Sam was worried the hug would make things awkward again. He and Castiel had always nervously orbited around each other, or around the same center, Castiel as Dean's Angel and Sam as Dean's brother. Dean was always there to stand between, to mediate.
Truthfully, Sam still felt he needed that buffer. So many things had happened in the last few years. Michael and Lucifer had tried to make Dean and Sam their puppets. The angels had constantly tried to use them to further their own ends. Cas himself had broken Sam's hell wall for no greater purpose than to distract the brothers while they sought to stop him from opening purgatory and gaining the power of its souls. Most recently, Dean had tricked Sam into allowing Gadreel to possess him and therefore enabled him to kill with Sam's hands.
With all the baggage from the past, Sam knew he should run the other way, change the wardings on the bunker to expel every angel and lock himself up alone. But Castiel was different. Though the years had passed and Sam had been betrayed by heaven in general and Cas in particular, he was still somehow the abomination, the boy with the demon blood, touching purity for the first time in a single firm handshake and instead of being struck down by God, was bathed in heaven's light.
"Sam?" Castiel moved back from the embrace. "This is not over yet. There will be other ways to find Gadreel. Dean will figure something out."
And, like a bucket of cold water to the face, the moment was over. "Dean 'figuring something out' was what got us into this mess in the first place, Cas. Forgive me if I'm not overly excited to see what he comes up with next."
"Sam, I did not mean..." Cas' voice trailed off uncertainly.
"Of course," Sam sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired and all that effort was wasted. I'll get some sleep and we can come up with a new plan of action in the morning."
"And what should I do?" Cas asked softly.
"I suppose you don't sleep anymore," Sam sighed. "I don't care what you do. Read a book. Watch a movie. Just stay out of the storage rooms. It hasn't all been catalogued and just because the Men of Letters weren't aware of the existence of angels doesn't mean that they didn't have some nasty shit in their arsenal. And try to be quiet. This headache just won't quit."
"Shall I heal it for you?" Cas reached out with two fingers.
Sam dodged them gracefully. "I think I've had enough angel juice today to last me a life time. I just need to sleep it off."
Castiel nodded but looked slightly disappointed. "Of course, I shall see you in the morning. Sleep well, Sam."
A wave of exhaustion flooded over Sam as he closed the door to his bedroom behind him. He barely had the energy to strip down to his boxers before he fell face down into bed and rolled himself snugly into his blankets. He had time for one thought as he drifted off. Gadreel's grace was gone. Finally, he was completely alone in his own head. So why did he feel so empty?
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iThey were strong hands; good hands. They were tough, calluses on the fingertips, veins on the back. They were familiar hands, comfortably able to wield a gun or a knife and to rescue a child, to prop up an injured brother's shoulder or stitch a wound. They were strong hands, good hands. And they were Sam's own./i
iThere was blood, so much blood. It covered the white walls, the spotless floor. It soaked into every crease of his strong, good hands, filling the cracks in his calluses, caked black under his nails, dripping down his long, too long, lifeline./i
iAnd there were eyes, dead eyes, blackened eyes, and smoking, burning from the touch of angel's grace. Kevin lay dead. And there was another, an angel, bleeding, wound matching the sword in his strong, tainted hands. Burnt-black wings stained the whiteness of the room. The screams of a child, a girl, perhaps a daughter, broke the stifling silence./i
iAnd he looked, and he saw, there was a line, stretching into the darkness, and so many familiar faces. Steve Wandell, second smile bleeding red across his paper-white neck, stared accusingly. Meg, empty of the demon, body broken and twisted, tried to speak. Blood bubbled from her lips, stained her teeth, dripped down her chin, stopped her voice./i
iAnd there were so many others, their names unremembered, voices crying out for vengeance, asking him to atone. Those he had killed lay bleeding beside those he had been unable to save/i
iAnd still more, those who should be among the living, accused him with cold, dead eyes. Jody was there, neck at an impossible angle, vampire bite radius marring her neck. And Charlie, worse still, crumpled up, looking even smaller, in a dirty motel bathtub, staining the porcelain, heart long since still, and he wondered how this could ever happen in a world where he loved his brother, where he loved his family, where he loved his sister, and she could die, cold and alone and forgotten./i
iAnd Castiel, his brother's angel, stood at the end of the line, weak and haggard, grace leaking, from his eyes, from his mouth, from his very skin. And Sam cried out, and leapt forward, to hold the grace inside, but he touched the glowing light and his empty soul drew it in. And Castiel collapsed, not enough grace left to spread his wings, painfully human in death. And Sam screamed. And Sam wept. And Sam sobbed. And Dean stood over them both./i
i"You should be grateful," Dean whispered, eyes black as the demon. "I saved your life."/i
Sam woke up screaming and flailing. He nearly punched Castiel in the face before he realized he was there.
