Warnings: Sad stuff from the Cage, pain, misery, mild gore and dark themes, the usual. There may be other warnings for later chapters, and I’ll warn for them on each update should they crop up. There’s a lot of Sam whump as well! Aaaaand some unpleasant mental/emotional pain for a child in the story, so if little kids hurting (especially mentally or emotionally; in this section, infants) makes you uncomfortable, might wanna skip out on this ‘verse. It’s a darker place, even if it’ll have light-hearted stuff peppered in. With a nicer Dean than current canon. Sue me, I miss my old bro from back when.
YEP IT IS ANOTHER SAM-FROM-HELL FIC. I HAVE A WEAKNESS AND A NEED, OKAY??
Summary: Castiel flies to retrieve Sam from the Cage - but when he flees with Sam, something goes horribly awry.
I DO plan on continuing this, but in big bursts much like I did for my other two verses, The Long Calendar and The Author’s Notes Verse. Note that the events of post-S5 won’t happen as they did in canon, unless my imagination sparks something up. It’s an AU!
This is all wrong. This is not how it was supposed to be.
It is one year after the apocalypse that never happened, and he has been busy.
Castiel claws through darkness and grit and blood, celestial wings clenched against his back so that he dare not gorge them on jagged bone and metal and a palpable despair. The further down he clamors, the more sour the air is around his aura - which is a beacon, he knows, his light shining in a world that slowly compacts him, makes him feel smaller, weaker. He doesn’t have much time. He needs to find him, before his brothers realize he’s lurking, trespassing in their new jail cell. It’s so hard to navigate, so hard to comb through and look for his friend’s small and nearly insignificant glow—tiny and flickering, expanding in and out like a strangled series of breaths. In the large and daunting space, there is ice (so cold that he feels it even without a body, chilled to the core), there is a fiery precipice, and there is—Sam. He reaches out, wraps himself around Sam, is terrified and pained for a moment at how frail and thin and wispy the man’s soul is next to him, like a string woven around a fingertip in comparison. The soul shivers and moans, and the softest brush of grace against it rips a vicious scream of energy through the Cage.
'Sam, what have they done to you?’
They would not have much time.