Sasha is a Living Witness

"Castiel is not an enemy. Neither yours nor mine Sam."
"Are you sure, because from everything we hear about him..."
"From everything you hear about him he rebelled against and screwed over Heaven and is perfectly capable of kicking ass without hesitation, or breaking a sweat." Dean and Sam nodded thier affirmation. “Yeah he rebelled against heaven and the angels don't like him much. But Dean angels are dicks. You KNOW this, angels are dicks. I mean I can remember you saying they were even bigger dicks than you thought.” A look of shock crosses her face as she realizes Dean is putting Castiel in this category. “You don't remember?” Sam and Dean stand in rather awkward silence. “Well, this is...unanticipated. I'm going to take a wild guess and say Sam is clinging onto the idea that there is at least one good angel out there in the mess of Uriel's and Zachariah's?”

“I...wouldn't have put it quite that way. But, yeah.” Sam says slowly.

“Well there is. And you've met him. Castiel is one of two angels who get how important humans are. And unfortunately you hate the other one's guts. When Castiel rebelled against heaven it was to Join. Us.” She put fist to her mouth. “I can take a guess who told you all this crap. Unfortunately the days are gone when I could kick his ass.”

Dean cocked his head to the side in an incredibly Castiel like maneuver. “Wait, are you...”

He had been about to say 'someone who fights with us' but the words got lost on the way to his throat. He quickly recovered, deciding it wasn't a good idea to admit to a woman who was essentially a stranger that they had such gigantic holes in their memory. He shot his brother a look as if to say 'we need to talk...later.' Sam nodded.

The woman, rubbed two fingers against her forehead. “Look Castiel is a B.A.M.F. But he's a B.A.M.F. that's on our side. I mean you are around when all this weird crap happens. And you are involved in that crap. That doesn't mean you're responsible for it. It doesn't mean you're the bad guys, does it?” Sam and Dean exchanged glances with each-other.
"How do you know we're the good guys?" Sam inquired. “I don't mean that as any sort of challenge, promise. But...what makes you so sure we're the good guys?”
Instead of her usual mysterious 'I know you are worthy of my help' or 'what ever power has guided me these last 6 years I've learned to trust it', she looked Sam almost in the eyes and says. "You saved a friend of mine once. Puts you in the 'good guy' column as far as I care."

Her eyes got distant. Dean couldn't help feeling there was something the woman really wanted to say. Something ...dangerous. Almost forbidden. Then watched as she mentally pulled herself back to the conversation. "Look you want me to cut to the chase?" She paused but did not wait for them to nod. "Well the chase IS cut. The chase is bleeding the chase is," her voice took on a dreamy note " 'dying in your arms' ...And Castiel is trying to close the wound."

“Sasha, what is going on here?”

Dean and Sam looked behind 'Sasha' to see a man in his late 20's dressed in a red-leather archer costume. With a compact bow and fletchetts around his gloved wrists. 'brave little man' Dean thought absently. He checked himself a moment later. This man WAS brave. And probably not incompetent either.

“Ah...a couple of sincere, and quite capable do-gooders chasing the wrong prey.”

“Sounds familiar.” The male voice behind her stated.

“Arsenal, you meet up with Cap. I'll see you at Kate's.”

“You got it.”

“Our kind of situation?” Sam inquired. “I'm guessing you kind of know what that is.”

“Fighting bad guys and saving people, yes. But these are people, not monsters. Not even the powered up ones are actually you're kind of crazy. The weirdest thing you'll see around here is a green-skinned alien. DO NOT shoot something just because it looks scary.” Sasha replied quickly. “That was a 'yes' by the way. To your second question.”

Oliver hands Sarah an oblong shaped stone, the color of the shiny side of an oyster shell. "When you get back to the Waverider, place this on literally any flat surface you can find. It'll play a message."

"Ollie you know we don't exactly have the best track record with these."

Oliver held  Sarah's wrist gently but firmly. "It'll play a message from Sasha."

"...I'll go get Ray."

"I'm still not entirely sure what I'm doing here." Ray Palmer rambled quickly.

"We're the only Legends who have a clue who she was. And from what Oliver said, my father almost came to tears rewatching it."

"So...no popcorn."

"Gideon, play message." Sarah said in her calmest voice.

