New Fic: Sink Into Stone (SPN, NC17, read the warnings)
Title: Sink Into Stone
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
rivestra
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam, also, um…::cough::... kinda Castiel/Lucifer
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Oh yeah. Wincest, of the fuck-or-die variety. Also blood and knife play. And I’m probably going to hell now, just for the POV.
Length: 2,950 words, complete
Summary: ::flails:: Dean’s not going to let a little thing like Lucifer rising get between him and his brother.
Spoilers: for 422, Lucifer Rising. I’d probably go so far as to call this an extended episode tag, seeing as it’s not gonna make any sense if you haven’t seen the episode.
Disclaimer: I'm just playing with toys left out by the great collective conscious. I own none of the characters here, especially Lucifer.
ETA: Now with Beta! Much thanks to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
varkelton for pushing and making this weird little thing much stronger.
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Awareness comes slowly, stretching up through the stone. I feel each pebble and grain as I pass, sifting through them, pushing and tugging for a path upwards. When my light finally bursts free to flood the chapel, my own raw power staggers me. I reel, formless, reaching blindly for something, anything to stabilize the flow, searching the darkness until, finally, my tendrils stretch enough and I feel him, my anchor in the darkness, wide open and ready for me. Scared and strong, vital and righteous and broken. Perfectly prepared for me, standing there next to the last of his strength.
Touching him is like coming home, and it fills me with more longing than I have felt all in the millennia of my exile. Greedily, I reach for him, my light painting his skin, the tendrils of it sinking in deeper and deeper, gaining strength as they easily penetrate the last of his defenses, gently starting to pry him from the one, the brother, next to him.
He is mine. Soon, he will be nothing more than a part of me as once again I am become what I have always been.
Whispering drifts across my mind, muffled and coarse, full of desperation. The voice fills me with a warmth I’ve almost forgotten, and I listen close, straining for it. Eventually, I realize that the warmth is my Castiel. My light surges out and reaches for him, but he’s faint and coming from far, far away, reaching for the brother, Dean, not me, stretching out to him, using my very light as a medium for his communication. I try to make out the words that Dean is straining so hard to hear, and my effort brings them closer, makes them clearer to us both, and now we both can hear bits and pieces.
“…yours first, Dean…” Castiel sounds rough, like he’s fighting for each syllable, pushing through impossible barriers to get even this tiny part of himself here. I feel a wash of pride in him; even though he’s working against me, he’s still fighting for what he believes, and my light flares stronger, pulling him that much closer. I know I’m making him that much easier for Dean to hear, but I can’t help myself, I need to hear that voice again, to feel the glide of him sliding through me.
Stronger now, he’s almost lyrical, the rough edges smoothing away, much closer to how his voice should sound, and he’s coursing through me even as he coaches the brother against me. “Reclaim him. Drive it out of him before…” The words continue, but my mind tunes them in and out, letting the rise and fall of them flow across me like sweet water across scorched skin, smooth and strong and full.
I could shut him down with a thought, but I don’t, instead letting the connection flourish and strengthen so I can hear more. Castiel’s words are growing more confident and Dean can’t help but pay attention now, staring into my light, grasping for meaning in the still-fragmented instructions. “Fill Sam. Claim him. Again. New. Leave no point open, vulnerable to Him, or He will enter…”
Affection fills me in a rush, a reaction to the respect that laces his words, even after all this time, even though he’s trying his best to keep me out, even though he doesn’t really remember me, doesn’t remember us at all. Even so recently chastised – terrorized – Castiel is still fighting.
“Use your bodies…” Something’s wrong. Castiel’s speech is getting fainter again, stuttering now, like he’s fighting to hold on, and it’s not me so it must be those bastards from Heaven. “…you must… must keep him out…” He’s sounding strained, exhausted, and the music of him falters, discordant. “Anyway you can, Dean… you can’t let him have Sam…” I can feel them there, watching. They’re going to kill my Castiel for this, if it works… kill him if he stops me, and this time, there will be no coming back, with or without his memory.