"Sam, it is all right. You were having a nightmare," Castiel said calmly, moving his hands to grasp Sam's shoulders. Sam allowed himself a moment of weakness to let the angel's warmth seep into him and ground him in reality.
Soon he pulled away and ran his hand down his face, rubbing away the last of the sleep. "I'm sorry I bothered you," he said softly.
"Do not worry," Castiel reached for Sam's shoulder once more. Sam thought he could detect a faint tremble in his hand before clamping down, steady as a rock once more. "There are many reasons your sleep might be disturbed. Your nightmares are justified."
"Did you see?" Sam asked, looking away from Castiel's concerned blue eyes.
"I would only look if you chose to let me. I will not invade your privacy this way," Cas reassured him.
"Good, that's good. It was just…I'd lost everything…and I couldn't…" Sam trailed off, stood up, and left the room without another word. Castiel watched him go, head tilted, eyes confused and worried.
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Sam collapsed into one of the chairs in the Men of Letters library. He looked at all the angel lore he had managed to collect in his search to find Gadreel and everything just felt so very futile. It needed to happen. Gadreel could not be allowed to continue his misguided mission for Metatron. Metatron himself needed to be locked away in his own little pocket dimension where he had absolutely no access to or control over the affairs of human beings. Abaddon needed to go down. Crowley needed to be kept in his place...the devil you know and all that. Everything seemed far too big. And for all his 6'4" frame, Sam Winchester knew he was far too small to stem the tide, especially when he was so completely alone.
He looked at the research littering the table, sighed, swept it all into the file box he had been using to transport materials, and took the box back into the archives. He didn't feel like himself. He needed to know he was alone in his own mind and for that, he needed to get back to his roots. It was time to go on a simple hunt, maybe a salt and burn, perhaps a werewolf, anything that wasn't an angel or a demon, something that wouldn't break the world if he were to fail.
He pulled out his laptop and began searching online for unusual news stories. That is where Castiel found him four hours later with breakfast.
"I'm not hungry, Cas," Sam yawned as he stretched.
"Your brother has informed me that you are never hungry but humans should always eat," Cas said solemnly.
Sam grimaced at the mention of his brother, still not ready to touch that can of worms. But he could see the worried look begin to steal across the angel's face again and he could feel himself beginning to give in.
"Fine," he grumbled, reaching for the chipped plate piled with burnt toast, slightly less than crisp bacon, and leathery scrambled eggs. He took a bite. "Thanks, it's good," he said as he felt a piece of eggshell crunch between his teeth.
Castiel nodded, satisfied. "I knew I could take care of you."
"Cas, you don't need to take care of me," Sam looked up earnestly. "I can take care of myself."
"I just can't help but feel responsible for the things you are going through. It was I who told your brother that Ezekiel could be trusted and that led to his decision to trick you into consenting to be a vessel to Gadreel. And even before that, if I had not been so arrogant to assume that I could fix heaven and gotten my grace taken from me, the angels would not have fallen, Gadreel would still be locked in heaven's prison, and I would have been able to heal you after the trials." Cas deliberately did not look at Sam.
"You can't blame yourself for that. You didn't know that Ezekiel was actually Gadreel and we both know that Metatron would have found another to do his bidding. You didn't counsel Dean to trick me into giving up my bodily autonomy. You weren't there when it happened to be the voice of reason. Dean chose to rob me of my free will. You can't blame yourself for that," Sam said earnestly.
"Nevertheless, I fear my sins will never be washed clean," Cas nearly whispered before he walked out of the room, leaving Sam to his thoughts.
Sam watched him go but then quickly turned back to his laptop. He needed a case soon before he went crazy.