The woman on the screen was unquestionably Sasha, but that's about all they could make out at first. Except for the fact that she was sitting in her bathtub, and wasn't looking ahead. "You know it's been years since I cared about this right?" The damp, blonde-haired woman said to absolutely no-one. Her eyes looked worn, tired. Her hair a slicked back mess. Far from the sharp-eyed thirty-something Sarah had last seen.

"Well okay then. If anyone IS on the other side of this..." She paused, as if collecting her thoughts. "Don't try to stop me when I leave. And don't expect me to come back. I won't." She takes a deep, almost shuddering breath. "And if the person hearing this... knows the significance of Bombay Sapphire and Sprite....I cared about everyone I met in Star City, because of a conversation with you that I don't even remember. I just remember thinking 'it wouldn't be fair to call myself Sarah." Sarah Lance takes her breath in. "So for the first time in 19 years I called myself by my actual name: Sasha Jordan Scott."

After playing the same message for Dinah Drake, Curtis Holt, Rene Ramirez, and Felicity Smoak. Oliver faces them, eyes and voice clear and calm.

"That person, was Quentin Lance. And that woman, was a woman *I* knew as Sasha Jordan Scott. And while not part of this team, she was a part of this fight since before I knew most of your faces." Oliver runs his hand in front of his eyes. “I didn't realize it until Havenrock was happening and she wasn't there to help us with the storm. I'd known since Quentin and I buried the hatchet that she wasn't going to be around for long. We all knew her time was short. that's why I saw more of her once I became the Green Arrow than I had in the three years prior." He stares particularly hard at Curtis. "She made a special effort to meet you before she left. When that...bee lady took over Palmer Tech. I've never forgotten that about her, or you. Don't you forget it either."

"I won't, I promise. I obviously didn't know her as well as you all did but from what I saw, she was her own special kind of badass."

Oliver and John both chuckled. "A quiet kind of power." Oliver said reminiscently.

1 of 2 defining qualities of the Enkaren race, Elana's race, from my stories.

"When they get, I guess you can call it 'righteously angry' it actually IS righteous anger. On the rare occasion you end up ticking them off, you usually end up saying your prayers. but they get ticked off about the right things."

Strange Bedfellows

 I'm not usually a fan of vampire stories of any fandom. But the original work was mesmerizing. And stayed so completely true to the character of Castiel that I was hooked. 

I wrote a second chapter and waited for my Archives of Our Own  account for almost 10 days so I could post this. As much credit as can be given to the brilliant mind who started this!

 "Well Castiel do you need a place to stay?”

The man – for in That moment Dean thought of him as a man – stared at him, uncomprehending. "We both need to get out of here, preferably without being seen. Come on, I'll take you to my place."

Despite being the one with the bleeding gash in his neck, Dean found himself carrying Castiel into his motel room. Castiel fell into the metal dining chair, dazed. Dean let him sit there quietly while he went into the bathroom for the first aid kit. His first instinct of course, was not to let his bizarre guest out of his sight for a second longer than he had to. Somehow he got the impression the only thing he was in danger of from Castiel was that the man would run away into the night. So he patched himself up in front of the bathroom mirror, cleaning and patching his wound as efficiently and effectively as if it had been his whole profession. He returned to the living room to find Castiel staring at him, his eyes hollow and sad.
"If you're going to kill me, just give me a quick death."
Dean was floored. Not at the request as much as the realization that he wasn't even considering what should have been a common sense course of action. The man's eyes were icy blue, his voice pleasant and pained. “I know you're a hunter. I know your kind. I won't stop you. But please, just kill me and be done with it.”

Dean knocked him out with one blow. When Castiel woke up, he was tied to the chair he'd fallen asleep in. Dean was standing a few feet away from him, holding a silver knife in one hand and what he could only assume was a flask of holy water in the other. His face set with determination, permitting no emotion. “Here's how it is Castiel. I'm going to ask you some question, about you, vampires in general I need to know my enemy. You tell me what I want to know, you get a quick death like you asked. You screw with me...or lie to me, and things will get very unpleasant for you.” he traces the point of the knife down Castiel's jawline Capiche?”
Castiel nodded faintly. “I capiche.”
“Okay to start with the obvious, were you targeting me?”
“As a hunter?” Dean nods. “No.”
“Then why me?”
Your strength. I sensed your strength vibrating off of you. You are powerfully alive.”
Whatever Dean had been expecting to hear, this clearly wasn't it.
“You figured I could survive you feeding off me.”
Castiel could not tell for certain if this was an assertion or a question. Deciding it didn't matter, he shook his head gently. “Take from it what you will.”
“When were you turned?”
“1508.”

