wetsammy (wetsammy) wrote,
wetsammy
wetsammy

Like Old Times




Written for spnkinkbingo square: fear kink

Pairing: Cain/Ramiel
Rating: Mature

Summary: Ramiel didn’t get many visitors. Certainly none that were his friends.

A/N: How perfect would these two be together? Fishing and raising bees, keeping their propensity for violence in check - except with each other. (First Cain/Ramiel fic on AO3 - how did that happen?)

Link to AO3


The demon dropped his fishing basket and pole at the base of the stairs. His eyes narrowed as he scanned left and right across the empty yard. The facade of his farmhouse was dark and the wardings looked undisturbed from when he left that afternoon.


But the smell? There was no hiding that smell. Ramiel’s eyes glowed yellow, matching the stink of sulfur that hung in the air.


He didn’t get many visitors. Certainly none that were his friends.



The demon spun out on his heel to circle the house, and his eyes found the cellar entrance in the dark without difficulty. The warding around the wooden doors was removed with a wave of his hand, and they fell open to each side without noise. He paused once again at the top of the steps to sniff the air below. The dank earthy smell didn’t cover up the scent of his home invader or the fact that they were still somewhere inside the house.


Could be that ambitious idiot Crowley or more of his minions coming back for more, Ramiel thought, although he had made it clear what would happen if they returned to disturb him. Could be Dagon but his sister’s style was not this subtle. The lights would be on and music playing to disturb his sense of peace. No, this was someone was playing games, laying some kind of breadcrumbs out to draw him in.


Whoever it was, Ramiel would have a surprise for them they wouldn’t soon forget. Because this root cellar hadn’t held vegetables in decades, it housed the single greatest collection of angelic and demonic weapons anywhere.


He stepped silently down the cellar stairs and wound his way through the dim room past the hobby table. His fly-tying stand still held a half-tied Muddler Minnow, feathers and wire scattered on the tabletop, waiting for him to finish. Next to it stood his latest collectible - a choke pear. It would require some repair and a good oiling, understandably since it was over four hundred years old, but it was the original Palioly's Pear and Ramiel had a soft spot for historic invention. When he was finished, the Pear would join his collection. There was beauty in pain but torture-- well, torture was a messy thing, noisy too. These days he preferred to keep his hands clean in the quiet of the country.


Clean but not too clean as it turned out.


The idea of someone crossing his threshold, hiding somewhere in his home, made Ramiel’s palms itch with need to inflict damage and pain not seen since the good old days of Hell.


He stopped in front of the rack of lances against the far wall. These were the centerpiece of his collection. Their bronze heads were elegantly ornate, gleaming in the dimness of the basement. The choice was obvious. He wrapped his palm around the biggest one - the lance of Michael - and the blue sigils on its shaft lit up. As he pulled it out, he smiled at the heavy weight balanced on his palm.


From out of the silent darkness, he was yanked backwards off his feet and the staff dropped to the floor with a clang. He tried to fight back but was unable to move his arms or turn to see the threat behind him.


“Ramiel. Were the fish biting tonight?”


That deep voice with its melodic threat was one of his first memories of Hell. There was only one demon outside of Lucifer who had the kind of power to take down one of the Princes.


“Cain.”


A large knife bit into his side and for the first time that night, Ramiel felt fear as the Knight’s power wrapped around him, cocooning him like one of the Iron Maidens.


“Thought you were keeping a low profile, brother.” He eyed the fallen lance laying on the ground outside his reach, teasing him with the shine of its blade.


“You are not my brother, Ramiel.” Cain’s knife dug deeper into his ribs, piercing his canvas jacket. “But perhaps you’d like a demonstration of how I ended his life.”


“That’s not necessary—“ Ramiel started to reply before he was thrown forward to the dirt floor, landing on his hands and knees. A hand yanked the hair at the back of his head and pulled his neck back, and he could do nothing but watch as a pair of dusty leather boots walked around to his side.


“Did you send them to me?”


