Deep Six and Counting
Title: Deep Six and Counting
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Rated: PG-13
Word Count: 1,100
Warnings: Um… none, really. Except maybe blood drinking.
Notes: Written in response to a request over at comment_fic. This has not been beta edited, so any mistakes are completely mine and I’m sorry. I’ve recently discovered that I rather like this pairing a lot. I may or may not continue this, depending on inspiration.
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters, only the words.
Summary: Castiel’s been down in the pit a long time. Now he has company.


“In this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure.”

J.R.R. Tolkien


Castiel’s been down in the pit a long time. It’s not a fiery pit but he’s been down there long enough to come to the tentative conclusion that Hell and the pit probably share the same decorator. It’s cold rather than hot, more like a kind of Purgatory for lost souls.

Off to his right, he can hear Sam shivering and moaning through his teeth. He’s sick with something--or rather, sick without it. Castiel hasn’t seen him in a long time, but even cut off from Heaven, he’s heard things. Like how Sam Winchester started drinking demon blood again as the war carried on, how in the heat of battle, he had used his power and turned the tide.

He hadn’t been there and there’s a part of him that wishes he had been. Castiel would never admit it, but he would have liked to see that; demonic powers used against demons and angels alike to defend men.

The pit is deep and so dark that it pulls at the eyes. The walls are cold, slick stone covered in moss and slippery with algae. He wonders if it’s a well of some kind.

As badly as Sam is shaking, he wonders if maybe his sickness is more than just the pain of coming down from a bad addiction.

“Sam?”

There’s not response for a while, then Sam, around the chattering of his teeth, says, “What?”

“What happened?” Castiel asks.

“Not sure,” Sam says. “Caught with… my pants down. Metaphor… ically speaking. Bound me. Threw me down here… with you.”

“Yes, well I’m very sorry to disappoint you,” Castiel says dryly. “I’m sure you were expecting far better company.”

“I was kinda… hoping for a bottle… and a hooker, yeah, but you’ll do, I guess,” Sam says.

Castiel smiles. He’s a little surprised that he still can, but there it is. “You’re sick, aren’t you?”

“Mhmm, got dt’s… and it’s fucking cold down here,” Sam says. His voice echoes faintly off the curved walls of the pit. “We’re probably both going to die… from pneumonia.”

“We may be lucky to die of pneumonia,” Castiel says.

“Your optimism… is overwhelming, sunshine,” Sam says.

Castiel puts his hand out to feel along the wall and crawls across the damp floor of the pit toward the sound of Sam’s voice. His fingers come away slimy with water and mildew and he brushes them off on his coat, then reaches out a hand to feel in the dark for Sam.

His hand grazes over denim and Sam tenses. “Dude… get your hand off my ass,” he mutters.

Instead of removing his hand, he lightly pats up Sam’s side, assuring himself of his form and presence. He’s been down here long enough that it wouldn’t be the first time he’s held conversations with people only to try touching them and find himself alone. But Sam is real and solid and the knowledge of this gives Castiel a strange, unaccustomed sense of comfort.

“You gonna want to… make out with me next?” Sam asks.

“What?” Castiel says. He’s not even entirely sure he fully understands the term, but he knows that teasing tone of voice because of Dean.

“Well that’s usually where this kind of thing… leads,” Sam says. He shifts on the ground and sits up with his back propped against the damp wall. “First you grab my ass… then you slip your hand under my shirt and tweak a nipple… and before you know it…”

Castiel takes his hand back and sits there in the dark blinking in confusion at the blackness in front of him where Sam is. “I am not going to fornicate with you, Sam Winchester, if that is what you are getting at,” Castiel says.

Sam snorts laughter and shoves Castiel’s arm with his hand. It’s a big joke… and Castiel doesn’t really get the punch-line.

Sam makes a strangled, whining sound in his throat and Castiel can hear the rustle of his clothes as he shifts, probably huddling in on himself for warmth. Castiel crawls over to him, feeling along the ground until his fingertips find the stone wall, then he sits beside him against the wall and takes his coat off.

“Here,” Castiel says, shoving gently at Sam’s side to get him to lean toward him.

“Here, what? Man… I can’t see. What are you doing?” Sam asks.

He’s trembling against Castiel’s side and when Castiel puts his coat around Sam’s shoulders and pulls him in against him, he can feel it, as well as the breath that rushes out of him. “Giving you my coat and sharing my warmth,” Castiel says. “Better?”

“Yeah… some,” Sam says. His teeth are chattering and his jaw is clenched in an effort to stop it.

“We have to get out of here,” Castiel says. “If not, you will die and so will my… host.”

“Yeah… how are we gonna do that?” Sam asks. “Me riding piggyback while you fly us home?”

Castiel grins at the picture this brings to mind and shakes his head. Then he remembers that Sam can’t see him and says, “No.”

“Then what?” Sam asks.

Castiel shifts a little and feels in his pocket. His hand comes out holding a small pocket knife and he opens it, the blade clicking into a locked position with a metallic snick sound that echoes.

“What are you doing?” Sam says.

Castiel runs his thumb along the underside of his forearm, from wrist to about midway to his elbow. This is where the vein is, he knows. He‘s watched humans do this for eons. “Do you know where demons come from?”

“Yeah… they’re people… used to be people, but they went to Hell and turned,” Sam says.

“Some of them,” Castiel says. “But the first demons were angels just like me. Fallen from Heaven, beyond the sight of God. Arrogant, traitorous, and lustful.”

“Um… okay,” Sam says. “Why are you telling me this?”

Castiel runs his hand up Sam’s shoulder, along his neck to his jaw and grabs his chin. He leans in and presses a quick, hard kiss to his mouth that shocks Sam so bad that he stops shaking for a minute to process it.

Then there’s a sound, soft like velvet being cut with a razor, and the scent of blood overpowers the wet smell of mould, moss and earth in the bottom of the pit. Sam feels a hungry growl roll in his throat and reaches for Castiel, but Castiel’s already there, slipping one arm around his neck, offering him the other and it smells so good.

“I thought you might like a drink,” Castiel murmurs in his ear. “Then maybe… we can go home.”

Sam doesn’t have to be asked twice.