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By the time Cas came back with supper, a slightly stale ham sandwich, Sam had a direction to go. He looked up at Cas where he stood by the library table and asked him softly. "Would you be willing to come on a hunt with me? I know it will be strange without...and I know you should probably go back to heaven eventually, but I really could use some back up on this."
"Of course, Sam. Heaven can wait a little longer," Cas replied.
Sam let go of the breath he had been holding, uncertain as to why he had been so nervous. He had hunted alone before; he definitely could take care of himself. But maybe this way he could pretend a little longer that he was worthy. It was not so much that he wanted back up as he wanted someone to back up. Then he could prove that his repeated possessions did not make him weak and that he didn't need a passenger, dark or light, running the show and giving him strength. He had to believe that he alone could watch the Angel 's back and maybe...Maybe Dean would see that he could trust Sam's judgement.
"What is the hunt?" Cas interrupted Sam's musing.
"I thought I wouldn't go too complicated for this hunt because we haven't worked together before…without…well you know, without Dean," Sam paused awkwardly before outlining the hunt. "It's a ghost hunt, a salt and burn, in Thornville, Ohio, so we've got a good thirteen or fourteen hour drive ahead of us," Sam looked up at Cas.
"I regret that I am no longer able to fly. It would make travelling far less tedious," Cas said.
"No worries, Cas. I'm used to going the long way. And I think I need this trip to be a real trip. You know, hours behind the wheel, bad diner food, crappy motel rooms. It's my life."
"Of course, Sam, I feel privileged to experience this with you."
Sam laughed awkwardly, unsure how to answer. "Right, well I'm pretty sure it's a ghost hunt, as I said. There are missing person cases going back 50 years, one a year, like clockwork. They've gone missing from all over Thornville but the bodies always reappear two weeks later on the front lawn of the same house, tortured to death. I'm honestly not certain why no hunters have taken care of it already. It's possible they wrote it off as a human serial killer but the pattern hasn't changed and that's a long time for a human to kill in the same place without slipping up or escalating. Plus, even if the killer started in their teens, they would be pushing 70 by now. I figured it's worth a look."
"Whose house do the bodies show up at?"
"This is another reason I'm not thinking serial killer. The first victim was a woman named Melissa George. She was 17 years old, tall, and had long brown hair. She showed up on her own front lawn and every subsequent victim has shown up in the exact same spot and same position. They show similar injuries, mostly lacerations and burns as if they had been tortured, and each victim is missing a 3 inch square piece of scalp. Many human serial killers start out by using their victims as a surrogate for the actual victim they wanted to kill but this killer seemed to get their intended victim first," Sam spoke quickly as he looked up at Castiel.
"I believe you are correct. And regardless of whether or not this is a human killer, this is far too high a body count. If a human is behind it, we can at least alert the proper authorities," Cas nodded.
Sam grinned, relieved. "Awesome. I think I'm going to do a little bit of reading then get an early night. I want to get on the road as soon as I can tomorrow so we don't have to get a hotel on the way. And you?..."
"I'll find something to occupy myself," Castiel said. "Sleep well, Sam."
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They set out early the next morning. Sam breathes in the cool morning air and it's almost like he can feel his soul stretching out inside him, once again reaching to fill all the nooks and crannies that had been inhabited by Gadreel. It felt good to be hunting again. He could never regain what he had lost, hunting with his brother at his side, trusting him to do the right thing. But this was pretty damn good. Sam drove, of course. It was weird being behind the wheel, even if it wasn't the Impala but a random car from their garage, and Sam was on the verge of asking Castiel if he wanted to take over when he realized that he really loved this feeling. His hands were firm on the wheel. He was in the driver's seat and he had complete control of speed and direction, as well as the radio dial. This was a beast strong enough to knock down a fence or even kill someone and yet it submitted to him with just the smallest amount of exertion. He could control this car the way he had never been able to control his own destiny and suddenly Sam realized just why Dean was always in the driver's seat. He laughed loudly and turned the radio to a country station. It wasn't what he normally listened to, but it's the very last thing Dean would want to hear.
"What are you laughing at?" Cas asked, head tilted inquisitively.
Sam grinned, "nothing really. I just needed to get out of that bunker and back on the road."
