Smack Down

Alternate scene set in 8x17 - Sam walks in on Castiel rearranging his brother's face...

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The sound of Meg and Crowley taunting and insulting each other slowly fades into the background as I hurriedly approach the room that will lead me to Dean, Cas, and hopefully the Angel Tablet.

The closer I get the more unsettled I become, and not just because the King of Hell has arrived to claim the tablet as his own; I can't pinpoint the reason exactly, but there is something else making the hairs on my neck stand at attention.

I realize it's the introduction of a new sound into the fray that has put me on edge. The noise that emanates from the room just ahead sends a shiver down my spine and even though I can't place it, I inherently know it's all kinds of messed up and wrong.

The knife is gripped tightly in my hand as I approach a little slower, with a little more caution than my original gait. My mind races as I try to figure it out. Could it be demons? Did they somehow make their way here?

No, it doesn't feel like demons, the silence from Dean leads me to that conclusion; no smart ass comments filter their way through the air so that can't be it; big brother can never pass up the opportunity to goad the damn things.

Unless he can't.

Damn it.

As I breach the threshold of the crypt and peer inside I stop dead in my tracks; dumbfounded by the sight that greets me.

I take in the image of Castiel, his arm arched back; his hand knotted into a fist so tight I swear I can see the whiteness; the glow of his grace rise up to almost seep through his vessel's flesh and tint it an unhealthy, pale hue.

There is also a splash of colour dotted along the ghostly shade; a deep crimson that stands out of place; it streaks across his knuckles and instantly my brain analyzes what it is.


I'm breathing heavier now as my eyes greedily scan the area; as they seek out and look for any sign of Dean; to see if he is in battle with another foe within the confines of the room.

Nothing. Dean is nowhere to be seen.

I track my focus back to the angel and get a very bad feeling from the rigid posture his body is frozen in. An even worse feeling of dread runs its course when his head occasionally shifts in an unnatural tilt; as if listening to something off in the distance.

It doesn't make sense; if it's a demon cowering under the scrutiny of Cas, he could easily kill it. There would be no need for punching; no need for that kind of physical contact. There would be no need to beat the thing into a bloody mess; no need to engage in something so intimate, because that would indicate something more personal.

That thought swirls around in my head as I take a silent step into the room and adjust my gaze to try and home in on the object of Castiel's violent attention. The body is mostly obscured from view as the angel looms menacingly above it, but I can make out the shape of a leg, it's awkward angle signifying it landed in an unnatural position.

I swallow the sudden lump that nestles tightly in my throat as I narrow my focus and am rewarded with a horrifying fact; as I recognize the all too familiar boot attached to that immobile appendage.

My blood goes cold.

No, it is definitely not a demon, but I wish to hell it were.

It's Dean.

I should move. I should run. I should scream, or swear, or shout, but when I open my mouth not a single sound escapes. My body remains motionless from the shock of what my eyes see and what my mind tries to process.

This, what is happening right in front of me, here, is wrong, on every single conceivable level.

I flinch as the appendage flies down in a weird kind of robotic movement and I hear the sound again; it filters into my head and makes my stomach turn.

The source of the sound suddenly makes sickening sense. That is the distinctive thwack of flesh against flesh, only now an even more disturbing noise starts to accompany it; it is mingled with the crack of bones as they begin to give way under the ruthless attack.

I am sprinting now, am shouting for this madness to stop but I still count three more descents of that fist, Castiel's fist as it lays waste to the inflamed, swollen and broken skin of Dean's face.

There is genuine terror in Dean's distorted, bloodied features, and a surge of panic shoots out from my core as an angel blade makes its appearance on this twisted scene.

The weapon is raised into the air, its owner oblivious to both my screams and Dean's desperate pleas.

My throat goes dry.

Castiel is one downward motion away from killing my brother.