Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Fic: From Ash

Title: From Ash
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Rating: R
Wordcount: Around 5000.
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: Up to season 5.
Author’s Note: This story was written for gulbrun for the awesome This story was written for gulbrun for the awesome Sassy Fanworks Exchange at sassy_otp. This is what I’ve got: Something post-Hell angel/demon/hybrid/whatever!Sam, out of control powers, exploding light bulbs. Dean calls Castiel to assist.
I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, darling, but I did my best and I hope you like it. I know this comes technically on the 15th, my time, but hopefully it made it there on time for you on the 14th. ♥
Thank you lilchibibunny for the beta and the endless patience.
Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to Kripke.

Castiel walks through fire, feels it lick sharply at his wings, now coated in cinders, the tips of his feathers charred and blackened by the Pit. His form chokes on the air, impregnated with sulfur and ash, but his steps don’t vacillate for a second, and he marches on.

Hell here is utter, complete darkness, wrapped in a web of silence and cold like no man has ever felt alive, and he
sees, because his soul isn’t human, though the pitch black. It’s like a thorn vine, the Cage, but made of polished iron, twisted and tangled and dark like only Man’s soul can get to be.

Castiel sees through the thorns a small, bright light, shining like a beacon in this endless night, and he knows, because he could never make that mistake, that
this is what he came for. The very light he’s seen underneath skin and bone, every time. With all the strength only the new right hand of Heaven could have, he pries the vine apart and reaches out until he can hold that small star in his palm, and something catches on his fingers as he takes it out from the twisted nest. There’s a piece of metal in his hand, under the glow. It beats. The flesh that had been burned away seems to spin itself back in place starting with the heart, thread by thread forming limbs and hair and eyes until the shape is the shell that Castiel always knew, the familiar scrap of metal almost melted into the new skin of a hand.

It’s taken me a while to find you.

But Sam’s form doesn’t reply.

It’s almost like a dream.

Sam’s eyes flutter open, unsure, blinded by the sunlight that filters through the window. He searches, and Dean holds his breath. It doesn’t matter where he’s been, Sam’s always known what he was looking for.

“Dean?” He asks softly, almost afraid of the answer. Dean’s been sitting at his bedside for hours, for what felt like years, until it seemed to him that all that had been salvaged was flesh and bone, and he cursed Cas and all his angels back to Hell, but this is everything he wanted, and for now there’s nothing else in the world. “Is that really you?”

Dean’s eyes are rimmed red and it feels like hasn’t spoken for a century.

“You’re out,” He says, barely a whisper, trying to sound reassuring but knowing his voice is breaking and that Sam can tell. It doesn’t matter if for a second his eyes are hazy. That is still Sam in front of him, alive, and his eyes would never betray him about that. He says it again, more to himself than Sam. “You’re finally out.”

Sam holds out a hand as if to touch him, but his fist is closed, it’s been closed all this time since they dragged his body from the Pit, clenched until the knuckles were white. He opens his hand as an offer to Dean, and he can see his amulet after it survived the Fires of Hell, untouched and perfect. Every curve and edge of its shape has been branded black and blue into the soft new skin of Sam’s palm, a trace of ash still clinging to the metal and his marked skin. Sam looks at Dean like he must know it all, like he’s got every answer, and he makes a startled sound when Dean pulls him into a sudden, tight hug in a way that’s too awkward for their bodies and too hard for their bruised flesh, but still feels like home. Dean hides his face against Sam’s shoulder, and if his eyes are damp and someone asks, he’ll say it’s a trace of sulfur lingering on Sam’s skin.

Sam speaks, because Dean can’t, but his brother can still imagine a soft, warm smile to accompany his words. “You got me out.”

Dean doesn’t feel it, at first, how things have changed. They haven’t changed for him, at least, on the very basic level: Sam is still there and safe and at his side, so all in all, he thinks he has little room to complain.

It doesn’t change the fact that Sam’s tea, rather than get cold, seems to boil again until it spills out from the cup and sometimes shatters it. The light goes out when Sam steps into a room, and Dean is lucky if he can avoid the shards of a light bulb that just exploded because it couldn’t take it. Exorcisms spontaneously happening do come handy once in a while, but both human and animal carcasses following them with their eyes as they walk past is a little too much for Dean.