"I do understand, Sam. I am an angel. I take a breath and flap my wings and I am across the universe. Heaven is vast. I used to fly slowly, gazing down at the souls below, finding their happiness in the memories they treasure most. Of all the things I miss from the way things were before, I miss my wings the most."
"Ah, I wondered if maybe you got them back when you restored your grace. I know you didn't fall the same way the other angels did."
"I was very lucky. I was not injured because of the fall. But this is not my grace. This angel's wings were burnt beyond recognition when he fell through the atmosphere. I cannot use them to fly. And I have never heard of cases such as this. I don't know if I could control another angel's wings. Even if I could, with heaven cut off like this, I do not think I would be able to fly even with perfect wings."
"I'm sorry, Cas, I had no idea they were so connected to heaven."
"Do not feel sorry, Sam Winchester, you already know far more about angels than any other man. Angels are not born; they are not bred like you were. The grace is part of our father's soul. It grows…it grew within him until he could not contain it. Once he reaches this point, he pulls a piece of grace directly from his soul and forms an angel. Each angel is created specifically for a piece of this grace. It is not that the grace fills the angel but that the angel molds to the grace. And the two were never meant to be separated. I feel the loss of mine every moment. This one does not fit. I can feel the shape of the other angel constantly inside me and his grace, fighting with all its might to leave me and return to the home created for it. The closest feeling I can liken it to is when I was human and I damaged my shoes and had to steal a pair. With every step I took, I could feel the shape of the other man's foot and I knew that it was not made for me. Only I am the shoe and the grace, if it burst through me, could destroy the northern hemisphere."
Awkward silence stretched between them. A male voice twanged away on the radio, wailing away about a dead dog and a faithless girlfriend. Sam remembered why he didn't really like country. He switched to classic rock and both he and Castiel visibly relaxed.
"I apologize, Sam. I'm not good at 'small talk.'" Cas finally spoke.
With that, the tension was broken. Sam had always found Castiel's air quotes hysterical.
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It was late when they rolled into Thornville. Sam drove them directly to a small motel on the edge of town. He very deliberately got a room with one bed. No bed felt less like a missing limb than an empty bed. Sam was exhausted by the time they got into the room. The last time he had cause to drive for this long had probably been when Dean was in purgatory. He pulled off his shoes and jeans and flopped into the bed, his eyes closing almost involuntarily.
He was surprised when he did not immediately drop off to sleep. Something felt off. He groggily opened his eyes to see Castiel standing against the wall, watching him with his thousand yard stare.
"Dude, can't you read a book or something. It weirds me out when you just stand there."
"I do not mind watching over you, Sam."
"I know. It just feels uncomfortable and I'm not going to be able to sleep as long as you're standing there watching me."
"Sometimes it takes a lot of concentration to keep the grace inside, particularly when I am tired or focused on something else. I would read a book or do some more research for the case but I fear I would lose control."
"Fine," Sam shimmied over to the left side of the bed. "Crawl in."
"I do not need to sleep, Sam."
"I know, but at least if you lie down and close your eyes, you won't be disturbing me and you can do whatever it is you need to do to rest, meditate or whatever."
"Very well," Castiel took off his shoes and slipped into the bed, pulling the sheets up over his chest and lay there, hands folded and eyes closed.
"You look like a damn corpse but I guess that's better than the bogey man." Sam turned over and pressed his face into his pillow. He dropped off to sleep almost immediately.
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He was very warm and comfortable. He didn't remember dreaming of anything but light and peace. He yawned and opened his eyes to see Castiel looking fondly down at him. It was at this moment that he realized he had shifted during sleep and his head was now pillowed on Castiel's chest, a thin puddle of drool dampening his shirt. His legs were tangled up with the angel's and his erection pressed pleasantly into Castiel's hip. For a moment, he was tempted to close his eyes and enjoy the warmth. It had been a long time since he had last wanted to return to sleep. But embarrassment quickly overtook comfort and he stammered out a few words, his face bright red, before awkwardly crawling out of bed, hunching over and dashing into the shower.
He really could use a cold shower but it was too jarring with the memory of warmth still infusing his sleep-heavy limbs. It would wake him right up and quell his traitorous dick but it would also put him in a bad mood for the entire day and he couldn't afford to alienate potential witnesses. There was nothing for it but to clean the pipes. He could be quick, efficient.
