Fic: Assumption
Title:Assumption
Author:waywardson_lvr
Rating:PG-13 for swearing
Genre and/or Pairing:Dean/Castiel (Pre-slash)
Spoilers: Nope
Warnings: Nada
Word Count: 1150ish
Summary: Shit goes bad - Sam sees the light.
A/N: Sooo, I wrote this eons ago and it's actually a sequel to 'Pausing for a Minor Adjustment' and there's another piece that follows on from this as well. I figured well I may as well post them - why the hell not. A lot of little details have been shot to shit by episodes I've seen since writing these, so definitely NOT accurate vis a vis canon lols!
What was that expression? Assumption was the mother of all fuck-ups?
This was the perfect example of one mother of a fuck-up.
They had assumed this was a straight forward hunt. They had assumed the demon Dean had in a headlock at the moment was acting alone. And until the second demon appeared behind Sam, Dean had personally assumed that demons didn’t come in triple extra large. Boy was he wrong.
“Sam!’ yelled Dean a fraction too late as his little brother’s body was sent flying against the back wall of the alley.
Shit.
The demon Dean was holding spun out of his grip and quickly got out of the way of the colossal newcomer. Christ, he was even taller than Sam and that freaky bastard was tall.
The first punch took Dean by surprise, he had been bracing himself for a concussive blast of air to send him reeling not an old fashioned fist to the face.
The demon laughed at the look on his face which must have borne more than just a passing resemblance to that of a deer in the headlights.
“I’m gonna do you by hand Dean.”
Shit.
The meatsuit this demon wore was big, ugly and had muscles on fucken muscles. This was bad and as he looked over to Sam who lay groaning in an awkward heap against the wall, desperation crept in.
Deans only chance lay with Ruby’s demon-killer of a knife and Sam had dropped it when he’d had the shit knocked out of him.
How far was it? 15 feet maybe. Not far in Walmart terms maybe but it loomed like the Nevada desert in front of him now with Demonic Gigantor in his way.
The demon played with his meaty fist, still grinning that ridiculous grin when Dean made his move, stepping in close in order to try and smack the fucker in the face and catch him off guard.
It wasn’t till he felt himself land heavily on the slick pavement that Dean realised he had in fact missed his window of opportunity and had instead, been punched harder than he had ever imagined he could stay conscious for. And as he came to the realisation that he had been thrown across the alley, the demon was already picking him up, intent on crushing his only too obligingly breakable body against the wall.
Deans mind struggled to keep up with the beating being measured out to him and as the avalanche of blows came hard and then harder still, he gasped and fought to process what was happening.
Behind the demons head he caught a glimpse of the street light flickering and wondered absurdly if the city’s maintenance crews would be replacing it anytime soon.
The next punch rocked Dean so hard that it shocked his beleaguered awareness into finally catching up and registering the thwack of his head against the wall as it happened. Curiously, the wall seemed warm and damp. Dean logically assumed that his blood was responsible.
The demon tossed Deans body on the ground and sauntered around him before deciding to resume his ferocity - this time at a run...and with his boots.
I gotta get up… I’m gonna die here… Dean thought and desperately willed his screaming muscles to move, to work. The fact that his body gave no response at all should have surprised him, but it didn’t. The reality was he could barely blink against the deluge of blood running into his eyes.
The kick to his chest was so hard Dean felt his ribs crack like toffee and as his lungs tried frantically to haul in a breath he realised he was fucked.
Already too fucked to cry, he lay still, watching streetlight reflections dance on the wet ground, wondering quietly if he would see Castiel on the other side and slowly leaving his mind and body behind.
*****
“Dean.”
An image of Dean thrust itself into Castiel’s mind, a single image revealing in an instant that something was seriously wrong. The angel fought a surging tide of panic as he found himself in a dark, wet alley following his rapidly fading connection to Dean.
Castiel immediately grasped the situation unfolding before him and with teeth clenched, he braced against the terror that tore through his chest when his frantic eyes came to rest on Deans broken body.
