So, this is my first fanfiction ever but I couldn't get the idea out of my mind. It's rather plotless, and the end kind of sucks, but it's something.
Warning: Some torture and mentions of past torture (nothing too graphic though), also the occasional swear word, so rated T just to be sure.
Also, takes place somewhere in the second half of season 9, so spoilers for any episodes before that, and any mistakes are totally mine.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
A flair for language
Flickering flames lit up the dark room. In the middle sat a man, dark-haired and pale, his face littered with bruises. He was tied to a chair, the chains and manacles holding him down bore strange symbols that seemed to light up every so often when a jolt of power seemed to pulse out of the man's very being. That raw power never seemed to be able to leave its vessel.
Sam and Dean Winchester stood outside the circle of holy fire, deliberating. What would two hunters do with an angel that doesn't want to talk?
"I'm telling you, man, we should call Cas. Dude knows more about angels than we do." Sam urged. The looked back at the angel that they held captive. Castiel would definitely want to know. Also, Dean was enjoying torturing a little bit too much for his taste, and Sam couldn't help wondering how long they could all go on ignoring the effects that the Mark was having on Dean.
"Not about torturing, he doesn't." Dean answered easily. When that obviously did nothing to placate Sam, he added, "Sam, we got this. We know enough about angels to break this guy."
We know enough about torture to break this guy, Sam added in his mind. He knew that was true, at least. As far as humans went, the two of them probably knew more about torture than anyone else alive. Memories of the cage assaulted him, but he kept his face in perfect ploy. A year with the devil in his head had taught him to do at least that. Instead, he nodded at Dean.
"Fine. Let's do this." Sam murmured.
Dean smirked, then turned smoothly and backhanded the angel so hard that its head almost did a 360. He then raised the angel blade he was holding and held it up to the angel's eyes threateningly. "Time to talk, halo-boy." Dean drawled. "Where's Metatron?" Sam shook his head, I swear his voice gets deeper by the day.
The angel simply smiled, his teeth covered in blood, "I don't know."
"Your choice man. I can do this all night." Dean croaked.
"So can I." Was the angel's simple answer. It was also the answer that they had been getting for the past three hours. They were getting nowhere. A small line of blood that Dean drew on the angel's chest made Sam think of the way that Micheal used to cut into his skin, almost like a caress. But that was only the first line. After that… well… let's just say that the archangel had a bit of a temper. Lucifer was much more subtle, which was ironic really. Satan the subtle. Ha ha ha. Lucifer had whispered in his ear, and broken up his dreams. He had created hallucinations and figures so vivid that even now, Sam sometimes found it hard to believe that it had been Lucifer and not Dean stripping and melting his flesh from his bones. Micheal broke him physically, Lucifer broke him psychologically. In the end, Sam figured the devil's way had been more effective. After all, Sam had only ever seen Lucifer in his crazy spells. Dean pulled back his arm, ready to strike with the knife, but Sam grabbed him from behind.
"What the hell man?" Dean raged, voice hoarse and eyes spitting fire. Sam stayed calm, though. He made an effort to look into Dean's eyes, actually capturing his interest for a few minutes.
"Dean, we've been going at this guy for three hours, and we've got nothing. Maybe it's time to consider that we're not going to get anywhere by torturing him." Sam whispered. Sam didn't mention that Lucifer had given him the idea. Somehow, that seemed to make the argument just a bit less strong.
"So, what? We just let him go?" Dean asked, sceptical as always.
"No. We talk to him." Okay, maybe he pleaded, but that wasn't something that he would ever admit. Not even under threat of death. Or torture for that matter.
"We talk to him? Yeah, that'll work. Just a nice little chat, 'Sorry for torturing you man, now can you tell us where Metatron is?' That conversation might be just slightly awkward, don't you think?"
"We just have to get under his skin." Sam said. Dean looked at the angel, the no already forming in his throat, but then Sam gave him those damn puppy-dog eyes. He sighed.
