What Lazar touched his head, he cringed into himself, terrified of his touch but unable to actually escape it. There was no option but he accept the touch. He belonged to Lazar and all resisting ever got him was misery and pain. This was better. Lazar was good to him if he was a good boy.
Raphael shook his head. He never dealt with demons much, that was Luci's jam, not his. All he knew was every demon was scum but some were different brands of scum. Some human, some angel, some creations.
He wanted to be a good boy, avoid getting hurt so he just tried his best to stay quiet and stay out of his way. He only spoke if Lazar insisted. If he spoke out of turn, his lips would be sewn and he hated that every time.
"You are such polite company these days, my boy. I've really improved you." Sometimes he almost wanted to show his work off. Maybe one day he could, whenever his power was above reproach. Show what he had done to the mighty archangel Raphael. He'd love to see Lucifer's face.
"He's a demon that used to be human. He has bones out there somewhere, just waiting to be burned. Yet he acts as if he's the big man. Sticking his fingers where they don't belong. Getting humans involved in Hell's affairs." It was just plain rude.
"I want to show him his place. So I'll need you to be extra good for me, son. You'll give me all you can, won't you?"
Raphael wanted to, he really did but he was running on empty as it was. He was in pain, he has bruises and sores for the first time. He even had a headache. He knew his grace was dwindling and with every shot he took, Raphael lost more of himself.
He lowered his head, as if to appeal for mercy, hoping that he could somehow get through this.
"I-I ... can't." Can't wasn't a word that Lazar accepted but he had to try and explain. "I'm so tired, master. I gave last week..."
"Hush, boy. You know that's no way to talk to me." It had been a long way to get Raphael to address him with respect as he did now. Ever since he had broken him, there had been no more fun nicknames, no attempts at jokes. Something Lazar enjoyed, yet he still wasn't happy with the backtalk he got now. Asking for mercy? Surely not.
"You are still able to talk, you even moved by yourself. You can't have given that much yet." He reached for the blade and whistled. "Get on your knees, boy. I'll bleed you dry if I have to."
His whole body trembled and on instinct, he slid back. He didn't know why, he just did. Self preservation? All of his body was sending off warnings that if he gave too much, he's lose everything. And the idea of not being angelic in any measure was terrifying. If he was drained dry and had no grace, he would die down here. At Lazar's hand. And he knew that was inevitable but he wasn't ready.
"Please." He didn't know why he tried, he just did. His body couldn't will him to move near that blade.
"I thought I'd trained that out of you. Pleading. Don't you feel pathetic? I'll sew your mouth again after this." Lazar rolled his eyes and then struck Raphael's face with the back of his hand. Maybe that would remind him of his place here. He reached for the angel's hair and used a tight grip to pull him towards him, the blade cutting in the usual spot.
Instead of any kind of container, Lazar leaned forward and pressed his lips to the archangel's throat, feeding off his grace directly from the source. Blasphemy, he was sure, desecration. It was delicious.
Raphael whimpered in pain and trembled in terror at the idea of having his mouth sewn up. He knew it was coming, he knew it was inevitable but he shouldn't have provoked. Then again, what he could he do? Even now, as Lazar drained him, he felt a feeling he hadn't felt before. He felt faint. The room started to spin, everything was dizzy and cried out as the floor and ceiling swapped.
He clasped his eyes closed, feeling the blood drain from him as his eyes rolled back and he went limp in Lazar's arms.
He really was getting weak. Perhaps he should give him more time to replenish. But it was time he didn't have. What he really needed, Lazar thought, was a way to make his grace replenish faster. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to go about that. He sighed and left the archangel lying on the floor. He was sure he'd find his own way back into his cell when he felt up for it. Then he could also sew his mouth shut again later. He never liked empty threats.
There was something weird going on. He felt dizzy and cold but he knew he couldn't stay here. Staying out would get him in more trouble. Once he was sure Lazar was done with him, he summoned enough strength to drag himself inside the cell before he closed his eyes.
And then he was somewhere else. It was strange, it was like nothing he had ever experienced. He was in better times and it felt almost real. The details were wrong though and he ached much less but he walked through the streets of New Orleans with wide eyes. He remembered this. Mardi gras. He came in the 20s to experience it for the first time and that was exactly how it looked.
He didn't know what to do so he just stood there, staring at the life around him that he wasn't used to, almost on the verge of tears. It was nice here... could he stay?
Today had been a rough day. Most days were rough, but some more than others. It was a day when they had defeated the monster, just not in time to save anyone. Not a victorious ride down the road now. Matty wasn't talking and Sam could hardly blame him. He couldn't think of a thing to say either.
They were going fast, Sam guessed because Matty was eager to meet up with Cas. Whether Matty realised it or not. Sam wanted to see Cas as well, but sometimes around Cas and Matty, he felt superfluous. He felt lonely.
