sentra04: (Default)
[personal profile] sentra04

Author: Sentra04
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Characters: Crowley, Castiel, Bobby, Meg, Sam, Dean
Pairing: Gen. Squint for Dean/Cas?
Warning: Slight spoilers for 6X22.
Disclaimer and Notes: I actually don't like the song "I Am the Walrus" but there's a line in here that popped into mind when watching 'Across the Universe.' Title from a comment Lennon made about having not at the time realizing the walrus was the bad guy. Supernatural will never belong to me - but i will still continue to sneak into the sandbox after hours.

He doesn't flinch.

    Crowley's not the type to beg - he's more the run away to fight another day - but once backed into a corner - he's still not the kind of creature to roll over. He fights - dirty - and he's always come out ahead.

    Except now he's faced against something he doesn't know how to fight - something  he's helped twist into the unrecognizable. And nothing is working.

    Even his best is nothing. Singer was felled easily enough in the cross fire, but he can't even scratch the others. He sends his hellhound to tear apart the man - He's just a human, he tells himself - but the demonic creature is waved off - a hand flick and the most terrifying thing in his arson is brushed off.

    Winchester's had an irrational fear of all things canine for years now. The massive beast should have warranted some kind of response. Anything. Something more than a dismissive pass off.

    Never mind how the boy pulled the stunt off anyway. Crowley wants to think it's the angel's doing - he's pulled bull shit like this before - but glancing over, the celestial being looks just as grief-stricken as he currently feels.

    Whatever juiced the hunter up - the angel had nothing to do with. His brother completes the trio of shock - the three of them staring dumbly - like the answer will poof into existence just as fast as the switch that got flipped.

    Singer wheezes against the wall, his attention only on drawing his next breath while the demon so affectionately named Meg has fallen to her knees - staring like he is the second coming or something.

    He steps out of the trap on the floor - confirming that terrifying guess that's forming in the demon's gut. Sam doesn't catch on - maybe he doesn't WANT to.

    Sam just sees the black of his brother's eyes and starts sprouting on exorcism, venom in each syllable dropped. The demons both flinch, and Crowley prepares himself to be forced out. But Castiel puts a hand on the youngest one's shoulder - Sam stops speaking as he twists violently away stepping warily away form the self-proclaimed god.

    Singer wheezes. Meg remains focused on the floor. Sam and Castiel stare each other down. Crowley looks desperately for an escape.

    And Dean?

    Dean has wiped the blood from his hand on his jeans, turning to regard the butchered hellhound with a passivity Crowley didn't know the man to possess.

    "Get out of my brother..." Sam hisses, turning from the newest angel to screw them over, to regard what he believes to be an invader. Dean turns from the corpse - something he shouldn't even be able to see - to his brother.

    The sclera is black - a deep dark reflection of the state of the soul inside - but the iris is still green; a fact that seems to escape no one, though Hell if Crowley knows what it means.

    "Get out?" His voice is scratchy. Hoarse. Like he's been screaming for years. "But Sammy - don't you see?" Dean's grin is wide and dark - malicious is ways that Crowley would normally feel honoured to see aimed at his enemies, "I'm still all me!"

    "You know I'm not going to fall for that." He sounds so sure - Crowley wants to believe Sam. But this is different. This is wrong. He can't see anyone in Dean - he should be able to recognize some part of any demon when it's possessing a host. But there's nothing there.

    "But Sammy- "  "It's Sam"  "-I did this for you! You wanted me stronger - so here I am."

    Sam sputtered, a choked "Excuse me?!" falling past his lips. Crowley tests the edge of his trap - looking for a weak spot to escape though.

    "I was weak. You where right. Cas tried to bury parts when he brought me back - thought he was doing the right thing-" Crowley didn't know Dean in hell - or right after - but looking at the distraught face of the angel, he was guessing things had been beyond bad when this went down, "But you needed me strong. It took a little bit - I was afraid-" The sneer twisted even more, prompting Castiel to step between the brothers.

    "Dean? Dean, please -"

    "I was afraid of what I was - because Cas was afraid of what I was." There was so much hate and rage in that grin - all focused on the angel. The pride was gone - the angel, even with all that power, looked small and scared, "But you needed me, and here I am. All re-united and stitched back together. After all - if you could do it, I should have the balls to do the same."

    "Stop Dean - this is-"

    The flick was back. It wasn't enough to send Castiel flying like it had his pet, but it knocked the angel back a good few feet. "No more from you." The voice was strong and commanding - none of the dark playfulness it had when addressing his brother. Castiel flinched, head bowed. Wither it was Dean or the tone, Crowley wasn't sure.

    Sam tried the exoticism again. Dean started at him - not flinching, even when Crowley stumbled, loosing his grip on his earthly host. Before he could be expelled, Dean spoke up. Calm. Steady. "Do that, and this tattoo promises you'll have nothing but an empty shell from here on out. Cast me out now and no will ever be home again. Lights out. Vegetable until the body gives out.

    "You think you'll find me in Hell again? This time I know what he is," He gestured to Castiel - who started back, openly heartbroken, "And this time, I'll be the one to tear him to pieces. I don't need Alaistar to fight my battles anymore. 'I am he as Dean is he as Dean  is me and we are all together.'  You can't break us up anymore."

    There was the crack Crowley was looking for, and while they three had their reunion, he moved, forcing it open, and fleeing though. But there was Azazel child, holding him in place. He swore and cursed her, but she held fast and Crowley found the terrible three looking at him. Never in his existence had he felt small. Never before had he been afraid like this. But the air was wrong here, the only predicable one now being the boy-king.

    Castiel swung back to Lucifer's understudy in a blink, and then there was the enigma once known as Dean.

    And Azazel's girl was whispering in his ear - "Shut up, shut up, shut up. Don't look at him. Don't talk to him. Do exactly what he says. Do Not Fuck with Him."

    He wants to believe she means the new Morning Star. He fears she doesn't.

Something peculiar happens to a corrupted soul when you play God on it. Ten years enjoying a hellish blood lust had stained ever corner - no part was still clean. But when you pull it - unwillingly - from the pit, and you bleach out the outside while shoving it back all together - you miss parts. The grey areas become white - but those black pieces remain untouched. Unable to exist in the same space as an angel the edges crisp and burn, and it fold in on itself.

    Buried so deep nothing earthly will dig it back out. Demon black and angel white on a single human soul. A soul already running with God's luck and the archangels interest.

    But then you poke and you prod - and the darkness beats against the consciousness so hard the only way to ignore it is to drown everything in an angelic or alcoholic haze until it bleeds back into shades of grey.

    Then you ask the black to come out to play - and try to shove it back in when it becomes inconvenient.

    Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

    For three years.

    Now add vampire blood. Use it to dig deep into those bleeding cracks and pull all the black out. Sure - you can sometimes find away to 'cure' the hunger for flesh and blood - get the lungs and heart back in correct working order.

But a bloodstain is a bloodstain. Ask Azazel's Chosen Ones.

    Add the haze and mix again. Add time, and fear, and heart ache. Heart break.

    Four years. And the bite of the Mother of All.

    Now pull the rug out. Knock the walls down. Kill everything again. And Again. And Again.

He's not a demon. He's not a monster. He's not an angel. He's not even human anymore. He's all of the above and none at all.

And still a soul already running with God's twisted luck.

And he hates everything because he once loved it. Especially you.

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June 2012


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