He groaned with the first touch of hand to cock but was soon presented with another problem. He closed his eyes and all he could see were bright blue eyes and a tan trench coat that hid surprisingly solid and well-shaped muscles. He tried desperately to think of something else but that was so much worse. He could remember Madison's athletic flexibility and her beautiful brown eyes but that was soon overwhelmed by the picture of those eyes clouding over in death and knowing they would have to run long before that beautiful body was set in rigor mortis. Cara had been a stranger and their coupling had been more about need than desire. Amelia was tainted by grief and Dean's disapproval, a reminder of yet another moment that Sam had been broken. Ruby was the taste and scent of blood and Sulphur and shame. He remembered all the women he had fucked while his soul had been long gone but that too was bitter. He could not remember their softness and sweetness without remembering that everything that made him Sam had been torn from him against his will. And of course, Jess still lived in his memory, sweet, wholesome Jess. She, and everything she represented, home, family, and future, torn from him. Strange how she had been gone for nine years and so much stood between them, he had literally been to hell and back, but her loss could still take him to his knees.
He couldn't afford to fall apart. He had to get back out there to Cas, to the hunt and so he pushed them out of his mind and let his mind wander where it would, even as it wandered back to messy black hair and crooked ties. It took embarrassingly few strokes to take himself to the edge of orgasm. He bit his lip hard to keep from shouting the angel's name when he came. Quickly he washed his hair and made sure he rinsed the splatter from the wall.
It was hard to keep from blushing as he realized he had been in such a hurry to get to the bathroom that he had forgotten to bring in a change of clothes. Face burning red, he wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door to let the cloud of steam to escape, only to sigh with relief when he realized Cas had left the room.
A note lay on Sam's pillow. iI have gone to retrieve your breakfast. I shall be back shortly./i Sam dressed quickly in case Castiel hurried but by the time he returned with coffee and a blueberry bagel, Sam felt he was ready to look at the angel without cringing.
Sam ate quickly, feeling a little awkward as the angel sat at the table and watched him eat. He was glad he had the forethought to put his suit on right away so he wouldn't immediately have to change clothes again in front of the angel.
"I'm going to head out and interview the families of the victims. Do you want to come with me or would you rather stay here and research and wait for me to call you?" Sam cleared his throat and stood, brushing a few errant crumbs off his suit jacket.
"I will come with you. I know I have not had the best luck with the interview process in the past but I would really like to join you and learn from you. I think perhaps I am now better prepared to listen and learn," Cas replied earnestly.
Sam schooled his face to keep from smiling fondly at the angel. "Yeah sure, I'm ready whenever you are."
"No need to wait, Sam. I am ready now,"
"Alright, um, if I could just…" Sam stepped toward the angel and straightened his crooked tie and evened out the collar of his trench coat. Castiel looked surprised and Sam stood there awkwardly for one beat, maybe two, before he stepped back and chuckled. "Now you're ready."
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Sam was never sure which he hated more, interviewing the families of the new victims when their grief was still raw and present, or the families of the old who had begun to heal and move on, only for him to come along and rip open the wound. The healing process was such a long and difficult road. He knew this from experience. If he was offering them something real, maybe it would be better but no, he could never tell them the truth, never really give them the closure he promised, not without opening their eyes to a world they really shouldn't discover.
Castiel gave him the lead, as promised. They spoke to ten of the families before they realized the victims had disappeared clustered roughly around three different areas. Sam was all too happy to suggest that they take a break from talking to people and go and investigate these areas, the local park, the town hall, and the local skating rink.
"I think we should split up. You check out the skating rink because it's in walking distance and I'll take the car and head to the park. Then we can meet up at the town hall after," Sam said.
Cas nodded and headed off without a word.
Sam turned and hurried to the car. The park was not a long drive and soon he was wandering around, EMF meter turned on in his pocket. He wasn't really sure what he was looking for and EMF never spiked above a low hum. A notification from his phone startled him and he pulled it out to see a photo of the exterior of the skating rink and a message iI didn't find anything. Will this help you?/i
Sam studied the picture. It was a little out of focus and Sam swore that was the edge of Castiel's finger in the lower left corner. He was about to ask for a clearer shot of the building when something caught his eye. There was an old rusted manhole cover in the road. Most of the ones he had seen all day had been much newer and a different style, except for the one in the road at the park entrance. He jogged back over to it, wishing he had gone back to the Motel to change back into his regular flannel before checking out the area. He pulled out his EMF meter when he got close and it did spike. It wasn't enough to register as significant earlier but it sure as hell could be supernatural residue.
