Who: Evil!Samandriel, Abigail & Hannibal Lecter, Lucifer, Dean & Castiel Winchester What: Putting a stop to the insanity [kryptonite plot] When: Wednesday 9/11 [concurrent with this thread Where: Lecter Homestead Rating: High. Black!Kryptonite character death (so not actual character death, but PCs don’t know that), violence. All the violence. TW everything. Status: Complete
“I decided I didn’t care if you said anything or not,” came the dark voice behind Abigail, the sound of wings briefly filling the room. Castiel would find him surely, but that fight was inevitable. This seemed as good a place as any to have it. And hey, if Samandriel could prove once and for all that he wasn’t the one needing protecting (especially from a dumb human who liked to cry all over him and treat him like he was some sort of precious doll,) then it would be worth it.
“Too bad for you, hm? Not that it really matters, of course. Not that any of you pathetic creatures matter. Not even the Vessel, but you wouldn’t know about that would you?”
Abigail took a deep, shaky breath, holding it when she turned around and saw a familiar face. It was Samandriel, but not, and Abigail suddenly wished she still had a hunting rifle at her disposal. “Who, Dean?” Just keep the bad guy monologuing, right? Maybe she could find a knife or something.
“Oh that’s right. How have you been enjoying hell?” He smirked darkly at her. “You can go ahead and get all bang bang stab stab at me, but I’m afraid it’s not going to do you any good. Your twinky little brother has enough angel in him right now that he’s not dying unless it’s done right, and sister you don’t have the tools for that or the know-how.” Samandriel walked into her space, to play lightly with her hair.
“Which do you think would destroy daddy dearest more? Leaving you in a vegetative state or painting the walls of this lovely library with you?”
“Fuck you,” she muttered. “I’m not bargaining with you.” She swatted his hand away, knowing she’d pay for it, but not really caring. “Just do whatever it is you’re doing. For a demon, you’re a lot of talk and not much action.”
“Oh, but you will,” Samandriel said, “because maybe I’ll just beat you to a pulp and before you go into a coma you might never come out of, I’ll make sure you know where I hid your brother’s body.” He smirked deviously and backhanded her hard across the jaw.
Pain, she could deal with. She’d been dreaming about it ever since she’d arrived, so why not have it in her waking moments. “You hit like a girl,” she slurred, feeling her teeth loosen. Maybe she was borrowing the bravado from the handsome man she dreamed about. Maybe she wanted Dean and Samandriel to be proud of her. Either way, the pain brought her clarity, and gave her a moment where she wasn’t too worried about her father. He’d be sad, but he’d live if she wasn’t there.
“Oooh, angry to the point of misogyny. I like it,” Samandriel said. “Or you spent too much time with the Winchester’s dreams. Tell me,” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back hard. “Do you wake up wondering where your dick is? I always wondered how that might affect someone’s identity. Dreaming that they’re someone else completely.”
“I don’t know, do you? You’re the one who’s being a wuss.” She looked up at him and grinned, teeth filmed in blood. “You think that was the first time I dreamed of being beat up? I’m glad you made me dream that, you stupid shit. I dreamed what I deserve. Now I know more about where I’m going.” But it didn’t stop her from lashing out at him, grabbing a lamp from her nightstand and trying to swing it toward his head.
Samandriel blocked the lamp easily, sent it flying out of her hand and into the wall. “Shame,” he said, and in a thought he took them both downstairs where there was more room to break things and traumatize Hannibal. It was the little things. “Let’s not let you do that again, hm? It’s rude.” With that, he snapped her shoulder.
“I wasn’t talking about hell. I was talking about being a man. I mean clearly torturing and being tortured is nothing new for you. Nor is being a killer. Sure, having your entire body flayed must be new, and all the horrible things they did to your flesh and bones after. Or his, rather. Hell is hell for a reason, right? They’ll violate you any way they can.”
Abigail’s eyebrows raised. “Are we talking about my dreams causing dysmorphia? If that was your goal, it didn’t work. Why did you do that, anyway?”