A strange path for his mind to go down on, he had to be tired. It was dark out and there was barely any car on the road. Matty seemed awake enough, so it would likely be hours before they stopped. Sam realised he'd closed his eyes, his head grew heavy and then he was asleep. Dreaming.
There were bars around him. He was trapped. Back in the cage and his whole being revolted against it. He moved a little in his sleep, and in his dream, the surroundings changed.
New Orleans. He recognised that right away, he had been there before. Yet it looked different. The cars, the fashion of the people, the whole atmosphere. This wasn't the city he knew, must have been inspired by some old pictures or a half-remembered movie. He walked around, listening to a saxophone being played, starting to feel the vibes. He found himself smiling as he walked down the road. Nice dreams, they weren't easy to come by these days.
Then there was a figure that stood out. Somewhere sharper, more real, than the other people whose faces he couldn't focus on. This one was detailed. This one he knew. Sam said the name without realising as he stopped to look at him. "Raphael..."
He supposed it made sense. Angels didn't have much imagination, what place could he conjure up but his own memories. It was a nice memory too. He remembered partying with humans all night, punishing a man who roofied his girlfriend and then drinking himself stupid until 6am with a bunch of lovely Cajun fellas.
He wasn't really reacting right now, he wasn't smiling or moving among it. He was just enjoying being here. Not there for once but somewhere else. He watched the people dance, heard the music and felt a swell in his chest. It was panic. Fear. Pain. He didn't feel right being here.
Someone said his name and he blinked, looking at Sam with a awe-struck expression. Sam wasn't there, in 1920. He squinted.
"Hey," Sam said, waving awkwardly. It felt mean to point out to Raphael that he was dead, even if he was just a dream. Anyway, this seemed like just the thing Raphael would have had him experience. A different world, right out of a movie. Warm air, people dancing, laughter and fun.
Definitely didn't feel right to bring up that Raphael could not possibly be here. "This feels like something you'd conjure up," Sam said instead, "I'm almost expecting some porn stars by your side."
"You weren't here." Raphael finally voiced as he looked at Sam in utter shock. Did he just dream him into existence? If he did, it was strange that this was who he wanted. He wished he could have dreamt of someone more powerful but then... he supposed the Tenaz brothers were strangely and impossibly powerful.
He touched his body and then turned around, looking up to see fireworks going off. He flinched into himself and took a step back. "This is a dream?"
"Yeah. Nodded off in the car." Sam couldn't recall ever having to explain himself like that before in a dream. He couldn't really remember ever having any dream that felt like this though. Strangely vivid and tangible, yet also foreign. It was, he realised with a start that almost shook him awake, reminiscent of something in particular.
With wide eyes, he looked around, panic setting in. "Lucifer?" Was it one of his tricks?
"Lucifer?" Why did he ask that? Was Lucifer out and about again? "Lucifer is free?" Oh hell, maybe that explained why Lazar was gearing up. If Lucifer was back, those princes of hell would want to reclaim it all. If Lucifer was back... would he care? Would he try to help? He was his little brother... but he also did stab him to death so the odds were unlikely.
He frowned and then looked at Sam, truly baffled. "Can I stay in a dream forever?"
"No, Lucifer's locked up. He's in the cage." And sometimes, Sam thought, he was still in his head. Maybe even now. Only this didn't really feel like the devil. Honestly, he had no idea what it felt like. He shook his head, so very confused. "I don't know. No. I mean, it's my dream. You'd just be gone when I wake up."
Sam reached out. He wasn't sure why. In dreams he was rarely rational. He lightly pushed Raphael's shoulder. He felt so real. "I never sleep that long."
"It's not yours. It's mine. I was here. New Orleans. It's 1924. The parade goes until midnight but we party into the early hours. In a moment, people will start singing together. Ballin' The Jack. Then a man will come with barrels on his float. It's prohibition so he'll be arrested." Raphael explained and then he pointed towards the crowd who began to sing.
Then the float came. Barrells. He raised his hand suddenly and caught a necklace, remembering that he had caught it before. He looked down at it. "I'm asleep." What the hell? "I'm dreaming."
At first the significance of it didn't sink in. Then he remembered Castiel. Castiel staring at Matty all night instead of sleeping. Castiel's bafflement at the concept when he'd become human. "Angels don't sleep."
So it would follow that they didn't dream. "But you're dead." This dream was confusing in ways that he was not used to. "I'm dreaming of you dreaming and you're dead. I've seen you die."
Raphael looked at Sam with confused, pleading eyes and then there was a loud bang in his ear. Not fireworks.
He shot up, awake in a dirty cell, panting hard as the guards outside of his cell started moving stuff around. Someone must have dropped something. He was awake. He wanted to go back but he knew he couldn't, it wasn't right for an angel to sleep. And it wasn't right for him to see Sam. He was here, alone, and that was how it was. He was loyal to Lazar.
