Rating: PG to PG-13 for thematic elements, depending on your sensibilities; potential dubcon.
Warnings: Massive spoilers for 6.19 “Mommy Dearest” of “Supernatural”.
Summary: The burning hand on his neck pulled him forward. He didn’t close his eyes, but he didn’t resist.
Author’s Note: Inspired by A) recent events on “Supernatural” and B) a discussion I had on my LJ over episode 6.19. Thank you to Hyde for taking the original version (which some of you have already read) and tidying it up.
Disclaimer: I do not own “Supernatural”. It is the property of the CW Network and Kripke Enterprises. The title of the fic technically comes from these two lines on the Ripley Scroll: “The bird of Hermes is my name; eating my wings to make me tame.” However, I think we all know I actually heard the phrase from Kohta Hirano’s Hellsing.
EATING MY WINGS
“Do we have a deal?”
He could see the black corruption roiling inside the vessel, could hear the horrible hissing rasp of the demon beneath the vessel’s voice.
He would not do this.
A sharp smile wreathed in smoke and lies. “Come on, then—we all were one big happy family before. Did I ever let you down? And now here we are, brothers in arms, together again! Why not make it official?”
He would not. It was too much. Too far.
“It’s not even really my kind of contract—you don’t exactly have a soul to barter, after all. Just a little…shake on it, you know?”
“No.” His voice was weak, and he hated it.
Hot fingers were already curling over the cool flesh of the base of his neck. He didn’t pull away.
“Oh, darling. I believe this is what they call a ‘no-no yes-yes’ scenario.”
No. Not this.
“Just close your eyes and think of Dean, love.”
The burning hand on his neck pulled him forward. He didn’t close his eyes, but he didn’t resist.
It tasted of bile and blood and brimstone. He could feel the thick, noxious cords weaving between them, knotting and binding and scorching him. It was filthy and painful and horrible, and it was wrong.
He didn’t stop him. He numbly felt his own lips part as the demon licked his way inside his mouth, his tongue caressing his own with centuries’-old skill. The sensations made him shudder, his true self flinching away even as the vessel he wore grew flushed and eager, and he felt the arousal and revulsion mingling together inside of him and did not know what to do.
So he did nothing.
Crowley finished. He tugged on his lower lip as he went, deceptively gentle, his hand pulling away and sliding easily back into his pocket. The demon’s eyes glittered maliciously.
“Such a cold fish,” he tsked. “You might want to ask for a few pointers from my old flame Bobby Singer.” The serpent’s smile was still there in full. “See you around, partner.”
And then he was gone.
He stared without seeing at the spot Crowley had just been occupying. He felt no contract; he had no evil scrawl upon him, as all humans who dealt with demons did. But he felt the deal. He felt it in himself, as if his wings were withering, as if his Grace was blackening and twisting into something foul and terrible.
It was too late. He couldn’t change it and couldn’t take it back. It was done. And he still didn’t know why. For his brothers who rallied behind him? To win this war? To defeat Raphael? To save humanity? For the sake of free will? For God? Why? Why?
He knew why.
His eyes finally closed.
They couldn’t know. They would never know. He would see to that. He knew what they would do if they knew. And to lose the two things for which he did everything…
It would always be for them.
With a whisper of wings, Castiel vanished.
Author’s Note: Just in case anyone asks, I left the contents of the deal deliberately vague. Whatever was being exchanged will just have to remain mysterious for this fic.