He pulled out his phone again to call Cas. "Hey yeah, Cas? I'll come and get you. We need to check out the third site and see if there is also one of those old style manhole covers there. I think the spirit might be tied to the sewers. I want to see if this town has sections of the system that are disused. It might be where he's keeping his victims. We can swing by the motel so I can change into something a little more suitable for sewer spelunking."
Suddenly, Sam's EMF meter went crazy, squealing while the needle went off the charts. He turned, wishing he had thought to grab a shotgun from the trunk, but it was too late, a cold wind rushed through him, knocking him to the ground and propelling him toward the suddenly open manhole cover. Sam let go of his phone and clawed at the ground with both hands, trying to dig into the sod and gain some leverage to fight the spirit. He heard an angry screech and there was a vicious yank to his ankle that dislodged his precarious hold and pulled him underground. He hit his head on the edge of the manhole and Sam couldn't see anything except the bright stars exploding before his eyes. Another violent blow to the head on the way down into the sewer and Sam wasn't fighting anymore.
The manhole cover rocked a little before sliding back into place. All that was left was torn up clumps of grass and Sam's phone, light still on, and Cas' worried voice from the other end.
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Something was dripping on Sam's forehead. Drop after drop snaked between his eyes and down his nose to hang, brackish and foul, on his lips. His first instinct was to wipe the drops away but his hands didn't want to obey him. He tried to shake the drops off and regretted it immediately as an explosion of pain took over his head. He groaned and opened his eyes to see nothing but darkness. His hands were tied behind his back around what felt like a support beam.
"What the hell?" He groaned. "Cas? Can you hear me?" He called out into the darkness.
"No one can hear you. No one ever hears you," a voice slithered out of the black.
"Who's there?" Sam shouted. "Let me go!"
"I suppose you think you're special. Is that it? You're too smart, too beautiful, to even look at me. Well I have news for you, you ain't shit. I'm the only one who can have you now," a hand came out of nowhere and ran its fingers through Sam's hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cut you. I got blood in your hair, your beautiful hair."
Sam tried to jerk away but his head soon reminded him that was a bad idea. The hand kept stroking. It traced his eyebrows, his nose. A thumb swiped gently over his lower lip. Sam tried to bite it but his teeth just went through and jarred his head painfully once more.
The ghost chuckled and tucked the hair on Sam's face behind his ear. Sam struggled with the ropes but they were tied solid. He might as well have been in chains. Still the hands came out of the darkness and gently touched him. One hand returned to his hair, trying to smooth the blood soaked tangles. The other traced down Sam's neck, over his adam's apple and along the defined length of his collarbone. And there was nothing Sam could do but struggle against the ropes and pray that Castiel would hurry.
"I can't believe you're still fighting this. We are meant to be together. You can't fight destiny. Everything in our lives has led to this moment. We were always meant to end up here."
Sam yelled into the darkness as he remembered. Lucifer, the cage, the damage removed but still remembered.
The ghost backhanded Sam violently, cutting off Sam's screams. "Shut up, Melissa! I don't like it when you scream."
"Not…Melissa," Sam choked out, spitting blood from a split lip.
The ghost laughed. "Nice try. I would know the feel of that hair anywhere. Why are you resisting me?"
"Let me go," Sam shouted. He was trying hard to remain rational and come up with a plan for escape but it was dark and the cold was really doing his head in.
"It's stupid really, that you just won't let this happen. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I will never love anyone as much as I love you."
"It's not my…problem…that you're some nerd who can't get…a girl to look at you," Sam wheezed.
"Nerd? Me?" The ghost shouted and body slammed Sam into the pillar. Sam felt his ribs creak and hoped that the loud crack he heard was in his imagination. He was trying hard not to hyperventilate but he could only take short little breaths before it felt like his ribs were trying to murder his lungs.
"I'm the quarterback, the captain of the football team. I'm the most popular guy in school. We're the best. We're the most beautiful. We belong together!" The ghost turned gentle again before leaning down to capture Sam's mouth in a kiss.