His focus snapped to the demons who had just become aware of his presence, igniting a rage that seemed to surge from deep within the ground he stood on. It coursed through his entire body consuming him completely and searing the air around him.
Clouds of fear darkened the faces of the demons as Castiel commanded the rage to obey his outstretched palms, directing a violent stream of lightning at the objects of his fury, all the while choking the overwhelming agony and fear welling from the centre of his mind that fought to seize control.
With a silence that betrayed its ferocity the lightning obliterated the demons and Castiel fought to hold onto his lucidity as he ran to Deans side.
“Dean…Dean…’
Barely able to speak, his voice breaking with a struggle that was almost insurmountable Castiel gently lifted Deans battered head from the pavement, caressing his bloodied skin as tears fell from the angels devastated face.
It’s too late…I’m too late. His thoughts raced, he couldn’t reconcile this reality with the future that he still wanted, the future that he had quietly wished for…
Ash from the incinerated demons floated softly down around them, shrouding the two figures in a delicate veil as Castiel hunched over Deans body, holding him tightly.
“No!” he gasped. I have to try!
The angel sought stillness in his mind, hunted it, reaching inward to the calm centre that he prayed still resided there. He glimpsed it for a brief moment, joy and relief wrestled with his desperation as he redoubled his efforts, panting with the exertion of trying to establish that peace and grasp hold of it.
He had it.
Exhaling, Castiel released his control and brilliant energy flooded from the centre of his vessel, blazing through his hands into the ruins of Deans body.
He quaked with the effort of channelling such a power and he desperately hoped it would be enough.
Exhausted… weary, the angel gently eased Deans body against his, reverently holding the hunter who had rapidly become the most important part of Castiel’s …life.
When Sam came to, the sun was just coming up, soft warm fingers of light angled into the alley, all was quiet - peaceful. He heaved himself up to a sitting position and as he did he saw Castiel cradling his older brother on the pavement. Seeing the two of them together, bathed in the morning light and with the angel’s face a mask of anguish and hope - Sam finally got it.
This-a-way to the next bit Falling's Not The Problem
Author:waywardson_lvr
Rating:PG-13 for swearing
Genre and/or Pairing:Dean/Castiel (Pre-slash)
Spoilers: Nope
Warnings: Nada
Word Count: 1150ish
Summary: Shit goes bad - Sam sees the light.
A/N: Sooo, I wrote this eons ago and it's actually a sequel to 'Pausing for a Minor Adjustment' and there's another piece that follows on from this as well. I figured well I may as well post them - why the hell not. A lot of little details have been shot to shit by episodes I've seen since writing these, so definitely NOT accurate vis a vis canon lols!
What was that expression? Assumption was the mother of all fuck-ups?
This was the perfect example of one mother of a fuck-up.
They had assumed this was a straight forward hunt. They had assumed the demon Dean had in a headlock at the moment was acting alone. And until the second demon appeared behind Sam, Dean had personally assumed that demons didn’t come in triple extra large. Boy was he wrong.
“Sam!’ yelled Dean a fraction too late as his little brother’s body was sent flying against the back wall of the alley.
Shit.
The demon Dean was holding spun out of his grip and quickly got out of the way of the colossal newcomer. Christ, he was even taller than Sam and that freaky bastard was tall.
The first punch took Dean by surprise, he had been bracing himself for a concussive blast of air to send him reeling not an old fashioned fist to the face.
The demon laughed at the look on his face which must have borne more than just a passing resemblance to that of a deer in the headlights.
“I’m gonna do you by hand Dean.”
Shit.
The meatsuit this demon wore was big, ugly and had muscles on fucken muscles. This was bad and as he looked over to Sam who lay groaning in an awkward heap against the wall, desperation crept in.
Deans only chance lay with Ruby’s demon-killer of a knife and Sam had dropped it when he’d had the shit knocked out of him.
How far was it? 15 feet maybe. Not far in Walmart terms maybe but it loomed like the Nevada desert in front of him now with Demonic Gigantor in his way.
