"Your brother is no longer human. Nothing can survive the cage and stay innocent." Castiel tells Dean plainly for the second time, repeating himself as if Dean didn't understand him the first time.
Which, he did. His stomach is a leaden ball curled up somewhere near his feet, by Dean's approximation, because no way is this happening. Not after everything. Surely life wouldn't be so cruel as to give Sam back and then whip him back out from under Dean's nose again?
Apparently, because Castiel's words haven't changed, as much as Dean keeps trying to rearrange them in his head. "What," He asks then, uncertain, "What does that mean?"
"It means," Sam interrupts, the loud click of a full magazine snapping into place punctuating his words, and Dean can't help but flinch, "that I've got a few new quirks. Nothing you've never seen before Dean." His tone is unconcerned, as if it really is nothing, and Dean allows himself to ignore the ice in Sam's voice and hope that it's really that simple.
That lasts him until their next case, a werewolf leaving behind a trail of bodies. Nothing that thay haven't done. Only Sam drags the bodies out of sight, and Dean sees him licking his finges whe he returns.
It sends a shiver up his spine, because Castiel was right. This - this thing isn't human, isn't his brother, but then it grins at him and orders a salad over lunch. A salad it picks at, but never actually eats. Not once does it lift the fork to its lips.
"What is he?" Dean asks Castiel about a week later, when he's sure it's gone. It doesn't sleep, it doesn't eat, and all of its expressions are wrong - uncanny valley, like his brother is still posessed - and then there was that time with the bodies, or the hunt where it honestly seemed to get off on pain...
"It's a soul flayed raw," Castiel tells him, impassive as ever despite the apology in his eyes, "One of the fallen, who has forgotten what it is to be human. Sam has spent over four times the length of his lifetime on earth down in the pit, Dean. It is to be expected."
Expected or not, it doesn't hurt any less.
Certainly not when Sam blows away a civilian, then holds them up so he can get a taste of the man's flesh.
He's so mattter of fact about it - "It's only going to go bad if we leave it here, Dean" - and doesn't bother to hide what he's doing. Dean sits in the driver's seat, waiting for Sam, and tries to will away the nausea.
Maybe that was normal down in the pit, but that doesn't make it any better when Sam comes back to the car with his mouth tinged red and his pupils blown wide, like Sam enjoyed that. A lot.
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Shotgun Stuffs His Cakehole
Date: 2011-12-13 04:16 am (UTC)Which, he did. His stomach is a leaden ball curled up somewhere near his feet, by Dean's approximation, because no way is this happening. Not after everything. Surely life wouldn't be so cruel as to give Sam back and then whip him back out from under Dean's nose again?
Apparently, because Castiel's words haven't changed, as much as Dean keeps trying to rearrange them in his head. "What," He asks then, uncertain, "What does that mean?"
"It means," Sam interrupts, the loud click of a full magazine snapping into place punctuating his words, and Dean can't help but flinch, "that I've got a few new quirks. Nothing you've never seen before Dean." His tone is unconcerned, as if it really is nothing, and Dean allows himself to ignore the ice in Sam's voice and hope that it's really that simple.
That lasts him until their next case, a werewolf leaving behind a trail of bodies. Nothing that thay haven't done. Only Sam drags the bodies out of sight, and Dean sees him licking his finges whe he returns.
It sends a shiver up his spine, because Castiel was right. This - this thing isn't human, isn't his brother, but then it grins at him and orders a salad over lunch. A salad it picks at, but never actually eats. Not once does it lift the fork to its lips.
"What is he?" Dean asks Castiel about a week later, when he's sure it's gone. It doesn't sleep, it doesn't eat, and all of its expressions are wrong - uncanny valley, like his brother is still posessed - and then there was that time with the bodies, or the hunt where it honestly seemed to get off on pain...
"It's a soul flayed raw," Castiel tells him, impassive as ever despite the apology in his eyes, "One of the fallen, who has forgotten what it is to be human. Sam has spent over four times the length of his lifetime on earth down in the pit, Dean. It is to be expected."
Expected or not, it doesn't hurt any less.
Certainly not when Sam blows away a civilian, then holds them up so he can get a taste of the man's flesh.
He's so mattter of fact about it - "It's only going to go bad if we leave it here, Dean" - and doesn't bother to hide what he's doing. Dean sits in the driver's seat, waiting for Sam, and tries to will away the nausea.
Maybe that was normal down in the pit, but that doesn't make it any better when Sam comes back to the car with his mouth tinged red and his pupils blown wide, like Sam enjoyed that. A lot.