Never had Sam wished more that he could bite a ghost as a freezing cold tongue plunged into his mouth and slid against his own.
He sobbed for air as the ghost finally pulled back. "And you think…that because you're …popular…that you can just…have whoever you want?" Sam growled out.
"That's how the world works. The beautiful people get what they want and everyone else has to fight. The system works. Why do you want to change it?"
"You're the worst kind…of scum," Sam gasped.
"Yeah, well that's what you think. And I don't want you to think. I'm sorry that I have to do this but there is really no other way to get through to you." Sam felt the flesh of his bicep part under the blade of a knife and blood began to drip slowly down his arm.
Sam grunted but managed to keep in the yell of pain. The ghost reached out again, this time to cut Sam's chest. The ghost laughed and kept cutting. The cuts varied, some long and shallow, others short but deep. And Sam could never be quite sure when they were coming. Sometimes there was no break between slices and other times the ghost would wait, completely silent, for Sam to relax and think it was over, and then would strike from the shadows. There was never any warning, the darkness still as impenetrable as the moment Sam first opened his eyes.
"Will you do it? Will you love me?" The ghost finally spoke again.
And Sam, nearly out of his mind with pain and panic, gave the one answer he had clung to for centuries. "No."
Fire began at Sam's hairline and blood poured in a sheet down his face. The ghost carved a square into Sam's scalp, gripped a handful of hair and pulled hard. Sam started screaming again. The ghost slipped the edge of the knife into the cut by his hairline and began to saw, cutting the section of his scalp away. Something in Sam's throat broke as he screamed and suddenly he was gurgling, choking on blood.
And light flooded the tunnel. Sam slammed his eyes shut and turned away but he had to watch the end of this. Castiel stood there shining like the sun at noon. Sam wept for the beauty of it, light and hope and rescue in a rumpled trench coat.
The light illuminated a wall marinated in blood and rusty knives. In the corner, a pile of bones lay crumpled, a rotted rope hanging from a support beam above it told the story. The ghost screamed as it dissipated in the light. Castiel turned toward Sam.
"The bones," Sam rasped. "Burn the bones."
Cas turned and looked at them and flames blazed high. Sam slumped against the ropes. Castiel picked up a clump of blood and hair from the ground and Sam's stomach clenched as he realized what exactly it was. The angel reached out toward his forehead and Sam flinched back almost unconsciously.
"It is alright, Sam. It is over. I will free you and heal you," Castiel said gently.
And Sam wept. "I can't. Please, don't heal me. I'm saying enough. No more. No more healings. No more angelic control. I can't."
Castiel's voice became softer and the light that surrounded him became gentler. "Of course, Sam. I will do whatever you require of me. But please allow me to loosen your bonds. And I am afraid we will have to go to a hospital. I am not skilled enough to reattach your scalp to your head."
"Just the hair," Sam growled through his painful throat. He still froze as he felt the tiny bit of grace that Cas sent into his hair to heal his scalp. Another touch at Sam's wrists and his bonds fell away. Soon Sam was standing and leaning heavily on the angel. They walked to the entrance and left the scene of carnage behind them.
hr
Castiel was not skilled with a needle. His stitches were large and sloppy and he didn't have Dean's ability to make him relax and forget about the pain. But soon he was clumsily bandaged and pumped full of painkillers and the ordeal finally felt like it was over.
"Sam, you should sleep," Castiel spoke finally.
Sam looked at the bed and his body was crying out to relax and drift off, but the horrors of the evening were poking and prodding at the edges of his memory, just waiting for his defenses to lower in sleep. "I don't think I can. It's too much now. I know Lucifer was nowhere near but what that ghost did to me…I just…I remember. I'm not crazy anymore. You took that. But I still remember. And when I'm asleep I can't…I just can't."
"You must sleep. If you will allow me, I will lie in the bed with you again. Perhaps my presence can remind you that you are here and safe," Cas came closer.
Sam finds himself nodding in relief before blushing as he remembers that mornings awkward moment. What if Castiel figured it out. What if he looked into his mind and saw exactly what he had imagined to get himself off that morning? What if the angel left him and went back to Dean. He deserved someone who wasn't going to have perverted fantasies about him, someone who wasn't so damaged by life that they could no longer sleep alone.