The demon played with his meaty fist, still grinning that ridiculous grin when Dean made his move, stepping in close in order to try and smack the fucker in the face and catch him off guard.
It wasn’t till he felt himself land heavily on the slick pavement that Dean realised he had in fact missed his window of opportunity and had instead, been punched harder than he had ever imagined he could stay conscious for. And as he came to the realisation that he had been thrown across the alley, the demon was already picking him up, intent on crushing his only too obligingly breakable body against the wall.
Deans mind struggled to keep up with the beating being measured out to him and as the avalanche of blows came hard and then harder still, he gasped and fought to process what was happening.
Behind the demons head he caught a glimpse of the street light flickering and wondered absurdly if the city’s maintenance crews would be replacing it anytime soon.
The next punch rocked Dean so hard that it shocked his beleaguered awareness into finally catching up and registering the thwack of his head against the wall as it happened. Curiously, the wall seemed warm and damp. Dean logically assumed that his blood was responsible.
The demon tossed Deans body on the ground and sauntered around him before deciding to resume his ferocity - this time at a run...and with his boots.
I gotta get up… I’m gonna die here… Dean thought and desperately willed his screaming muscles to move, to work. The fact that his body gave no response at all should have surprised him, but it didn’t. The reality was he could barely blink against the deluge of blood running into his eyes.
The kick to his chest was so hard Dean felt his ribs crack like toffee and as his lungs tried frantically to haul in a breath he realised he was fucked.
Already too fucked to cry, he lay still, watching streetlight reflections dance on the wet ground, wondering quietly if he would see Castiel on the other side and slowly leaving his mind and body behind.
*****
“Dean.”
An image of Dean thrust itself into Castiel’s mind, a single image revealing in an instant that something was seriously wrong. The angel fought a surging tide of panic as he found himself in a dark, wet alley following his rapidly fading connection to Dean.
Castiel immediately grasped the situation unfolding before him and with teeth clenched, he braced against the terror that tore through his chest when his frantic eyes came to rest on Deans broken body.
His focus snapped to the demons who had just become aware of his presence, igniting a rage that seemed to surge from deep within the ground he stood on. It coursed through his entire body consuming him completely and searing the air around him.
Clouds of fear darkened the faces of the demons as Castiel commanded the rage to obey his outstretched palms, directing a violent stream of lightning at the objects of his fury, all the while choking the overwhelming agony and fear welling from the centre of his mind that fought to seize control.
With a silence that betrayed its ferocity the lightning obliterated the demons and Castiel fought to hold onto his lucidity as he ran to Deans side.
“Dean…Dean…’
Barely able to speak, his voice breaking with a struggle that was almost insurmountable Castiel gently lifted Deans battered head from the pavement, caressing his bloodied skin as tears fell from the angels devastated face.
It’s too late…I’m too late. His thoughts raced, he couldn’t reconcile this reality with the future that he still wanted, the future that he had quietly wished for…
Ash from the incinerated demons floated softly down around them, shrouding the two figures in a delicate veil as Castiel hunched over Deans body, holding him tightly.
“No!” he gasped. I have to try!
The angel sought stillness in his mind, hunted it, reaching inward to the calm centre that he prayed still resided there. He glimpsed it for a brief moment, joy and relief wrestled with his desperation as he redoubled his efforts, panting with the exertion of trying to establish that peace and grasp hold of it.
He had it.
Exhaling, Castiel released his control and brilliant energy flooded from the centre of his vessel, blazing through his hands into the ruins of Deans body.
He quaked with the effort of channelling such a power and he desperately hoped it would be enough.
Exhausted… weary, the angel gently eased Deans body against his, reverently holding the hunter who had rapidly become the most important part of Castiel’s …life.
When Sam came to, the sun was just coming up, soft warm fingers of light angled into the alley, all was quiet - peaceful. He heaved himself up to a sitting position and as he did he saw Castiel cradling his older brother on the pavement. Seeing the two of them together, bathed in the morning light and with the angel’s face a mask of anguish and hope - Sam finally got it.
This-a-way to the next bit Falling's Not The Problem