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Fic: No One Left To Pray To
No One Left To Pray To - Supernatural - Gen (Sam Winchester) - Words: 2,021
Written for Angst Bingo; Prompt: Slavery
Summary: Castiel will never let the Winchesters go now that he holds all the power.
Content Notes: Captivity, violence, non-consensual bondage. R.
Author Notes: Takes place after the end of season six, general spoilers for all seasons with specific spoilers for The Man Who Knew Too Much.
On AO3: No One Left To Pray To
Sam left their motel room early in the morning before Dean had stirred in his bed. Even though the progression of day and night maybe wasn't accurate or as smooth as they were accustomed to, it was all they had to measure the time and one of many things they just had to live with. Once, Sam had overheard Dean asking Castiel for a proper sun. He hadn't stayed around to hear the bitter reply that was characteristic of Castiel these days and the light had stayed the same ambiguous haze that filtered in and out in an approximately 24 hour cycle.
He walked as far as he could get, past the Impala in the parking lot and he used whatever gratitude he could muster to feel thankful that one thing hadn't been taken from them. Every once in a while Dean would drive, the road leading in about a ten minute loop whether or not he tried to veer off the path or drove faster than what should be possible for the space they were in. There was a small section of rough grass beyond the road. As soon as Sam couldn't see the road behind him if he turned to look, the road would reappear in front of him and he'd be at the back of the motel.
Just when he reached the point where he could see the road and the motel in the distance, the very edge of where he'd loop to the other side, Sam stopped and stood. If he were in the habit of wishing for things, he would wish for a storm or even a breeze. He'd never realized how deadening and confining the same filtered light day after day could be, though he had no idea how long they'd been there. Dean had started to make marks on the bathroom wall, one every morning, but when they'd started to not match the count they were both keeping, they gave up. If Castiel didn't want them to know how long they'd been there, then they wouldn't know. Time was relative anyway, so it didn't exactly matter. And it wouldn't matter if they never made it out of there, which was looking more and more like a distinct possibility.
Sam turned slowly, staring at the lack of landscape as he contemplated what he was about to do. Dean would say it was a bad idea. Actually, he'd probably call it a fucking stupid idea, call Sam some creatively rude names and go storming off into the small bar that was attached to the motel and leave Sam alone with the sound of Bobby puttering about on the tv set.
Dean had dubbed it the Bobby Channel and like most things Dean named, it stuck despite the stupidity. Sam didn't know what Dean had said to get Castiel to agree to having it. Before that day the tv hadn't worked at all, not even static or a hum of electricity, but one day when Sam had come back to the room he'd found Dean sitting in front of it watching as Bobby sat at his desk drinking and skimming through a leaning stack of books. They hadn't turned the tv off or tried to change the channel since they'd gotten Bobby, the relief that he was alive and looking for them was pretty much all they had.
Sam never mentioned that it was possibly Bobby wasn't alive, that it was an elaborate illusion Castiel had set up so that he could take it away from them at a later date. He was sure that Dean already knew.
The relief of Bobby's pseudo presence was somewhat dulled by the fact that Bobby had no idea where they were or even if they were alive. In every call he made or he received he asked if anyone had seen or heard anything about Sam and Dean Winchester, to the point where it was the first thing the person on the other end of the line reported about because Bobby wasn't answering any questions or doing any research for anyone who wasn't also looking for Sam and Dean. It was hard to watch; Sam hadn't really realized how much Bobby did, and how much Bobby drank, but he knew that if anyone could find and rescue them it would be Bobby. They'd beaten insurmountable odds before; what was one more time?
Sam looked around one more time and mentally ordered himself to stop stalling. He'd come out here for a purpose, and when they'd spent however long without a purpose or a job, it should feel good. He had a goal and a plan of action and all the determination he had left. Now he just needed Cas. The thought brought him up short and he sharply corrected himself; he just needed Castiel. Cas was long gone, gone longer than they had realized, and it was only Castiel now. Sam had to keep those separate in his mind because he couldn't reconcile the angel-god-thing that was keeping them in this endless nothingness with Cas who had rescued Dean from Hell and worked at their side for years.
"Castiel," Sam shut his eyes and bowed his head entirely out of routine and ritual from the numberless times that he's prayed. Dean's 'prayers' were always a little more laid back with more than a hint of sarcasm and disbelief, but Sam had never been able to follow suit even with everything they'd seen. "I need to talk with you, Castiel."
There was no flutter, no sound of feathers cracking in the air, but when Sam raised his head and opened his eyes Castiel was standing in front of him with an expectant and slightly condescending expression. Castiel always answered summons from him and Dean immediately while they were in their odd prison. Sam wasn't sure if that meant that Castiel was concerned about them or if Castiel simply now had more time to spend with his human pets, as Sam had heard other angels refer to him and Dean more than once.
