in his barely more than thirty years on this planet (plus the 40 or so in Hell, but who’s counting?), but he’d been pushed over the sharp edge of an invisible precipice by Castiel.
Dean’s angel. The one he’d insulted and laughed at, the one he’d argued with and treated with disrespect over and over, the one who’d fought by his side countless times, the one, no matter what either of them were willing to acknowledge, that Dean had loved. More than anyone else? Well, not more than he loved Sam. That was a given. But differently, yes, in another way, Dean had loved Castiel more than he’d loved anyone in his life who wasn’t family. Certainly in a way that Dean had never loved another man before, Sam knew this for sure, despite any protest made by his brother.
And there was no further proof needed. Dean had lost his father, and come out the other side of it with a strength that he hadn’t known he had before. Dean had lost his brother, and had still kept a promise he knew was nothing but a façade because goddamnit he had made the fucking promise. But this…it just didn’t look to Sam that his brother was going to come back from this one. Looking at Dean now was almost like standing on level ground and staring at someone you loved in a deep, deep hole, with no rope or ladder or other means in which to pull them back up. The emptiness in Dean’s eyes was something Sam had never seen in his life, not at Stull, not at their father’s pyre, not at what he imagined was there when he held Sam up in the mud and rain at Cold Oak.
Bobby and Sam both wanted to try to find a way to stop Castiel, to destroy him before he made things even worse. But it was difficult to maintain a conversation, even once Bobby started using more than one word at a time, about making a plan when Dean’s ghost passed by them on his way to the kitchen for another bottle of whiskey or a cup of coffee. He wouldn’t join in on the conversation. Hell, he wouldn’t join in on any conversation.
Sam thought he’d known what it felt like to lose your one true love. After Castiel turned on his brother, he realized he’d been horribly wrong, which only made the anger inside him grow exponentially.
If they could come up with a plan and destroy Castiel, Dean would never recover. If Cas was already gone and the only thing left was this God-thing and his swallowed Purgatory souls, Dean would never recover. If Cas realized the error if his ways and crawled back on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness, Dean would still never recover.
Arrogant piece of shit worthless ex-Angel, he’d taken Sam’s brother and replaced him with a shell, he’d broken the spirit of a man who was fucking made of spirit. And all it did was make Sam hate Castiel more and more with each passing second.