“Well you didn’t want anyone touching you sexually save for your poor, creepy father, so I thought I’d give you the next best thing since I sure didn’t want to do it. Just let all of demon-kind have a go at you. Poor Dean made a lot of enemies while he was topside, but you knew that already didn’t you?” He started playing with the fingers of her other hand, snapping them one by one like twigs.
Every time he broke something she jumped, feeling like electricity was shooting right up her spine. She wondered if the dreams had made her a bit expectant of pain, turned her into a glutton for it somehow. “Liar, you were gagging for it earlier. You were trying to bait me, make me admit I want Samandriel.” She was louder than usual, trying not to yelp, not wanting to give him the pleasure.
“I wanted you to admit it for no reason other than getting the truth out in the open. Or maybe because Nephilim are abominations and I wanted to see if this little angel of fertility could knock you up. I doubt you could cut something like that successfully out of you.” He smirked darkly, reached down, and twisted a kneecap until the tendons tore away completely. “I mean you already know that he never wanted you. That you’re a piss-poor excuse for a friend just barely better than his own family.”
“That’s a lie,” she hissed. The kneecap finally made her cry out in pain, if only because she’d fallen to the floor, where she didn’t want to be. “I’ve given up everything for him in the past, I’d do anything for him now.” Wasn’t this torture a sign of her allegiance? If she’d done anything else, this fucker would’ve killed Samandriel by then.
“I already did kill him. Killed him and took photos and left them for Lucifer. Left his basement a bloody mess, and nobody’ll believe that the poor boy could’ve done this to himself.” He leaned to whisper against her ear, “I hid his body in your bedroom floor. To keep you company.” With that, he punched her in the throat hard enough to wreck her larynx. No doubt Hannibal would be alerted soon. Samandriel kept watch over her at the door. He’d wait, and at just the right moment, he’d smash her head on the floor. Maybe she’d die, or maybe she’d end up in a coma. Did it matter? She’d certainly never be speaking again.
Hannibal had been on his way home from work, and had heard the struggle once he got in the house. Grabbing a knife from the kitchen, he toes off his shoes and tiptoes on stockinged feet to the library.
There, he sees Abigail on the floor with Samandriel standing over her. Damn, there was no doubt that a supernatural creature could best him in a fight, but perhaps now that he has the element of surprise he can at least get something in.
He slips up behind the demon and grabs his hair, yanking his hair back and drawing the knife across his throat. It might not do much, or anything at all, but he had to try and at least get this creature away from his Abigail.
Samandriel looked away from the door to busy himself with whispering more horrors into Abigail’s ear. He’d felt Hannibal coming, of course, and decided it was only fair to let him try to save her and understand with absolute certainty that there was no helping his too human lover. The knife cut and while it drew blood, Samandriel wasn’t worried about it.
He laughed and smashed his foot down hard on the other man’s instep before twisting away. The wound healed. His fingers curled tightly around Abigail’s bicep, yanking her up so she could look at Hannibal briefly. And then the fallen angel threw her into the wall. He heard her hit with an awful sound, possibly the crunching of bones he’d already broken. She wasn’t dead. Samandriel knew that much.
“You really think a kitchen knife is going to do anything against me?” he asked, smirking. He held out his arms, a sick mirror of so many statues and paintings of Christ. “Well, come try little man.”
The image of Abigail smashing into the wall, the sound of her bones crunching makes him cringe and he grimaces, ignoring the pain in his foot in favour of throwing himself at Samandriel, slashing with the knife, trying to sink it anywhere into the demon’s flesh.
Samandriel let the knife hit him right in the gut, but only so he could grab Hannibal by both his wrists and grin wolfishly at him. “On second thought, I should have left her conscious for a while. I think she would’ve liked to see this. Her two favourite men, literally trying to rip each other’s throats out.”
His attention was drawn away only by the sound of wings behind him.