"What is it that you'd like to say, Sam?" Castiel asked, his body rigid and still as if he'd forgotten how to move naturally again.
Sam blinked and found himself automatically moving his gaze away from Castiel. He hadn't seen him much since their arrival though he occasionally heard him speaking with Dean. "I want to make a deal with you," he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. He had faced down Lucifer and Michael and survived Hell. He should be able to stand at his full height and speak to Castiel without shaking.
"A deal?" Castiel asked as if he had never heard the phrase before.
"Yes." This time Sam did look directly at Castiel, meeting his eyes even though it made him feel unsettled and vaguely nauseous. "I will do anything you want, give you anything, willingly. Just let Dean go back to Earth and back to Bobby, and leave him alone forever."
Castiel laughed.
The sound was sickening. The amusement and almost pleasure at Sam's offer was almost too much for Sam to stand. Cas had never laughed, Cas hadn't found very much to be amusing really. Sam wished that Castiel would never laugh again. Sam looked down, his eyes resting on the clothes that had become as much of Castiel as the human body he wore. He hoped that Jimmy Novak was nowhere to be found in Castiel, that he had no awareness of what his body was being used for. Whatever Jimmy had agreed to and believed his calling to be, Sam couldn't believe that he would have let his body be used like this.
"Do you truly believe that your brother hasn't offered me this deal in exchange for your freedom many times before?" Castiel asked, his laughter stopping suddenly and unnaturally.
Sam swallowed hard, because of course his brother had tried. He'd been willing to go to Hell in order to get Sam back, made deals with demons and probably done things that Sam didn't even know about to keep him safe and alive.
"What neither of you seem to understand is that I can already do whatever I want. You and Dean are mine, I don't need your cooperation or willingness." Castiel's voice echoed off the empty space surrounding them.
A roar of light and sound surrounded Sam until he was forced to shut his eyes. He tried to bring his hands up to cover his ears but found them bound at his knees. Dizzy, his ears still ringing loudly, it took a moment for Sam to be able to open his eyes and orient himself with regards to his surroundings. He was kneeling and nude, his hands bound in heavy chains that shone and reflected the light surrounding him. He could feel the shackles and chains around his ankles when he managed to shift his weight. The floor beneath him was glass, painful and freezing against his bare skin, and Sam tried to stand to minimize his contact against it. A hand, burning like a branding iron, pressed down against Sam's back until he was screaming and pressed down on the floor. He stayed there, shaking and overwhelmed with sensation.
When he managed to turn his head he found Castiel at his side, though when he'd felt the hand on his back he had known immediately who was with him. What he didn't expect to see was Dean kneeling at Castiel's feet on the other side. Dean's spine was bowed, his head nearly touching the ground. He was nude and bound just as Sam was. Both their silver chains held tightly in Castiel's hand. The noise started around Sam again, light reflecting as beings moved around him. Sam rose his head slightly to try and see what was happening, his eyes first falling on the throne that was directly behind Castiel. When he tried to look further he discovered that his eyes couldn't focus on anything and when he dropped back onto the freezing floor he could barely make out his own hands in front of his face. The unearthly sound that rose around him became too much to suffer in silence. He screamed even though he couldn't hear his own voice, certain that it was Dean's name that fell from his lips.
Sam thrashed instinctively when he felt hands on him again, certain they would be burning into his skin. When it was Dean's voice he heard, only barely as if it was being called from a great distance, Sam stopped moving and fell down against the rough asphalt that beneath him.
"You said you'd stay away from him," Dean was shouting; shouting even though to Sam it was barely more than a whisper.
Sam moaned as he wondered what Dean had sacrificed in order to get Castiel to promise that. He turned on the ground, thankful for Dean's hands holding him together, and blinked as he tried to clear his vision of the road and motel.
"Neither of you will ever stray from my side again. You will never doubt me again," Castiel's voice was loud and clear, still ringing when Castiel disappeared as suddenly as he'd arrived.
"Sam. Sammy," Dean said, his voice still distant but starting to become more clear. "Come on, you're alright."
Sam closed his eyes as he tried to push up onto his knees, his back throbbing where Castiel had pressed his hand and his stomach churning at Dean's nickname. Outside of their time in this artificial prison Sam couldn't remember when the last time Dean had called him Sammy. Before the whole Ruby and demon blood thing, maybe? But now whenever he collapsed from the memories of Hell surging up he woke to Dean by his side and saying 'Sammy' over and over like some kind of mantra.
"We're alright," Dean repeated, carefully helping Sam kneel.
Sam shook his head ever so slightly, his vision blurred and any color near them swirling like a toddler's watercolor painting. They were about as far from alright as he could imagine.