“The knife, Dean…” Dean looks down at the bloody knife in his left hand, resolve settling over his features; he’s beginning to understand. I have to shut Castiel down. Now. Before he goes too far. But it’s so hard; it’s been so very long and the last thing I want is to shut him out, to push him away…
No. I can’t let him succeed, not with those holy bastards waiting for him. And I’m so close, after so long. I can feel him, can feel the whole world waiting just outside this moment, can feel it thrumming through my vessel, calling out to me. None of it will be real if I let them stop me. “Dean, use the knife, use yourself…” I don’t understand what’s happening, what the un-damned angels are up to, or why they want me to escape them. But I know they’ll end my beautiful Castiel if he succeeds in stopping me, and stopping him means both saving him and freedom… It’s so close now, I can taste it, can feel its heart beating, pounding in my vessel’s chest as he watches me coalesce.
But the bastards are too close now. I can feel them starting to tear at Castiel. He is still desperately coaching Dean, but they’re pulling at him, dragging him down, away. He’s growing more distant still, and I can feel the agony of their touch lancing through him like lightening.
They can’t be the ones to stop him; I won’t let them have him.
Not again.
I concentrate and let my light surge, but not outward, not toward freedom. Instead, I surge back toward Castiel, running through him, overtaking him and using my strength to lift him up and up and out. Away. Far away from them, stopping his beautiful voice, shutting down all his words but for one last shattered scream of “MOVE, Dean!” and then he’s gone, too far away to reach out to this place, too far to reach me or to reach Dean. Too far for the fucking Angles to reach, out of even the remaining archangels’ reach.
He’s safe, finally. At least for now.
I crash back into the chapel, all fading strength and light, much diminished from what I was a mere instant before. Dean’s moving now, standing between me and my vessel. I try to watch him, momentary weakness urging caution, but it’s difficult to focus as I begin to pull power from the stones of this blood-consecrated place. All I can see is that cursed blade as it flashes sliver across his pants. It’s a moment before I realize he’s wiping the one he calls Ruby’s blood from the blade.
The boy’s listened well to my Castiel. I’m beginning to see what he does in Dean.
I still can’t let the child win.
I feel myself flicker a few times, and Dean’s eyes are heavy on me as I do, calculating in a way I don’t like at all. It’s another few moments before I manage to reach far enough down to find what I’m looking for, finally connecting with Lilith’s strength as it runs thick and heavy through the flagstones. It’s pure adrenaline, and I dive into that river, swirling out into its contrasting currents: icy cold yet fiery hot, vibrantly alive and crushingly exhausted, faded death, righteous glowing good and gray, gray evil. I swim in it, gasping for metaphorical breath until I find my footing and my light finally begins to grow once more, if slower now than before.
Dean’s pulling at my vessel’s jacket, tugging at it awkwardly, trying to pull it off that unresisting body while clutching the knife firmly in his left hand. My vessel stares at my light, unmoving, his heart racing, and that sound’s a siren call I can’t resist. My light strengthens with the connection between us, pulsing in time to the blood in his veins. Even at this distance, I am awash in his warmth.
The cold crashes in hard, disorienting me, and it takes a moment before I realize why: Dean has turned his brother’s head, forcing his eyes away from me and onto his own. Dean’s hands are on my vessel’s skin now, cupping his collarbone, thrust up inside where his shirt gapes open. He’s breaking down our connection, forcing my vessel’s attention onto him, and I hear him shout out, “Sammy! Listen to me!”
My vessel’s eyes stutter back toward me. I extend a fine tendril of light toward him, but I’m still too weak to reach him again. Dean pulls his brother’s head back, hands tight on that face as he turns those eyes back to meet his own, voice pleading, “Sammy! You have to trust me!” It’s barely audible above my vessel’s pounding heart, but it’s still enough to shift the balance.
Hoarse and raw, my vessel croaks out a plaintive, “Dean…?” and Dean cups his brother’s face, gentling. “What’s happening to me?” It’s almost a whisper, and Dean draws him in close. I can feel the connection pulsing between them now, and it’s growing stronger with every touch.
“I’ve got you Sammy, you’ve just got to trust me.” Dean pulls back enough to look up into my vessel’s face. “Can you do that, Sam? This isn’t gonna be easy.” The threads between them tighten again, drawing them closer still. It hurts as he pulls away from me, and I shout my anger and pain into the room as a roaring wind.
They hold fast to each other, of course, and my foolish rage only serves to bring my vessel back to himself even more. He nods his head thickly, moving it against his brother’s where they’ve drawn together. Solemnly, he whispers, “Anything, Dean,” and the stones beneath their feet shudder with power because that was a vow, and, Lilith’s blood or no, they are forced to bear witness to such things.