The blade’s edge began to caress his neck but it wasn’t the jagged edge Ramiel expected. He had felt the teeth of Cain’s favorite - the First Blade - in his training. Cain had been ruthless with the Princes, molding them into the bloodthirsty generals that Lucifer wanted. Ramiel still carried a scar across his stomach from one of those sessions, an ugly pink thing that never healed thanks to the First Blade’s power. The scar was a reminder of the demon he aspired to be. He looked up to Cain but that was before the Knight left them to keep his bees and the company of humans.


“Send who?” he asked.


The blade at his throat was sharp and any amount of pressure would slice through his vessel’s neck. He thought about smoking out but then he felt a squeeze around his ribs, cracking one, increased pressure around his lungs and he knew that Cain wasn’t going to let him go easily.


“Crowley and the Winchester. Did you tell them where to find me?”


“Crowley? I didn’t send that git.” The name Winchester rang a bell - some little pet project that Azazel liked to brag about. A boy who would lead a demon army and prepare the way back for Lucifer. Or something like that.


Azazel was always big on talk and short on details with all of his plans. Cain, on the other hand, played things close to the vest. The Knight liked to inflict pain, losing himself in introspection. When he lost his taste for the pain, the chaos of Hell held no appeal. Ramiel came to know that feeling well, taking Cain’s lead and disappearing into the world.


The whisper of a cut on his neck, paper thin but deep enough for his black soul to glow orange, brought him back to his current situation.


“You Princes thought you were untouchable. That when you went out in the world, you were invisible,” Cain continued. He leaned down so that his lips brushed against the shell of Ramiel’s ear and his power tightening its tendrils around his throat. “You weren’t invisible. I could always find you - I just didn’t want to.”


At that soft voice and familiar touch, Ramiel began to fight against the bonds that held him tight, not willing to trust his survival to the Knight’s whim. Cain flipped him over his back as easy as a roped calf. It was the first good look Ramiel had of his face. The hair was longer and the beard more grey, but the arrogant intensity in those blue eyes was the same.


Cain smiled down as Ramiel squirmed below him, then ran his fingers through the Prince’s beard, tugging at the grey hair playfully. “You’ve gotten old, my friend.”


He tried to yank his head away but he was helpless. The pink-red glow of Cain filled the room, pouring like oil into his nose and mouth. This is it, he thought. Well, at least it’s Cain and not some miserable hunter. He stopped struggling and surrendered.


The pink-red light pulsed once more and the pressure that surrounded him was gone. It took a minute for Ramiel to realize that he wasn’t dead and he pushed up with a grunt.


“No, you’re not dead yet, Ram.” Cain clasped him on the shoulder and helped him to stand up. “You should know that you were always my favorite.”


Always with the games, you bastard. He wanted to strangle Cain with his own intestines, but it felt like old times - the Knight threatening with a knife in one hand and offering a greeting with the other.


“I knew it wasn’t you, Ram. Not your style to work with others.” Cain pushed the long grey and white hair away from his face and yanked the other demon close to his chest. “But I couldn’t resist. The smell of your fear, the way you surrendered at the end? It was so pure.”


Now that he could focus, Ramiel could sense a change in Cain. The Knight he knew before was tightly controlled, his anger and violence like a flamethrower. Now, he sensed a release. Not a full turn to the Light but what felt like a chemical spill of Darkness alongside hot sparks to set a raging fire. He twisted Cain’s hand, turning the inside of his forearm to the light from the stairs. The Mark was gone.


Ramiel’s mouth dropped open and he ran his fingers along the bare skin there. Few things left him speechless but this was inconceivable. Cain had borne the Mark since they first met all those centuries ago. It was a symbol of the fear and violence that all demons respected - and now it was just gone?


When he looked up, Cain’s icy blue eyes had softened in amusement and Ramiel saw a flash of teeth hidden in the demon’s beard. Took him a moment to realize it was a smile.


“Break out your best scotch and I’ll tell you the story.”

Tags: cain, cain/ramiel, fear play, ramiel, rating: r
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