Sam doesn’t know how to stop it, and whenever it isn’t happening, he feels like his head is about to split in two, and it’s something not all the aspirin in the world can cure.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” he tells Dean, grimacing. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean never blames him – how could he? – but he knows there is something that they can do. But it goes back to being a minor problem when Sam smiles, or bitches at him for his unhealthy breakfast every morning, or deliberately leaves a piece of pie in his plate that Dean can happily snatch. Morning makes everything worthwhile.

It’s at night that Sam seems to break.

Dean can hear him move in his sleep, eyes frantic under his eyelids, breath catching and lips just barely open, but unable to scream - it’s useless down there, he knows - hands rigid as they clutch the sheets in panic until his eyes snap open and he inhales violently again like a drowning man.

After a few nights, Sam stops trying to sleep.

And every time he blinks he can see the image of a murder burnt in the inside of his eyelids, hears a slur of demon tongue, can’t eat or drink or think at all if it isn’t because his body, desperate and adrenaline-pumped during a hunt, forces him to, and passes out, out of need, once they’re out of danger in lack of actual sleep.

It’s only been a few days, but Dean can see something gaining strength in Sam, something that Sam’s body can’t contain and pulls at his skin and brain and makes him rip at the seams. The headache becomes permanent, and now Sam doesn’t drink because he’ll make it boil, doesn’t eat because it chars, doesn’t speak for fear of shattering another window and doesn’t sleep because it’s always lonely and dark.

It’s then that Dean prays. Castiel appears on the spot, but they both pretend it’s not because he was worried about them.

Castiel doesn’t know how it happened, but as far as he can see, Sam’s body came back with all the power that it already had. The difference is, this body hasn’t had a lifetime to adjust to it, gradually intensifying until the level of it was tolerable. The fresh start has restored him his soul, whole, and that, unfortunately, has also taken away all control.

“Sam,” he starts, and Sam looks up at him and Dean with a glimmer of hope in his grey eyes. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

Castiel expects it, by now, but Dean lets out an exclamation of heated outrage, combined with words Castiel had never heard before and a few insults for his Heavenly family. Sam looks terrified, even paler. “Then… there is nothing to be done about it?”

“That is not what I said,” Castiel amends. “But you have to learn how to control it. It’s like your body has been asleep for a very long time. It has lost the strength and practice you had to live with that part of your blood, it is… “, and at this he makes the quote marks he learnt from Dean, ““out of practice”, I think.”

“So, how do we get him back on track?” Dean says, not missing a beat.

“I will help him,” Castiel states. “I think in time he will be able to adjust. It would be easier if I took him with me to Heav-”

“Woah, hold it,” Dean walks to stand between Sam and Cas and does his best to look threatening to someone much, much stronger. “That’s my baby brother, Cas, and at the rate this is going, he’s gonna “be with you” soon enough,” Sam hangs his head at the possibility, “You think I’m going to let you do this all by yourself?” Dean asks in that voice that, Castiel has learnt, means he’s offended.

Castiel is not worried, and tries to make him not worry, either. “I do not require your assistance.”

Dean snarls. “Oh, fuck you, too.”

They stay where Dean says they stay. Always.

Castiel appears at twilight, sometimes looking bruised and tired after a battle in Heaven, but he never fails to show up. Both Dean and Sam let out a breath of relief whenever he’s suddenly behind them or at the door. Dean welcomes him like he just came back from an office job for a beer. Tries, mostly, not to make the tension worse. Sam offers coffee almost every night, even though he knows perfectly well that Castiel doesn’t drink it.

The only time Castiel does, it’s from the cup Sam can’t bring himself to touch, and it seems more of a gesture to put him at ease at Dean’s request than anything else. Sam watches him swallow every sip until there’s nothing left but a residue of coffee that had long gone cold, and Castiel turns to him immediately afterwards, and they begin like every night.

“Sit with me, Sam.”

Sam complies. Castiel always brings a hand to Sam’s face, smoothly, surely, like a doctor checking for disease. He always finds something, takes it in, but never says what he finds, not to Sam and not to Dean, but they stop asking after the first few nights. Castiel always speaks in languages they don’t understand. Sam catches Enochian, sometimes, but his brain is too tired to make out the right translation, and he can’t put together the random words in a coherent manner to understand what Castiel says.