It was a good thing Dean was trained by the absolute best hunters or he would have choked on air. “Are you serious?”
Castiel cocked his head to one side, as if surprised. “I wouldn't lie. Threat against my life or no, I wouldn't lie.” He swallowed hard, the defeated tone in his voice returning. “And anyway, why would I risk it?”
“I'll accept that.” Dean stepped back, his eyebrows crinkled in thought. “What happened last night?” It was clear by the way his head jerked back, that he had surprised himself with the question.
“Blood loss wasn't the only thing making you weak in the knees, was it?”
Dean clutched harder at the handle of the blade. How the hell could this vampire understand him so completely? “How do you know that?”
“Blood is life-force,” Castiel responded, as if stating a well known fact. “The very essence of who you are is in your blood. I learned a lot about you from the feeding.” He cast his eyes immediately to the ground. Worried he'd angered the man, terrified the borderline admission had sounded like a taunt. “Forgive me.” He looked up again, at least as high as Dean's chest. “For us feeding is an extremely sensual experience, intimate and intoxicating. The__victim isn't always immune to it.” His calm eyes suddenly became over bright. “I do not know how to beg your forgiveness. But I AM sorry. Please believe that.”

Finally they had gotten to the heart of the matter. One of them anyway. “Is that why you're so eager to die? Because you believe you deserve to be punished?”
“It's not that I'm eager to die.” Castiel answered fiercely. “I am not eager to die. Merely expecting it. And I learned to live without fear of death long ago.”
“Well that I can understand.” Dean remarked. He turned around so Castiel couldn't see him smile. “A man who fears death has already died many times.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Finally Dean decided he'd had enough. Facing the vampire again, he held the knife at Castiel's torso, the left side of his ribs. Castiel's face went slack. And although he had enough self control not to plead aloud, his eyes began pleading wildly. 'No! No you said that if I answered your questions.' ...and he cut the ropes.
“Get out of here.” Dean commanded, his voice calm and controlled.
Castiel pulled the ropes off of himself, got to his feet, but made no move to leave. “I don't understand.” He admitted.
“I needed to know what the deal was with you. And I didn't think you'd tell me in casual conversation. Well now I know. You're a vampire, but you're not a monster. Anyway it seems pretty stupid to kill you after you spared my life.”

"I can't."
"Castiel. Cass you don't under..."
"No I mean I CAN'T!" He gestured wildly to the window. The sun was shining brightly in a nearly cloudless sky.
"Yeah. That...that is a problem."

This is the original work

There's a feeling in the air when danger is near, a buzzing. The atmosphere is thicker and the littlest sounds stand out. That's the feeling Dean gets now, stupidly walking down a dingy alley late at night, with no weapons. It's the start of a shitty horror movie honestly. Being a hunter, being raised with and by hunters, Dean should know better. He had parked Baby by the shitty bar he'd planned to spend the entire night in. But something had drawn him away. He wasn't always thinking smart, but this choice had no thought in it. Only human instincts and morbid curiosity. Like slowing down while passing by a car crash. That's not to say there were any tells something had happened or was even here to begin with. There were no sounds, no knocked-over trash cans, no movement out of the corner of his eye. It was more of a feeling that called Dean into the dark space. Kicking a can, Dean scans the area. The space was dully lit by a yellow lamp creating a hued, painted atmosphere. There were multiple turns to take that led through various alleys and doorways that led into abandoned houses no doubt inhabited by people with nowhere else to go. “Hello?” Dean called out. Yup, definitely a horror movie waiting to happen. And Dean's the dumb protagonist everyone wants to yell, ‘Get the hell out of there you idiot!’

There was a crunch behind him and Dean whipped around just in time to block a grab at him. Before Dean could get a proper look at his attacker, he was gripped tightly and thrown against the wall of the alleyway with superhuman strength.