Written for Angst Bingo; Prompt: Slavery
Summary: Castiel will never let the Winchesters go now that he holds all the power.
Content Notes: Captivity, violence, non-consensual bondage. R.
Author Notes: Takes place after the end of season six, general spoilers for all seasons with specific spoilers for The Man Who Knew Too Much.
On AO3: No One Left To Pray To
Sam left their motel room early in the morning before Dean had stirred in his bed. Even though the progression of day and night maybe wasn't accurate or as smooth as they were accustomed to, it was all they had to measure the time and one of many things they just had to live with. Once, Sam had overheard Dean asking Castiel for a proper sun. He hadn't stayed around to hear the bitter reply that was characteristic of Castiel these days and the light had stayed the same ambiguous haze that filtered in and out in an approximately 24 hour cycle.
He walked as far as he could get, past the Impala in the parking lot and he used whatever gratitude he could muster to feel thankful that one thing hadn't been taken from them. Every once in a while Dean would drive, the road leading in about a ten minute loop whether or not he tried to veer off the path or drove faster than what should be possible for the space they were in. There was a small section of rough grass beyond the road. As soon as Sam couldn't see the road behind him if he turned to look, the road would reappear in front of him and he'd be at the back of the motel.
Just when he reached the point where he could see the road and the motel in the distance, the very edge of where he'd loop to the other side, Sam stopped and stood. If he were in the habit of wishing for things, he would wish for a storm or even a breeze. He'd never realized how deadening and confining the same filtered light day after day could be, though he had no idea how long they'd been there. Dean had started to make marks on the bathroom wall, one every morning, but when they'd started to not match the count they were both keeping, they gave up. If Castiel didn't want them to know how long they'd been there, then they wouldn't know. Time was relative anyway, so it didn't exactly matter. And it wouldn't matter if they never made it out of there, which was looking more and more like a distinct possibility.
Sam turned slowly, staring at the lack of landscape as he contemplated what he was about to do. Dean would say it was a bad idea. Actually, he'd probably call it a fucking stupid idea, call Sam some creatively rude names and go storming off into the small bar that was attached to the motel and leave Sam alone with the sound of Bobby puttering about on the tv set.
Dean had dubbed it the Bobby Channel and like most things Dean named, it stuck despite the stupidity. Sam didn't know what Dean had said to get Castiel to agree to having it. Before that day the tv hadn't worked at all, not even static or a hum of electricity, but one day when Sam had come back to the room he'd found Dean sitting in front of it watching as Bobby sat at his desk drinking and skimming through a leaning stack of books. They hadn't turned the tv off or tried to change the channel since they'd gotten Bobby, the relief that he was alive and looking for them was pretty much all they had.
Sam never mentioned that it was possibly Bobby wasn't alive, that it was an elaborate illusion Castiel had set up so that he could take it away from them at a later date. He was sure that Dean already knew.
The relief of Bobby's pseudo presence was somewhat dulled by the fact that Bobby had no idea where they were or even if they were alive. In every call he made or he received he asked if anyone had seen or heard anything about Sam and Dean Winchester, to the point where it was the first thing the person on the other end of the line reported about because Bobby wasn't answering any questions or doing any research for anyone who wasn't also looking for Sam and Dean. It was hard to watch; Sam hadn't really realized how much Bobby did, and how much Bobby drank, but he knew that if anyone could find and rescue them it would be Bobby. They'd beaten insurmountable odds before; what was one more time?
Sam looked around one more time and mentally ordered himself to stop stalling. He'd come out here for a purpose, and when they'd spent however long without a purpose or a job, it should feel good. He had a goal and a plan of action and all the determination he had left. Now he just needed Cas. The thought brought him up short and he sharply corrected himself; he just needed Castiel. Cas was long gone, gone longer than they had realized, and it was only Castiel now. Sam had to keep those separate in his mind because he couldn't reconcile the angel-god-thing that was keeping them in this endless nothingness with Cas who had rescued Dean from Hell and worked at their side for years.
"Castiel," Sam shut his eyes and bowed his head entirely out of routine and ritual from the numberless times that he's prayed. Dean's 'prayers' were always a little more laid back with more than a hint of sarcasm and disbelief, but Sam had never been able to follow suit even with everything they'd seen. "I need to talk with you, Castiel."
There was no flutter, no sound of feathers cracking in the air, but when Sam raised his head and opened his eyes Castiel was standing in front of him with an expectant and slightly condescending expression. Castiel always answered summons from him and Dean immediately while they were in their odd prison. Sam wasn't sure if that meant that Castiel was concerned about them or if Castiel simply now had more time to spend with his human pets, as Sam had heard other angels refer to him and Dean more than once.