Dean always goes to bed after a few hours, needing his strength and sleep for the morning that’s to come and the job that’s always pending. But mostly, for the strength to help Sam, and if he can, help himself as well.

Sam and Castiel don’t talk much when Dean sleeps – it’s noisy and unnecessary and it bothers them both. But they do most of the work during the hours of darkness. They understand each other, with every gesture. Castiel holds out a cup filled with water to the brim. “Concentrate, Sam,” he says, and Sam takes it.

It’s those words that make Sam take a deep breath and relax almost on cue.

At first, Castiel told him to stare. Stupid as it sounded, in a matter of seconds, the water started to heat up. Like Sam was some kind of conductor, and the power flowed through him in every possible way. Cas makes him do this every night – be it control the temperature of the cup, make the light bulbs switch back on if he’s made them fade out (or simply, not explode), stop the air currents that follow him whenever he steps into a room, not break glass if his voice gets too loud or try touching Dean without giving him a light zap.

It is by chance that Castiel touches Sam the first time, cold fingertips brushing against Sam’s, but Sam leans into the touch and follows Castiel’s hand without meaning to. “Sam?”

“It’s…” Sam doesn’t know what it is. Cas feels cool, soothing, relaxed. His brain feels like it’s swollen and about to combust. Castiel looks at him like he has finally figured it out, tilts Sam’s chin up with a sure, gentle hand and Sam hopes the look on his eyes can tell him enough because he feels too tired to speak. Castiel doesn’t ask, but he places his hand at Sam’s cheek and at the nape of his neck, and Sam leans into it completely, and sighs. The burn inside his throbbing head seems to dissipate, cool down, and in a bout of mad passion or mad relief he presses his lips against Castiel’s palm, barely a brush of skin, before he closes his eyes and allows himself a moment of rest.

Cas doesn’t comment on the brief, almost breath-like kiss, but he runs his fingers through Sam’s hair like the boy could shatter anytime, and just lets him rest for the rest of the night.

As ever, morning comes, and Dean wakes up to the two of them still awake. As the days pass, they make progress – less spilled water, less exploded glass, a little bit more of casual conversation that Sam can make with normality. The headaches come and go, still. He notices Sam tries to touch Cas more, too, stand closer, make small, easy gestures that, if only for a second, seem to put him out of his misery, and that Cas never denies him that.

Sam always watches Castiel leave like he’ll never see the angel again.

Days go by, and so do they.

Sam allows Dean to buy him a pretzel while it’s just the two of them, one afternoon. He manages to chew and swallow most of it in front of Dean’s attentive gaze, and from then on, Dean makes it his job to make Sam eat. He tries the basics, hot soup and small bites of meat and salad, and once that stays down and it doesn’t look like food will kill Sam from the inside, he spoils him whenever it’s possible with fresh fruit and soy milk and coffee that was made to kill diabetics.

Cas doesn’t ask questions these days when he visits them, not really, because Dean answers all that for Sam about five minutes after he appears in the room, every time, and it would be a waste of time.

“Watch him,” Dean says to Cas when he goes to bed, so exhausted that he can’t manage to keep doing the job himself.

Castiel always says the same. Never a hint of doubt, never a complaint. “Of course.”

What Dean finds one morning is the image of his brother stretched out on the narrow couch in their motel room, way too small for him, legs and arms spilling over the armrests and touching the floor, in a position that will be uncomfortable when he wakes up, but that allows him to lay his head on Castiel’s lap.

Sam’s asleep. And he doesn’t move or hold his breath or clench his teeth.

Castiel’s hand is at Sam’s temple, and the angel, sitting relaxed at the edge of the couch, looks up from Sam’s face. He and Dean stare at each other for a good minute in silence. Dean blinks first, and curses himself for it.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Er… coffee?”

There are nights when Castiel stays, just watching over them, with Dean sleeping way too lightly on his bed and Sam trying to sit up in the hardest chair, awake and really, really trying not to touch or look at anything for too long in fear it will break.

Tonight is a bad night. Sam’s head seems to be beating inside his skull.

Castiel sits in front of Sam, hand stretched out to touch this boy with too much height and muscle to be called so anymore, but for Castiel, who has lived so long, Sam is forever young. It’s barely a brush of fingertips, enough to keep Sam’s pain away as the angel presses a glass of water to his lips and makes him take a sip, just one, before the rest of the contents of the glass boil and evaporate with a sizzle.