"Fine." Dean whispered, "We'll give it a shot."
An hour passed, and still the angel seemed unwilling to speak. Something had changed, though. Where his face had been stoic throughout the physical torture he had endured, it was now starting to crack. Once or twice the mask that was his face had broken into a flinch or a ferocious snarl.
Dean had to admit, that all that was mostly Sam's doing. Dean had no idea that his little brother could be so convincing. Well, convincing without the use of those damn puppy-dog-eyes. Frankly, he'd been pretty put out when they didn't work on the angel.
Meanwhile, Sam stalked around his captive in slow, mesmerising circles. His voice was soft and affectionate in a creepy sort of way; his words were cynical and belittling. Sometimes his lean body would bend over the fire as he reached for the angels face or neck. A small flick to accompany a particularly painful revelation. A disgustingly gentle caress to the thing's cheek. A whisper in the ear. A ruffle of hair that ended in a small but painful tug. Throughout it all, an eerie smile stayed plastered over Sam's face.
Sam was a predator, and he was playing with his food.
And, damn, if that didn't make Dean's hair stand right on end. At times, he forgot that his brother wasn't a dewy-eyed, snot-nosed Sammy anymore. Nope. He was a 6 foot 4 bulk of muscle, and you did not want to be at the wrong end of his withering gaze. Or his right hook.
Suddenly a rough voice rang out through the room. A very not-Sam voice. The angel's voice resonated loudly, voice low and menacing. A few syllables stretched across the silence, in heavy and elongated tones.
It sounded like "Ah ee-pee beh-ree-tah!" Still, Dean recognised it for what it was. Great, he thought, now he's speaking Enochian.
Sam seemed equally impressed. His brows rose sceptically before he spoke, "You just did, and oh-le ee-pee bah-hall oh-de beh-ree-tah."
For a second, Dean was sure he had misheard. For a second there, he thought Sam had switched to another language halfway through his sentence. Not just any language, either, but Enochian. What the hell? He must have heard it wrong. Sure, Sam was a geek, fluent in Latin and ancient Celtic. But Enochian? Dean was pretty damn sure that wasn't in any lesson that dad had ever taught them, and he'd never noticed Sam teaching himself to speak it. Then again, he hadn't even noticed the kid spoke Enochian at all…
"Soh-le-pe-eeth, geh-ahs-sah-ge-ee-en-" Sam continued.
And suddenly it slammed into Dean like that semi-truck had all those years ago. There was really only one place that Sam could ever have learnt to speak Enochian.
And damn him right to hell –again- if that wasn't all kinds of fucked up.
"Sammy…" Dean's voice croaked. Sam's head snapped up immediately, eyes searching for his brothers. There was no longer anything of the fierce predator in his eyes, just worry. For me, Dean realised. The angel noticed the lapse as well, biting out a word that sounded suspiciously like Babylon. Sam snarled at the angel before turning towards Dean with a quizzical look in his eyes. For a second, Dean almost considered asking Sam about the Enochian, he almost considered pulling his little brother out of this chamber of torture an locking him away somewhere where nothing could ever remind him of hell again. Almost, but not quite. After all, Dean conceded, they needed answers from that angel, and now that Sam was finally eliciting a reaction, they had to carry on. So, Dean waved his brother back with a gesture that said I'll tell you later.
Dean watched in a sort of morbid fascination as Sam's eyes shuttered, and his face turned into a cold, smiling mask that was very not-Sam. Gone was the concerned brother, replaced by a predator that wore a twisted version of his face. Still, as an older brother, Dean couldn't help but feel impressed. The kid was a master at interrogation: swift words, harsh dialogue, and a face that looked so utterly unimpressed that you felt like slapping it off. Whatever Sam and the angel were saying in the strange tongue; the discussion was obviously heated.