Dean must feel it too, because I watch his confidence grow. He pulls back a fraction, just far enough to rip my vessel’s shirt open, sending buttons flying across the room like tiny meteors. When one touches my light, it sizzles and melts, but it doesn’t vaporize, landing instead on the stone, persisting in my glare against all logic.
That cursed knife comes up slowly into my vessel’s line of sight, Dean showing it carefully to his brother. I can feel the pulse of his blood once more, but my vessel only nods jerkily, once. I shout out incoherently when I see what he’s doing, but I can’t stop it. There’s nothing I can do but watch as Dean brings the knife to his forearm and slashes at himself, just deep enough to coat the blade with his own completely untainted blood.
He lays the coated knife against his brother’s chest, keeping eye contact as he starts to draw a shallow line along my vessel’s left pectoral, just above the heart. The knife sparks as it breaks skin, leaving a faint glowing trail in its wake. Dean has to deepen the cut to make blood well up properly, and soon a bright trail pulses across my vessel’s chest. I feel it as an agonizing cold ripping through me and push hard at the bond between them, tendrils of my light reaching frantically for my vessel but falling far too short.
Dean turns his head toward me. He smiles at me for a bare second, then leans in and sweeps up that rich, perfect blood with the flat of his tongue. My vessel jumps, and I can feel his surprise, can feel the fire flare across his chest as Dean’s mouth purifies him. I can feel his heart pound harder as he gives in to it and throws his head back, eyes closed, focusing on nothing but the pain and the burn and his brother.
I can’t let him shut me out like this.
I force myself deeper into the stone, seeking more strength than it is ready to part with. The chapel trembles on it’s foundation, shaking the pews, knocking over several ornate brass candelabra and scattering candles to the floor with a clatter. They don’t notice. At least, my vessel doesn’t; Dean responds by cutting faster, crisscrossing that beautiful chest and following each slice with his tongue, getting all the blood before it has the chance to fall to the eager stones below.
My light flares a bit, growing faster now, but the added power is still not enough. My vessel moans, his hands tight on Dean’s shoulders, completely open to his brother, and it’s making the difference. I’m still with him, there inside, feeling the blade, still anchored in him, but I can’t get his attention onto me.
I make another hard push, a different tact, turning his blood to lust and making him swell, hoping to shock his brother into inaction, into hesitation. He swells up against Dean, becoming firm and full against his brother’s belly.
Dean just… laughs.
It’s a hard sound, but it’s pure and brimming with strength.
I have miscalculated. My Castiel has taught him more than I thought, has chosen his champion better than I thought possible.
The knife stills and Dean’s mouth moves up to my vessel’s arching neck. He bites down hard, right on the stretched tendon. Blood floods into his mouth, but he catches almost all of it, swallowing fast even as his brother jerks sharply beneath him. I feel the flow of it leaving my vessel, rushing out of him, taking the pulsing throb of it from my ears, concealing the sound of his heartbeat in their fire. Abruptly, I feel Dean’s hand slip past my vessel’s waistband, solid and firm against overheated skin. His fingers wrap around his brother’s engorged cock without hesitation. My vessel’s breath stutters, but he relaxes into his brother, remembering his vow.
Just then, a drop of that precious ruby-red liquor flows down his arm and falls to the floor. The stone surges up greedily beneath their feet, rocking the foundation again and shattering the stained glass all around us. My vessel only thrusts up into his brother’s hand, oblivious to everything else.
Oblivious to me.
Dean releases his bite, licking the skin clean and whispering, “I’ve got you, Sammy,” into his brother’s neck.
Still, the power from that single drop snakes through the stone and floods into me. I stretch out toward the brothers, finally able to reach them, curving a tendril of my light around my vessel’s head, drawing his attention at last. Almost immediately, I feel Dean turn to glare at me, his eyes so fierce I might well have staggered back, had I already been embodied.
I feel Dean’s stare for only a fraction of a second, really, before he turns back to his brother. He murmurs, “Close your eyes, tight,” and stretches up to claim my vessel’s mouth with his own. The heat of their kiss sears through all three of us, pushing my light back again, blocking yet another path. I refuse to be shoved out and I begin to swirl, still feeding on that one drop of his blood, my reach growing longer and stronger, searching for a way in, for any way to breach him, any way to claim what’s mine.