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waywarddone2024-09-20 07:08 pm
no subject
Raphael shook his head. He never dealt with demons much, that was Luci's jam, not his. All he knew was every demon was scum but some were different brands of scum. Some human, some angel, some creations.
He wanted to be a good boy, avoid getting hurt so he just tried his best to stay quiet and stay out of his way. He only spoke if Lazar insisted. If he spoke out of turn, his lips would be sewn and he hated that every time.
no subject
"He's a demon that used to be human. He has bones out there somewhere, just waiting to be burned. Yet he acts as if he's the big man. Sticking his fingers where they don't belong. Getting humans involved in Hell's affairs." It was just plain rude.
"I want to show him his place. So I'll need you to be extra good for me, son. You'll give me all you can, won't you?"
no subject
He lowered his head, as if to appeal for mercy, hoping that he could somehow get through this.
"I-I ... can't." Can't wasn't a word that Lazar accepted but he had to try and explain. "I'm so tired, master. I gave last week..."
no subject
"You are still able to talk, you even moved by yourself. You can't have given that much yet." He reached for the blade and whistled. "Get on your knees, boy. I'll bleed you dry if I have to."
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"Please." He didn't know why he tried, he just did. His body couldn't will him to move near that blade.
no subject
Instead of any kind of container, Lazar leaned forward and pressed his lips to the archangel's throat, feeding off his grace directly from the source. Blasphemy, he was sure, desecration. It was delicious.
no subject
He clasped his eyes closed, feeling the blood drain from him as his eyes rolled back and he went limp in Lazar's arms.
no subject
no subject
And then he was somewhere else. It was strange, it was like nothing he had ever experienced. He was in better times and it felt almost real. The details were wrong though and he ached much less but he walked through the streets of New Orleans with wide eyes. He remembered this. Mardi gras. He came in the 20s to experience it for the first time and that was exactly how it looked.
He didn't know what to do so he just stood there, staring at the life around him that he wasn't used to, almost on the verge of tears. It was nice here... could he stay?
no subject
They were going fast, Sam guessed because Matty was eager to meet up with Cas. Whether Matty realised it or not. Sam wanted to see Cas as well, but sometimes around Cas and Matty, he felt superfluous. He felt lonely.
A strange path for his mind to go down on, he had to be tired. It was dark out and there was barely any car on the road. Matty seemed awake enough, so it would likely be hours before they stopped. Sam realised he'd closed his eyes, his head grew heavy and then he was asleep. Dreaming.
There were bars around him. He was trapped. Back in the cage and his whole being revolted against it. He moved a little in his sleep, and in his dream, the surroundings changed.
New Orleans. He recognised that right away, he had been there before. Yet it looked different. The cars, the fashion of the people, the whole atmosphere. This wasn't the city he knew, must have been inspired by some old pictures or a half-remembered movie. He walked around, listening to a saxophone being played, starting to feel the vibes. He found himself smiling as he walked down the road. Nice dreams, they weren't easy to come by these days.
Then there was a figure that stood out. Somewhere sharper, more real, than the other people whose faces he couldn't focus on. This one was detailed. This one he knew. Sam said the name without realising as he stopped to look at him. "Raphael..."
no subject
He wasn't really reacting right now, he wasn't smiling or moving among it. He was just enjoying being here. Not there for once but somewhere else. He watched the people dance, heard the music and felt a swell in his chest. It was panic. Fear. Pain. He didn't feel right being here.
Someone said his name and he blinked, looking at Sam with a awe-struck expression. Sam wasn't there, in 1920. He squinted.
no subject
Definitely didn't feel right to bring up that Raphael could not possibly be here. "This feels like something you'd conjure up," Sam said instead, "I'm almost expecting some porn stars by your side."
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He touched his body and then turned around, looking up to see fireworks going off. He flinched into himself and took a step back. "This is a dream?"
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With wide eyes, he looked around, panic setting in. "Lucifer?" Was it one of his tricks?
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He frowned and then looked at Sam, truly baffled. "Can I stay in a dream forever?"
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Sam reached out. He wasn't sure why. In dreams he was rarely rational. He lightly pushed Raphael's shoulder. He felt so real. "I never sleep that long."
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Then the float came. Barrells. He raised his hand suddenly and caught a necklace, remembering that he had caught it before. He looked down at it. "I'm asleep." What the hell? "I'm dreaming."
Oh God. He was going to die.
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So it would follow that they didn't dream. "But you're dead." This dream was confusing in ways that he was not used to. "I'm dreaming of you dreaming and you're dead. I've seen you die."
What was his mind doing?
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He shot up, awake in a dirty cell, panting hard as the guards outside of his cell started moving stuff around. Someone must have dropped something. He was awake. He wanted to go back but he knew he couldn't, it wasn't right for an angel to sleep. And it wasn't right for him to see Sam. He was here, alone, and that was how it was. He was loyal to Lazar.