“Mother fucker-” is all Dean was able to gasp out before swiftly taking a knee to the stomach only to be grabbed again and forcibly lifted back to his height. Now with the new angle, Dean is able to get a somewhat better look at his attacker, a pale man with dark disheveled hair. He appeared to be around Dean's age, wearing a tan trench coat over a white dress shirt enveloped by a loosened tie, and what looked like black dress pants but it was too hard to see in the dark. A hand grabbed the hair on his nape and pulled backwards with alarming strength, exposing his neck. Despite Dean's attempts to throw the man -or vampire Dean assumes- off of him, the other man's arm pushed forcibly against him, keeping him pinned. The pull against his hair caused Dean's eyes to water, obscuring his vision. The man is mumbling something; his voice sounds wet and gravelly. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” He mumbles against Dean's neck, which was wet from where the vampire had his lips against it.

“Fucking stop-” Is all Dean is able to huff, his airways constricted, before he feels a blinding pain. The rest of his sentence is turned into a panicked cry. The body pressed against his smushes itself closer as if he's trying to climb inside of Dean. Hot, thick liquid drips down his neck; blood. Even in that moment Dean couldn't help feeling confused. Usually, vampires are cruel and unapologetic about their feeding off those they attack. With this one however, there's something off. Dean's vision is starting to get spotty; he finds his knees going weak. The arm forcing him into the wall relents and instead wraps around his waist, holding him up less forcibly and more gently. Remorseful even.

Dean hears a whimper at his throat, he feels the vibration against his neck, and he realizes the man is shaking. There's a slick sound and the teeth in his neck retract. His lips remain, now kissing at the ravaged spot as if the wound is something to worship.

Dean groans, finding himself disoriented and too weak to shove back. He hears the man mumbling again, slightly louder, but his voice is even more destroyed and raspier than before. “I'm so sorry.” He whispers-almost groaning, his face squished against Dean's neck. “I'm so sorry.” His words are coming out as inaudible whimpers now, and despite every bone in Dean's body telling him not to, Dean pities the man and the sheer grief in the man's voice. He chooses to ignore the arousal in his gut and what about this fucked up situation inspires it? The man's grip on Dean's hair is much looser now. Dean's head sags against the man's. Judging by the man's now crumbling form. Dean feels he can safely assume the vampire doesn't plan on hurting him any further, let alone killing him. If Dean wants to get away, now is the time. Dean peers down at the vampire on his knees, his head slumped against Dean's pelvis. His shaking is only worse. Without the man's strength to hold him up, Dean slides down the wall against his back. Now they're at the same height, but Dean can't get a good look at his ducked face. For a minute Dean just sits there and watches. He can't bring himself to get up and run, he's too weak. If the vampire decides he doesn't want any witnesses, Dean would be fucked. Judging by the way all Dean wants to do right now is run his fingers through the man's hair and ask him ‘what's wrong?’ He must already be. What the hell is wrong with him? This is not the time!

Instead, Dean lifts his hands to the man's obscured face and cradles it. The man flinches at the contact. “Shh, Shh.” He shushes as he lifts his head and moves his hair so he can get a better look at the man. His eyes are vividly blue, wet and pleading. His face is covered in blood, smeared all around the bottom half of his face. They stay like that, looking into each other's eyes for several moments. Dean drags his thumb over the man's bloody lips and he quivers. “Are you okay?” He questions gently. The man jerkily nods, still looking into Dean's eyes. “What's your name?”

The man licks his lips nervously several times before answering. “Castiel.”

“My name's Dean. Do you know what you are, Castiel?” Dean figures he must be freshly turned. He might not even know what's going on or why.

“A vampire.”

Scratch that, apparently, he does know. Castiel's awareness only makes the situation that much more odd. Dean tries a smile. "Well Castiel do you need a place to stay?”

Castiel Being an Angel

Castiel is a vampire. In dire need of strength he attacks the healthiest, most vibrantly alive human he sees. Only to realize he was a hunter: Dean Winchester. Most of this is NOT my work. The original work ends at Dean's question 'Do you need a place to stay?'