I push at his eyes, but they refuse to open. Dean is moving constantly, mouth wet and sloppy and welcoming, trailing kisses up his brother’s face and keeping me back almost effortlessly, his claim primal and strong.
I move lower. My vessel cries out as I brush at his chest, and it is not a welcoming noise. Dean reacts quickly, stripping his own shirt off and bringing their torsos into full contact, one hand working rhythmically below all the while.
My rage builds and I reach lower still, but Dean’s hand is working at his own fly now, and soon they are both stripped completely, naked and laid bare in this unholyist of chapels. Dean’s defiance is charging the air as brutally as my anger, and he moves like a whirlwind, everywhere at once, sheltering his brother’s body with his own, claiming him from skin to soul.
Dean’s eyes cast about for a moment once they’re both exposed, and it takes me that same moment to realize he’s not hesitating, it’s that icy calculation again. Dean will not fail in this. His fears will not cripple him. He will see it through, all the way, no matter how far. He moves them toward the altar, and the hope I had not realized I’d been allowing to build crashes down around me, sinking into the stones below, pulling at my light inexorably, like blood seeping away into sandy dirt.
Dean bends his brother’s pliant body over the altar, hands moving constantly, stroking and coaxing, not allowing any contact with the greedy stone floor. Brutal and fluid, Dean enters him all at once, no trace of hesitation left in him. Sam – for that is surely what I must call him now, as he is no longer in any part my vessel – Sam cries out, arching back into his brother, pulling Dean in deeper still, sealing their bodies together, slick with sweat and blood, solid with fear and with life.
Sam is his brother’s now, and maybe, someday, will even be his own again.
I’m all but gone, and the last of my light reddens and flares out, casting sunset across the chapel. From far away, my Castiel reaches out into those final rays and I imagine a shudder of memory runs through him. I feel his caress ghost through me as I sink down, inexorably into the ever-greedy stones below.
Babbly Author’s Note: Written for Kink Bingo (knife play), though an observant soul might notice that this is my first bingo story and it’s not on my card. So my first story written is my freaking wildcard. I did start another story first (temporarily titled John Sheppard and the Fucking Machine), but I got distracted by this thing and haven’t finished that yet.
~ Fic Index ~
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Would you mind if I added you as a friend ??
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Also? Read all you want, my fic index is this-a-way ::grins::
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Thanks for commenting!
Your terrible, omnipresent evilness
I really like your Lucifer, but pretty much feel like whatever the Host want must actually be bad, and Lucifer must therefore stay banished even if manifesting didn't involve subsuming Sam.
I have more I want to say about the Host in this universe, but it's all essentially unprintable.
I really want Lucifer/Castiel backstory. ::blinks sweetly at you::
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Sam is his brother’s now, and maybe, someday, will even be his own again.
Yes! This right here!
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And please, make yourself comfortable and read some more. ::shameless self-pimp:: If you liked Lucifer, try the apocalypse on for size.
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::shakes head at self::
Sam is his brother’s now, and maybe, someday, will even be his own again.
Yes! This right here!
From our mouths to Kripke's ears!
Re: Your terrible, omnipresent evilness
Of course, in this case it wasn't much of a challenge. There really aren't many places I can't see Dean going to save his brother. The problem usually is that the reverse is also true, and then we have a huge mess (see: Winsync, also any part of canon).
I still can't believe you managed to read this last night. Get rid of the parents and you have all kinds of energy... ;)
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I mean, unless they're telling me that nothing's going on and that their brother is absolutely fine, which I kinda get a lot of from a certain pair of Winchesters...
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If this is amazing, it's your fault! It's sooooo much better after you worked it over with your pointy beta-stick!
::is still chuckling that you didn't notice the first person while you were poking it for several hours::
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*claps furiously*
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I'm so glad it worked for you. Not to mention that you found it months after I posted it!
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Your Lucifer voice is wonderful, both creepy and full of emotion at the same time. :)
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I pretty much never get tired of claiming, regardless of who's doing it. Ok, not completely regardless, but you know what I mean.
Lucifer took me totally off guard in this fic (as is his way, I suppose). I was not expecting him to provide the POV at all, so I'm really glad it worked for you. Skimming it a bit just now makes me want to go write the Castiel backstory so much. ::wishes she had any kind of time::