"What is it that you'd like to say, Sam?" Castiel asked, his body rigid and still as if he'd forgotten how to move naturally again.
Sam blinked and found himself automatically moving his gaze away from Castiel. He hadn't seen him much since their arrival though he occasionally heard him speaking with Dean. "I want to make a deal with you," he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. He had faced down Lucifer and Michael and survived Hell. He should be able to stand at his full height and speak to Castiel without shaking.
"A deal?" Castiel asked as if he had never heard the phrase before.
"Yes." This time Sam did look directly at Castiel, meeting his eyes even though it made him feel unsettled and vaguely nauseous. "I will do anything you want, give you anything, willingly. Just let Dean go back to Earth and back to Bobby, and leave him alone forever."
Castiel laughed.
The sound was sickening. The amusement and almost pleasure at Sam's offer was almost too much for Sam to stand. Cas had never laughed, Cas hadn't found very much to be amusing really. Sam wished that Castiel would never laugh again. Sam looked down, his eyes resting on the clothes that had become as much of Castiel as the human body he wore. He hoped that Jimmy Novak was nowhere to be found in Castiel, that he had no awareness of what his body was being used for. Whatever Jimmy had agreed to and believed his calling to be, Sam couldn't believe that he would have let his body be used like this.
"Do you truly believe that your brother hasn't offered me this deal in exchange for your freedom many times before?" Castiel asked, his laughter stopping suddenly and unnaturally.
Sam swallowed hard, because of course his brother had tried. He'd been willing to go to Hell in order to get Sam back, made deals with demons and probably done things that Sam didn't even know about to keep him safe and alive.
"What neither of you seem to understand is that I can already do whatever I want. You and Dean are mine, I don't need your cooperation or willingness." Castiel's voice echoed off the empty space surrounding them.
A roar of light and sound surrounded Sam until he was forced to shut his eyes. He tried to bring his hands up to cover his ears but found them bound at his knees. Dizzy, his ears still ringing loudly, it took a moment for Sam to be able to open his eyes and orient himself with regards to his surroundings. He was kneeling and nude, his hands bound in heavy chains that shone and reflected the light surrounding him. He could feel the shackles and chains around his ankles when he managed to shift his weight. The floor beneath him was glass, painful and freezing against his bare skin, and Sam tried to stand to minimize his contact against it. A hand, burning like a branding iron, pressed down against Sam's back until he was screaming and pressed down on the floor. He stayed there, shaking and overwhelmed with sensation.
When he managed to turn his head he found Castiel at his side, though when he'd felt the hand on his back he had known immediately who was with him. What he didn't expect to see was Dean kneeling at Castiel's feet on the other side. Dean's spine was bowed, his head nearly touching the ground. He was nude and bound just as Sam was. Both their silver chains held tightly in Castiel's hand. The noise started around Sam again, light reflecting as beings moved around him. Sam rose his head slightly to try and see what was happening, his eyes first falling on the throne that was directly behind Castiel. When he tried to look further he discovered that his eyes couldn't focus on anything and when he dropped back onto the freezing floor he could barely make out his own hands in front of his face. The unearthly sound that rose around him became too much to suffer in silence. He screamed even though he couldn't hear his own voice, certain that it was Dean's name that fell from his lips.
Sam thrashed instinctively when he felt hands on him again, certain they would be burning into his skin. When it was Dean's voice he heard, only barely as if it was being called from a great distance, Sam stopped moving and fell down against the rough asphalt that beneath him.
"You said you'd stay away from him," Dean was shouting; shouting even though to Sam it was barely more than a whisper.
Sam moaned as he wondered what Dean had sacrificed in order to get Castiel to promise that. He turned on the ground, thankful for Dean's hands holding him together, and blinked as he tried to clear his vision of the road and motel.
"Neither of you will ever stray from my side again. You will never doubt me again," Castiel's voice was loud and clear, still ringing when Castiel disappeared as suddenly as he'd arrived.
"Sam. Sammy," Dean said, his voice still distant but starting to become more clear. "Come on, you're alright."
Sam closed his eyes as he tried to push up onto his knees, his back throbbing where Castiel had pressed his hand and his stomach churning at Dean's nickname. Outside of their time in this artificial prison Sam couldn't remember when the last time Dean had called him Sammy. Before the whole Ruby and demon blood thing, maybe? But now whenever he collapsed from the memories of Hell surging up he woke to Dean by his side and saying 'Sammy' over and over like some kind of mantra.
"We're alright," Dean repeated, carefully helping Sam kneel.
Sam shook his head ever so slightly, his vision blurred and any color near them swirling like a toddler's watercolor painting. They were about as far from alright as he could imagine.