Sam looks at him. All the time, actually, and Castiel knows, but he does not return the look until he has completed his task. The boy’s eyes are almost out of focus, probably the hunger and dehydration and sleep deprivation and power burning him up from the inside. Castiel touches his hand to Sam’s forehead, skin burning and covered by a thin sheen of sweat. He can’t even think. Maybe that’s why the words come out.

“I saw you, you know,” he says. “It was dark, but you were there. I could feel it.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side, very slightly, slightly surprised for a second. He does not doubt that a human, even one as broken as Sam, could have felt an angel in Hell, but after so long, he imagined Sam had been blinded to that, too.

Then again, Sam always looked at him too much.

“I am glad I was able to rescue you, Sam.”

Sam’s lips are chapped and dry, but the small, weak smile is honest. “Thank you.”

Castiel goes to find more water.

There are some good nights, though, and Castiel spears silently in the middle of one of those.

Sam and Dean are sitting together in the ugly, flower-print armchairs, watching tv on an old screen that only seems to work in black and white. Dr Sexy is on, and Sam is asking questions out loud to Dean, who pretends he doesn’t find it amusing, but fails.

“How does he find the time to date all of those women if he’s meant to spend more time than anyone on the hospital?”

“He’s got a good schedule.”

“He’s banging more nurses than there are days of the week.”

“It can be just one night.”

“And where did he get so much designer clothing?”

Dean quiets for a second, thinks of his reply. “It’s a tv show.”

They try not to laugh, Dean because he’s too tired, and Sam because his head hurts, but they do so, anyway, if very quietly. Sam watches tv, and Dean watches Sam. Eventually, Sam seems to notice.

“I’m fine,” Sam says, turning to his brother, sounding like he means it.

“No, you’re not, bitch,” Dean retorts on the spot, pursing his lips and finishing his beer in one go.

“Alight,” Sam says. He doesn’t look back at the tv. “But I will be.”

Dean nods silently, licks his lips while his eyes return to the tv. Seems to accept that, for now, that will be good enough.

Castiel looks at the two of them, at Sam, with dark rings under his eyes but still trying his best, and for a second he feels like a cold hand has grabbed onto his heart and squeezed. Sam smiles, and he leaves. And reappears in front of the two of them five minutes later, lets them startle slightly for just a moment before he asks Sam to practice his control.

That night, the water stays cold and heats up as he wants it to, he makes small talk with both Cas and Dean and nothing breaks and the light stays steady in place.

Sam has more good nights than bad with every passing day. Eventually, he makes them all be good.

His headaches are only a dull memory of what they were, but his nights always end the same, with the angel sitting close beside him in silence, hands brushing Sam’s skin in some way. Castiel, as a teacher, used to be kind, but strict. These nights there isn’t much need. Sam does what he is told with ease, eats (not much, but at least regularly) and completes every exercise before Dean decides to head off to bed. He even manages to catch some sleep, sometimes, mostly during daylight hours or in the car, where it’s safe, while Dean is off interviewing someone or driving or finding the two of them food. They hunt together, and Sam completes the research they need at night with Castiel’s cold hand on his wrist.

“Soon, you will not need me for this,” Castiel states. Sam turns to him like what he said was horrible. “You have gained control of your power, and you will not need to see me every night.”

Sam remains quiet. The circles under his eyes have started to vanish. He takes Castiel’s hand in his and tangles their fingers for a moment. He seems sad. “I know. I just… I guess I liked seeing you every night.” Sam tries to shrug it off, gives Castiel a smile that doesn’t quite ring true enough.

Castiel looks at him, tilts his head, doesn’t know what to say. He wants to stay, but that feels foreign to him. “I do like seeing you, too,” he admits, not completely understanding, because human emotions are always overwhelming and intense, and there is always a piece he seems to miss to fully understand.

Sam is quiet.

It’s like Castiel’s finally been stuck in a conversation that makes him uncomfortable, where he doesn’t understand what people are saying but isn’t sure he wants to know, where he doesn’t want to tell the truth, either. He gets off his chair and slowly lets go of Sam’s hand. “I’ll leave you to sleep.”

Sam doesn’t stop him. It’s Castiel’s choice and Sam always hates to see him leave, and it’s almost dawn anyway. But Sam looks him in the eye and goes for honesty.