It was Castiel, and Thursday was clearly there with only one goal in mind. "I told you," he said, raising the gun he'd near practically stolen from Dean, and aiming it at not-Samandriel with an expression that was deadly cool. "that I would kill you."
He pulled the trigger.
And nothing happened.
He stared for a second, looked absolutely stunned before pulling it again. Nothing.
No bullets. Dean, damn him and his attempts to keep Cas out of this. He let out a growl, feeling angry and stupid all at once, and then was gone again.
“Well that was anticlimactic,” Samandriel said dryly. “Where were we, good doctor?”
Hannibal freezes during the interaction, unsure how to face down two supernatural creatures at once. And then all at once the one is gone and Hannibal wrenches the knife upwards, doing his best to split Samandriel open from stomach to throat.
“No, none of that,” Samandriel said. Hannibal’s knife didn’t get all that far. The wrenching was cute, though. A for effort Hannibal. The angel straightened and with a thought sent Hannibal flying to the opposite wall, pinned against a bookcase. He eased the knife out of his gut, turned it over in his hand while he just looked at it for a moment.
“I was so hoping I’d find you less boring.” He let the knife clatter to the floor. “I suppose you and I will just have to wait here until my brother gets back. He will be back, of course. Possibly with bullets for his special little gun. I know that this is absolutely typical villain behavior, the monologuing. But it’s not so much monologuing since I don’t have a grand plan other than fucking things up, as it is buying time. Or, really, killing time. You see, Castiel will make things interesting. He and the little ball of sunshine and light you all seem to love so much trained together in heaven in the old days. Those two sad little sops even managed to join up with a handful of others and pull the Chosen One out of hell after the idiot made a demon deal and should’ve never, ever made it out. I think you might like to see what true art and combat look like before I actually unseam you from nave to chops.”
"You talk too much." Castiel was back with a flutter of wings -- but no gun this time. And damn Dean for that too, because it wasn't fair. This could be over already, he could have ended it. Instead now all he could manage for the time being would be a scuffle. He was stronger than Samandriel's sister though, faster than her father.
He'd flown in close on purpose, his right hook ridiculously well executed for a man who only had ever punched and kicked and fought on the side of God in his dreams.
Samandriel smirked even as he cut his teeth on the inside of his cheek. His smile was a bloody mess and now things were interesting.
“I was just waiting for you,” he said. Samandriel shifted into a fighting stance. “I see you got your wings. They look nice, by the way.” His own had bled through with black, gone all muddy and gross, but only Castiel could see them.
Angels fighting, even without the benefit of their proper weapons or power, was a well choreographed, violent dance. It was a thing that happened quickly, not quite a blur, but definitely more than humans were capable of.
Samandriel was so focused on toying with his brother that he managed to not hear the roar of the Impala’s engine pulling up, nor the door banging open. They’d broken apart briefly, long enough for Samandriel to allow Castiel to try to catch his poor breath.
Lucifer and Dean burst into the room at basically the same time -- Lucifer just one step ahead of Winchester -- the gun that Castiel had earlier in his hand, loaded and cocked properly this time. There would be no amateur mistakes here, because that was something he was not.
"Samandriel." His tone was nothing but ice, a strange counterpoint to all Castiel's fire and the fight everyone else had given. When the boy who was not his turned at his voice, Lucifer smiled. "I'll see you in Hell." And then he pulled the trigger.
He did not miss.
Dean watched, clutching his side as the bullet struck Samandriel square between the eyes. The wound sparked a few times at first and then there was a flash of red under the kid’s skin and he hit the floor hard.
There wouldn’t be any coming back from that, not for any of them. Gently, he took his gun from Lucifer’s hand, peripherally aware of the other guy on the wall being released from whatever the kid had done to him.
The room was a friggen mess, and Cas had clearly been outmatched, but it didn’t matter. He was okay. They stayed in silence save for whichever of them (or whichever neighbor) had called an ambulance. The only thing Dean was aware of was the sound of sirens and the weight of tragedy.