                                    Tear You Apart (WiP)

There's a feeling in the air when danger is near, a buzzing. The atmosphere is thicker and the littlest sounds stand out. That's the feeling Dean gets now, walking down a dingy alley late at night, with no weapons. It's the start of a shitty horror movie honestly. Being a hunter, being raised with and by hunters, Dean should know better. He had parked Baby by the shitty bar he'd planned to spend the entire night in. But something had drawn him away. He wasn't always thinking smart, but this choice had no thought in it. Only human instincts and morbid curiosity. Like slowing down while passing by a car crash. That's not to say there were any tells that anything had happened or was even here to begin with.

There were no sounds, no knocked-over trash cans, no movement out of the corner of his eye. It was more of a feeling that called Dean into the space. Kicking a can, Dean scans the area. The space was dully lit by a yellow lamp creating a hued, painted atmosphere. There were multiple turns to take that led through various alleys and doorways that led into abandoned houses no doubt inhabited by people with nowhere else to go. “Hello?” Dean called out. Definitely a horror movie waiting to happen. And Dean's the dumb protagonist everyone wants to yell, ‘Get the hell out of there you idiot!’

There was a crunch behind him and Dean whipped around just in time to block a grab at him. Before Dean could get a proper look at his attacker, he was gripped tightly and thrown against the wall of the alleyway with superhuman strength. “Mother fu-” is all Dean was able to gasp out before swiftly taking a knee to the stomach only to be grabbed again and forcibly lifted back to his height. Now with the new angle, Dean is able to get a somewhat better look at his attacker, a pale man with dark disheveled hair. He appeared to be around Dean's age, wearing a tan trench coat over a white dress shirt enveloped by a loosened tie, and what looked like black dress pants but it was too hard to see in the dark. A hand grabbed the hair on his nape and pulled backwards with alarming strength, exposing his neck. Dean attempts to throw the man -or vampire Dean assumes- off of him, but the man's arm pushed forcibly against him, keeping him pinned. The pull against his hair caused Dean's eyes to water, obscuring his vision. The man is mumbling something; his voice sounds wet and gravelly.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” He mumbles against Dean's neck, which was wet from where the vampire had his lips against it.

“Fucking stop-” Is all Dean is able to huff, his airways constricted, before he feels a blinding pain. The rest of his sentence is turned into a panicked cry.

The body pressed against his smushes itself closer as if he's trying to climb inside of Dean. Hot, thick liquid drips down his neck; blood. Even in that moment Dean couldn't help feeling confused. Usually, vampires are cruel and unapologetic about their feeding off those they attack. With this one however, there's something off. Dean's vision is starting to get spotty; he finds his knees going weak. The arm forcing him into the wall relents and instead wraps around his waist, holding him up less forcibly and more gently. Remorseful even. Dean hears a whimper at his throat, he feels the vibration against his neck, and he realizes the man is shaking. There's a slick sound and the teeth in his neck retract. His lips remain, now kissing at the ravaged spot as if the wound is something to worship.

Dean groans, finding himself disoriented and too weak to shove back. He hears the man mumbling, slightly louder, but his voice is even more destroyed than before. “I'm so sorry.” He whispers-almost groaning, his face squished against Dean's neck. “I'm so sorry.” His words are coming out as inaudible whimpers now, and despite every bone in Dean's body telling him not to, Dean pities the man and the sheer grief in the man's voice. He chooses to ignore the arousal in his gut, and what about this fucked up situation inspires it? The man's grip on Dean's hair is looser now. Dean's head sags against his. Judging by his now crumbling form, Dean feels he can safely assume the vampire doesn't plan on hurting him any further, let alone killing him. If Dean wants to get away, now is the time.

Dean peers down at the vampire on his knees, his head slumped against Dean's pelvis. His shaking is only worse. Without the man's strength to hold him up, Dean slides down the wall against his back. Now they're at the same height, but Dean can't get a good look at his ducked face. For a minute Dean sits there and watches. He can't bring himself to get up and run, he's too weak. If the vampire decides he doesn't want any witnesses, Dean would be fucked. Considering all Dean wants to do right now is run his fingers through the man's hair and ask him ‘what's wrong?’ He must already be fucked. What the hell is wrong with him? Instead, Dean lifts his hands to the man's obscured face and cradles it. The man flinches at the contact. Dean frowns. “Shh, Shh.” He shushes as he lifts his head and moves his hair so he can get a better look at the man. His eyes are vividly blue, wet and pleading. His face is covered in blood, smeared all around the bottom half of his face. They stay like that, looking into each other's eyes for several moments. Dean drags his thumb over the man's bloody lips and he quivers. “Are you okay?” He questions gently. The man jerkily nods, still looking into Dean's eyes. “What's your name?”