“I love you.”

Castiel knows love. He knows his father’s love, and fondness and the kind of crazy things humans do in the name of it. But he doesn’t know it, not really, and if he now reaches out to Sam or regrets there isn’t much to teach, he never identified it as such. Sam confuses him, with his faith and his demon blood and his hope, and now, with his love.

Sam’s waiting for a word, anything, but that’s not something Castiel can offer him right now.

Cas leaves Sam in the quiet room with his brother still sound asleep.

The next night Castiel shows up, and Sam doesn’t know what to say.

Sam has a brief second of wishing his brother were still here instead of searching for celebratory beer after he hugged Sam and, as Dean called it, “sparks didn’t fly”. The angel seems to be aware of how awkward this has just turned for the two of them, and they stand in silence for a moment, in silence, the memory of Sam’s last words to Castiel still echoing in the air.

They both start to speak at the same time, a jumble of “Sam” and “Cas”, and they both seem startled and fall silent after that first try.

It’s Sam who manages to open his mouth again, possibly because human emotions aren’t alien to him, or because he’s already faced rejection before, or maybe just because he’s the one who can’t run away with such ease. “Look, Cas, I just wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

Castiel looks at him with what on any other person would seem like hurt. “You are?”

“Yes,” Sam sits down on his bed, looking defeated, voice tired and soft. “You’ve been helping me all this time, since the two of you rescued me. Maybe I got… an inappropriate idea. It’s not your fault.”

Castiel doesn’t see how this could be his own fault. Or Sam’s. In all the nights they’ve spent in these shady motel rooms guilt was the last thing on his mind. “Why would you have to say you’re sorry for loving someone?” Sam is about to reply with something that, in all likelihood, will have him explaining for a very long time, but Castiel walks to bed and stands an inch away from Sam’s face as he interrupts him. “Sam, I… I think I know what you mean.”

“You know why I had to say I was sorry?”

“No. That feeling, I share it.”

They stay quiet until it sinks in, and Sam moves first.

He reaches out to touch Castiel’s face above his, fingertips tracing the angel’s cheekbones and gently tugs on his blue tie until they are face to face, leans in to kiss him, tentatively at first, sweet. Castiel doesn’t pull away, hands trailing up Sam’s arms and resting on his shoulders when the kiss gains passion. It’s Castiel who presses Sam further into the bed, straddling his hips, hands searching for more bare skin that feels feverish under his touch. Soon enough, their clothes are in disarray, Castiel’s coat and jacket on the floor, his shirt open to to reveal more perfect, smooth skin that Sam touches with the reverence one must give someone who is far above them. Sam’s t-shirt is hitched up as far as it will go, until Cas decides to slide it off his shoulders. Castiel tangles his fingers in Sam’s hair, guides his lips over his face and neck and chest, almost with greed. “Sam,” He manages to say, with Sam’s lips over his heart, beating underneath the very spot that Sam just kissed. “Sam, be careful.”

Sam feels it very slightly, the electricity between the two of them, the threat, but he feels frantic with the angel’s skin slick and hot against his, and he traces every inch of Castiel he can find with eyes and hands and mouth, licks a stripe up his neck, kisses right under his jaw and runs his hands over his chest, The lonely light bulb hanging from the ceiling makes a sizzling sound and starts to flicker, and Sam looks around, distressed. “Shh,” Castiel whispers in his ear, “Don’t let it overtake you.” Sam breathes in slowly, buries his face in Castiel’s neck while the angel’s hand trails down his chest and onto his open jeans, holding onto his flesh this is part of his mastery of control.

Whatever’s in his blood, Cas tames it. Sam wants Cas, wants the touch of his skin and his kiss, and touches him like his life depended on it, hands tugging on his black dress pants and slipping off the tie as if in a rush.

But it doesn’t matter how much he thinks he will lose control. Castiel looks at him, and the moment they lock eyes, he obeys. “Show me,” Cas demands, voice hoarse and nails digging into Sam’s back, and Sam turns makes him fall onto the bed, devours his mouth and holds his pale, slim hips and makes the angel draw a sound he’d never made before.

The light bulb explodes, anyway, and they are left in utter dark, but with his skin pressed against Castiel’s lithe, pale body, the night feels warm.

Dean steps back into the room and sees the scene.