Suddenly Sam leant in close, his face mere inches from the angel's. He whispered something so soft that Dean was sure he wouldn't have understood even if he did know Enochian. To his utter shock, the angel paled. Everything went quiet then. Even the flames seemed to subdue their crackling in understanding that a very important moment was taking place.
The angel's face contorted. Then it spat out a litany of rapid Enochian. Sam smiled in triumph, bowing his head to the angel, and grinning up at Dean.
"You hear that?" the smirk on Sam's face was so big you could almost hear it, "Now, that, is useful information."
Dean opened his mouth, about to ask what exactly had been said, when he thought better of it. He merely nodded, and said, "Yeah, we'd better call Cas. He'll know what to do with angel dick here." Just keep up the act, he told himself, wouldn't be the first time. Sam nods and smiles, and for a moment Dean wonders whether Sam is also just keeping up an act, or if he's truly happy. Dean dismisses the thought as he takes out his phone to call Castiel.
Something was wrong. Sam could smell it just as easily as he could smell the food cooking in the kitchen. Actually, the food cooking was the first clue. Soup. Soup with actual fresh vegetables from an actual store. And Dean was cooking it. Not to crack down on his brother, the guy was a pretty good cook after all, but he only ever cooked things that were saturated with fat. Not something like soup. So that meant one of two things, both things concerning Sam. One: Dean had noticed that Sam wasn't feeling well, and was trying to make him eat as much as possible before his stomach decided to expel everything. Two: Dean wanted to talk about something with Sam and he was nervous about it. Seeing as Sam was actually feeling better and healthier than he had for the better part of two years, that left option two. Though Sam could never really help laughing at Dean when he actually initiated a dreaded chick-flick moment, it usually meant something was wrong. Which was bad.
Sam was disturbed from his musings when Dean came walking out of the kitchen triumphantly holding up an enormous pan of steaming soup. He poured out a bowl for both of them then sat down opposite of Sam.
"Dig in…" Dean urged, and Sam happily complied.
After a spoon or two he looked up at Dean and let out an impressed, "Dude, this is really good." Because really, the soup was awesome.
A moment of silence filled the room, broken only by the methodical slurping from both men in it. It didn't last, however, and sooner than Sam would have liked, Dean dropped his spoon and looked up at his brother. They stared at each other awkwardly for a second before Dean cleared his throat.
"So, when were you going to tell me, Sam?" Dean asked reluctantly. Sam was taken aback for a second. Tell him what? He went over all the things he had done in the past few months and he really couldn't think of anything in particular that had happened that his brother didn't know about. Well, not anything that would bring this level of awkward sadness into his brother's eyes. If he hadn't known better he would have thought that they were filled with tears.
When the look of confusion in Sam's face didn't disappear after a few seconds, Dean clarified, "About the Enochian?" it was strange that a sentence like that could still come out sounding like a question.
"Enochian…" Sam echoed, confusion still evident in his voice, but his face already turning bitchier. That one word was also a question.
"Yeah, Enochian, Sammy. You know, like the language that stuck up angels use to confuse everyone around them?" Dean answered, an he wasn't really sure where the irritation in his mind or the venom in his voice came from. He wasn't even angry.
"I know what Enochian is, thanks, I just don't know what you want me to tell you about it." Sam answered, anger seeping into his voice as well. He almost let out an annoyed ´Don't call me Sammy!´ but he knew that would sound too childish.
"I want to know when you were planning to tell me that you speak fluent Enochian." If Dean had been paying attention, he might have noticed that Sam paled considerably at those words, but as it was, Dean was most definitely not paying attention. For a split second he thought he felt the Mark on his arm throb, but he dismissed it as he talked on, "It would have been nice to know that you could speak Enochian before you started spouting it out to some angel that we were interrogating. I mean for all I knew, Gadreel was secretly still inside you and he was speaking to the angel."
"Dean- ", Sam started quietly.
"Maybe it would also have helped getting the guy to talk if I wasn't standing next to you like some moron with my mouth open wide enough to catch all the flies in the state!" Dean stood up as he interrupted.