The man licks his lips nervously several times before answering. “Castiel.”

“My name's Dean. Do you know what you are, Castiel?” Dean figures he must be freshly turned. He might not even know what's going on or why.

“A vampire.” Scratch that, apparently, he does know. Castiel's awareness only makes the situation that much more odd. Dean tries a smile.

"Well Castiel do you need a place to stay?” The man – for in That moment Dean thought of him as a man – stared at him, uncomprehending. "We both need to get out of here, preferably without being seen. Come on, I'll take you to my place."

Despite being the one with the bleeding gash in his neck, Dean found himself carrying Castiel into his motel room. Castiel fell into the metal dining chair, dazed. Dean let him sit there quietly while he went into the bathroom for the first aid kit. His first instinct of course was not to let his bizarre guest out of his sight for a second longer than he had to. Somehow he got the impression the only thing he was in danger of from Castiel was that the man would run away into the night. So he patched himself up in front of the bathroom mirror, cleaning and wrapping his wound as efficiently and effectively as if it had been his whole profession. He returned to the living room to find Castiel staring at him, his eyes hollow and sad.  "If you're going to kill me, just give me a quick death."

Dean was floored. Not at the request as much as the realization that he wasn't even considering what should have been a common sense course of action. The man's eyes were an icy blue, his voice pleasant and pained. “I know you're a hunter. I know your kind. I won't stop you. But please, just kill me and be done with it.”

When Castiel woke up, he was tied to the chair he'd fallen asleep in. Dean was standing a few feet away from him, holding a silver knife in one hand and what he could only assume was a flask of holy water in the other.

“Here's how it is Castiel. I need information. I need to know my enemy. You tell me what I want to know, you get a quick death like you asked. You screw with me,” he takes a threatening step forward, “or lie to me,” H puts the long edge fo the blade against Castiel's neck, just under his jawline. “and things will get very unpleasant for you. Capiche?”

Castiel nodded faintly. “I capiche.”

“Okay to start with the obvious, were you targeting me?”

“As a hunter?” Dean nods. “No.”

“Then why me?”

“I sensed your strength vibrating off of you. You're powerfully alive.”

Whatever Dean had been expecting to hear, this clearly wasn't it.

“You figured I could survive you feeding off me.”

Castiel could not tell for certain if this was an assertion or a question. Deciding it didn't matter, he shook his head gently. “Take from it what you will.”

“When were you turned?”

“1508.”

It was a good thing Dean was trained by the absolute best hunters or he would have choked on air. “Are you serious?”

Castiel cocked his head to one side, as if surprised. “I wouldn't lie. With your threat against my life or no, I wouldn't lie.” He swallowed hard, the defeated tone in his voice returning. “And anyway, why would I risk it?”

“I'll accept that. What happened last night?” It was clear by the way his head jerked back, that he had surprised himself with the question.

“Blood loss wasn't the only thing making you weak in the knees, was it?”

Dean clutched harder at the handle of the blade. How the hell could this vamp understand him so completely? “How do you know that?”

“Blood is a life-force, the very essence of who you are. For us feeding is an extremely sensual experience, intoxicating even. And the__victim isn't always immune to it.” His calm eyes suddenly became over bright. “I do not know how to beg your forgiveness. But I AM sorry. Please believe that.”

Finally they had gotten to the heart of the matter. One of them anyway. “Is that why you're so eager to die? Because you believe you deserve to be punished?”

“It's not that I'm eager to die.” Castiel answered fiercely. “I am not eager to die. Merely expecting it. And I learned to live without fear of death long ago.”

“Well that I can understand.” Dean remarked. He turned around so Castiel couldn't see him smile. “A man who fears death has already died many times.” “Yes, exactly.”

Finally Dean decided he'd had enough. Facing the vampire again, he held the knife at Castiel's torso, specifically the left side of his ribs. 'No, no you said if I answered your questions!' Castiel's face protested wildly.

...and he cut the ropes.