His brother and his angel are a tangle of limbs under the sheets, but he can see the outline of their naked bodies in the narrow bed, and obviously he was gone for too long if by now Sam is asleep. Wait. Sam is asleep. At night, and at peace. At last.

Castiel lifts his head from Sam’s shoulder and looks up at Dean, curious and maybe slightly annoyed at the interruption of his peace and quiet, and Dean lifts his hands up in a mock surrender gesture and decides to man up.

He drinks Sam’s beer.

Dean, just in case and because he isn’t sure of how Heavenly virtue works, forbids Sam from watching porn.

Sam laughs so hard he breaks another window.

Sam drinks, and eats, and sleeps.

Sometimes even comes home late, but Dean knows he hasn’t been getting a drink because he doesn’t smell like cheap scotch and perfume, but rather like cinnamon and detergent, and he doesn’t ask about it because that’s what Castiel smell like, and it’s something everybody knows because Castiel has no concept of personal space.

What Sam is, is happy. Even when he bitchfaces at Dean or they get lost on the road, it shows. He’s happy he comes home from his date (but if Dean calls it that out loud, Sam will kick him in the nuts), when he’s with Dean, when it’s just the two of them in the Impala, with Cas in the motel and Bobby at home, and in general, anywhere he goes, as long as there’s always them.

Sam gets pear pie somewhere in Maryland, eats a couple of bites and leaves the fork on the plate with a loud clang. He pushes it towards Dean.

“You don’t want it?” Dean says, finishing his ice-cream covered cherry pie.

Sam smiles. “You looked hungry.”

Dean eats it with the stupidest smile.

Dean doesn’t pray.

Not that he did before, in general, but with Sam riding shotgun and Castiel materializing in the back seat at least once a week, he thinks he’s got the important areas covered. If Castiel stands just an inch too close to Sam – and for the angel, that’s a lot - he takes it in with perfect normality, and hey, an angel has Sam’s back. (That line always sounds better in his head.)

Nights are always long when they travel, but he and Sam go back to looking at the stars and sharing a few beers, and the night is lit up by the stars that puncture the black velvet sky.

There’s dust on the road, sometimes. But they drive on, anyway.


( 27 comments — Leave a comment )
Dec. 15th, 2010 03:13 am (UTC)
Awwwwww. <3 I really love this. It's really adorable, and the whole mood was very sweet without being too saccharine.
Dec. 15th, 2010 07:19 am (UTC)
Thank you! ♥ I'm really bad at drawing a line between "cute" and, "oh God, stop", so I'm really glad you said that! :D
Dec. 15th, 2010 03:25 am (UTC)
DKFJA;DSFJLKJ I LOVED THIS SO MUCH. it was so angsty and yet by the end i was like

i adore your writing style and your sassy fics so much, bb! never stop writing them! <3
Dec. 15th, 2010 07:20 am (UTC)
Wow, thank you so much, darling! ♥ I really have to catch up on my sassy, there is never enough of it! ♥
Dec. 15th, 2010 04:46 am (UTC)
I'm just about incoherent with happiness over this fic. It's so awesome. I've got a thing for fresh-out-pf-hell Sam, and Cas being there for him and Dean being generally brotherly awesome. Love your style, too!

Just one thing: Castiel doesn’t see how this could be his fault. Or Sam’s. In all the nights they’ve “Why would you have to say you’re sorry for loving someone?”
Is is maybe possible there's a few words missing there?
Dec. 15th, 2010 07:16 am (UTC)
You were absolutely right, I went and skipped a few words! But that's been fixed! Thank you! :D

Glad you liked it! ♥
Dec. 15th, 2010 05:44 am (UTC)
I loved this! Just the right amount of angst, just the right amount of schmoop. Beautiful!
Dec. 15th, 2010 07:17 am (UTC)
Thank you so much! ♥
Dec. 15th, 2010 11:19 am (UTC)
This is absolutely beautiful.