"Dean" Sam repeated, slightly louder.
"And you know what the worst part is? I thought we were over this…. This lying thing. Wasn't Ruby enough? Wasn't Lucifer enough? The trials? Huh? You gonna keep lying to me?" Now, Dean was sure he could feel something in his arm start to pulse.
"Dean," Sam muttered vehemently, "Sit down."
"No. No I won't. Because for some reason you seem convinced that you can't tell me the goddamn truth Sam! And what happens every time you lie to me Sammy? Something goes wrong. It's like a tell for you either fucking up or dying and I know you might not care about my life anymore but I do about yours."
Now Sam stood as well, the chair he'd been sitting on flew back a few feet, screeching as it slid over the tiled floor. He loomed over the table, over Dean, spitting out a strangled, "I do care about your life." but his older brother just continued, too far into his rant to turn back.
"I know you think you can't trust me. But how the hell do you expect me to trust you, if you keep lies this big from me?" Dean had to stop for a moment to steal a breath, and Sam took his chance. He reached over, grabbing his brother's collar and pushed him down into the chair.
Dean was about to protest and rip Sam's hands off him, when the younger of the two raised his hand in a gesture of silence and whispered, "Would you please just listen to me?"
The room remained silent for a moment, anticipation thrumming through the air. Dean nodded stiffly.
"I speak Enochian." Sam started. Dean was already pulling a sarcastic face, eyebrows rising, readying himself to come with a snarky response when his brother continued, "I swear, I didn't realise I was speaking Enochian this afternoon."
Dean looked at his brother. Sam was pale, his eyes filled with a weary gaze that betrayed his true age. He was in his thirties, but he'd lived an additional two centuries, and that was something Dean sometimes forgot. He hesitantly asked, "And you learned that in the…"
"In the cage, yeah." Sam answered, averting his eyes. His jaw tensed slightly and for the second time today his mind was flooded with memories he wished he no longer had.
Dean's eyes softend. Actually, his whole demeanour changed. He shook his head then urged, "Why didn't you tell me, Sammy?"
Sam would have smiled at the use of his nickname, but his face was still stuck in a mask to make sure that he didn't flinch over his latest stroll down hell-memory lane. "I don't know, I guess I just kind of forgot."
"You forgot?" Dean's eyebrows were well and truly up now.
"Yeah," Sam said sheepishly. "Kind of a lot has happened between when I learnt it and now, I had more on my mind than me speaking Enochian. Didn't really seem important."
"Yeah, well, you spoke it pretty fluently."
"200 years of Enochian will do that to you." Sam replied.
"What did he say?" Dean asked then, at loss as to what else to say, "The angel, I mean."
"That he wouldn't talk, called me cursed and evil, and then he told me that he often met with Metatron in Wisconsin." Sam answered letting the conversation bleed dry. He didn't exactly feel like talking about this more than absolutely necessary, and he definitely didn't feel like getting into an argument about trust and telling the truth while his anger with Dean over the Gadreel issue was still so fresh.
Slowly, Dean nodded, unsure of what to do next. So Sam sat back down and made a remark about the temperature of the soup, and how wasteful it would be to let it get cold. Dean merely smiled.
"Dude," he snarked, "My cooking is so good that it don't matter if it's hot or cold."
The loud slurp that sounded when Sam picked his soup back up seemed to acknowledge that fact, and for a while the two brothers could just sit in amiable (albeit slightly slurpy) silence.
Meaning of Enochian words:
Soh-le-pe-eeth, geh-ahs-sah-ge-ee-en = Listen angel
oh-le ee-pee bah-hall oh-de beh-ree-tah = you shall shout and talk
Ah ee-pee beh-ree-tah! = I shall not speak
My Enochian is slightly rusty (in other words, non-existent), so any mistakes are naturally mine. I bet Sam could do a much better job.