Sad and hopeful and your grasp of the strangeness of Sam's situation is just perfect. Plus, I LOVE your Castiel - how he's detached without being cold. It's gorgeous <3
Dec. 16th, 2010 07:42 pm (UTC)
So glad you liked it, darling! ♥ *hugs back*

I really, really didn't want Cas to come off as cold, but at the same time I don't think he'd show emotion in the way humans do. So glad you thought that came out well. *sigh of relief*
Dec. 15th, 2010 02:48 pm (UTC)
beautiful story -- calm, quiet, intense atmosphere. I really enjoyed it!
Dec. 16th, 2010 07:39 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much! ♥
Dec. 15th, 2010 09:19 pm (UTC)
*whimpers* that was so pretty
Dec. 16th, 2010 07:39 pm (UTC)
So glad you liked it, thank you! ♥
Dec. 15th, 2010 10:26 pm (UTC)
This is lovely!
Dec. 16th, 2010 07:39 pm (UTC)
Thank you! ♥
(Deleted comment)
Dec. 19th, 2010 11:40 am (UTC)
OH MY GOD, YOU LIKE IT. FUCK, YES. ♥ ♥ ♥ *flails* I feel so accomplished now! :D I felt so bad because there were some elements I didn't think I'd quite out in the way you wanted them to appear stating with the promp, but... this came out?

So glad you enjoyed it, my darling. ♥
Dec. 19th, 2010 01:03 am (UTC)
Ahhhhh! ♥ That was so so amazing. Loved the story here and your writing style is wonderful, your version of Sassy pitches itself perfectly to me. And also Dean was awesome.

Lovely fic! :D
Dec. 19th, 2010 11:37 am (UTC)
Thank you so, so much! ♥ Glad you liked it! I'm always wondering about how to write Sassy and not make it look 'too much', so it's fantastic you thought it came out well. ♥
Jan. 18th, 2011 11:50 pm (UTC)
Awesome story. I really liked it a lot. =)
Jan. 19th, 2011 09:42 am (UTC)
Thank you so much, I'm glad you did! ♥
Feb. 21st, 2011 08:24 pm (UTC)
This is such a beautifully written story. I love the way you built their relationship up. Even if the catalyst was Sam's need and despair, both learned and healed together and gave themselves completely to the other in the end. That, above everything, is what made From Ash a great read for me. Thanks for sharing.
Feb. 21st, 2011 10:05 pm (UTC)
Wow, thank you so much! So glad you liked it! You really are too kind! ♥
Nov. 3rd, 2011 09:56 am (UTC)
“I do not require your assistance.”
Dean snarls. “Oh, fuck you, too.”

I laughed out loud at that line. It's just a perfect Dean response.

Castiel’s hand is at Sam’s temple, and the angel, sitting relaxed at the edge of the couch, looks up from Sam’s face. He and Dean stare at each other for a good minute in silence. Dean blinks first, and curses himself for it.
I love staring competitions with angels! I really liked that moment because of both Dean's protectiveness of Sam, but also his trust in Cas (because he didn't chew him out), and even the hint of Dean's own vulnerability in that he backed down from a confrontation because he wanted it to mean something good.

I liked Sam and Dean watching TV and laughing at it, Dean banning Sam from watching porn and everyone knowing what Cas smells like. I liked that progression Sam had from distressed and helpless through to happy and (mostly) in control. I thought the way his powers manifested was both really cool, but also pretty sucky for Sam and everyone else. Ah, so much love for this fic!
Nov. 4th, 2011 01:33 am (UTC)
Thank you so much! ♥ I'm really glad you liked it, darling! I'd almost forgotten what it was about, I wrote it ages ago! You are very kind, I hope to deliver more ~~sassy~~ soon! :)
Dec. 31st, 2013 06:47 am (UTC)
i am kinda late to the supernatural party and samanddean are my total otp. i have just recently discovered sassy and my love for it. and after that superfluous explanation, i really don't know what else to say.

if it were possible to give out an award for absolutely perfect fanfic, i believe this would be a winner. so much... fuck... i don't even know... perfection. in character, angsty, lots of love, lots of... everything. without getting graphic with the sex. (don't get me wrong; i love nothing better than dirtyhotwrong sam&dean or ot3 that's graphic, but this is just amazing without it.) and there's bonus awesome brother dean.

after more than a year of reading supernatural fanfic, i finally wrote my first one this summer. i can't do graphic yet. (can't imagine myself using the big boy words like "cock," "balls," and "come.") so this piece of beauty is an example i hope to follow.

i will totally be reading every piece of your supernatural library now, just so you know. expect additional comments. ;)

Edited at 2013-12-31 06:49 am (UTC)
( 27 comments — Leave a comment )