All this and more ran through Sam's head before he pulled himself stiffly to his feet and hobbled into the bathroom as quickly as he could. He looked into the mirror at his red face and wondered if he could ever go back out into the room, if he could ever face the angel again. He stood there for a long time in indecision before a wave of dizziness threatened to bring him down. Sam sighed and knew he could not afford to avoid sleep. Maybe it was a one-time thing. He turned the water as hot as it would go and scrubbed his face clean of any remaining traces of blood and walked back out into the motel room.
Castiel stood there by the bed. He had removed his trench coat. It lay folded over one of the room's three chairs. His tie lay on top of it. His formal dress shoes were laid neatly by the door and Sam almost laughed hysterically when he saw the tip of Castiel's big toe poking through his threadbare sock.
"Sam," Castiel spoke slowly and deliberately. "I know what you have been thinking about."
"What?" Sam croaked, his throat completely dry.
"I know. I know what you felt this morning. I know you thought about me in the shower. I know everything," Cas said softly.
"You looked?" Sam asked.
"I couldn't help it. It was so strong. I was listening before I could stop myself."
Sam was sick of crying but he felt the prickle of tears barely held back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't leave. Not yet."
Cas smiled gently. "I'm not going to leave you, Sam Winchester. If I were going to run away, I would have done so already."
Sam almost collapsed in relief. "Thank you. I promise I will control myself. You have nothing to worry about."
"I don't think you realize what exactly you mean to me," Cas spoke barely above a whisper. "When I met you, Dean was the righteous man and you were the abomination, the boy with the demon blood. I was there to care for Dean but you fascinated me. Everything in your life had conspired against you to turn you to the darkness but you never gave in. Sometimes you may have tarnished your soul but you have never blackened it. And it always returned to shine brighter than any other soul I have seen. You resisted Lucifer for so long and when you did give in, you managed to wrest control back from him. I know of no other man who could have your strength. You spent centuries in the cage with Lucifer and when you returned, your soul was broken but beautiful. When I succumbed to the Leviathan within, you were the only person who thought I could be reached. When I broke the wall in your head, you forgave me. You believed I could be redeemed at my darkest even when I had not extended the same courtesy. You are the man who saved the world. And you love me. I could do nothing less than love you too."
"You mean," Sam whispered. "It's ok?"
"More than 'ok.'" Castiel smiled. "I want you too."
It started slowly, with just the barest pressure of lips on lips. hands to palm of hands. Sam has always taken charge. He sweeps his lover up in a spiral of sensation, taking them up into dizzying heights of pleasure. He bites, he dominates, he leads. And this is the difference that he immediately feels. It isn't that Castiel is a man with hard muscle where his memories expect softness. It isn't that he doesn't need to bend quite as far to press his lips to eyes, nose, and throat. For the first time, Sam can feel the tide and he will let himself be the driftwood pulled out into the ocean instead of the train, speeding to its destination.
Castiel is the first to move closer, to press his clothed chest to Sam's bandaged one. Sam shivers. It hurts but it's the only thing grounding him. He lets Castiel continue. Their kisses deepen until Sam is gasping for air. Castiel works his way down to Sam's neck and chin but Sam can tell that is where his knowledge fails him because he becomes almost tentative. Sam takes pity on him and unbuttons his shirt. Castiel eagerly begins shedding the rest of his clothes somehow without detaching his mouth from Sam's skin.
Castiel bites down hard where Sam's neck meets shoulder and everything blurs until he feels his back touch down gently on the bed. His knees must have given out but Cas had caught him to protect his ribs.
Castiel slid gently down the bed, careful not to press down on any of Sam's wounds. He slipped Sam's boxers down around his ankles and stayed there, crouched at Sam's feet, staring at his erection.
"Cas, you don't have to…" Sam gasps but Castiel is already moving. He had to fight to keep from coming as the angel gently kissed the tip of his cock. It was only by the greatest effort that he managed not to buck his hips, chasing the warmth of the angel's mouth.
Castiel's moth opened and swallowed Sam down.
"Cas…please…" Sam cried out. "Not yet. Let me come inside you."
Cas looked up, startled. "I'm not sure…I've never…"
"Or come with you inside me. I'm not picky," Sam whined as the angel's hand slowly jerked him off. "But soon! I'm not going to last."
Cas tilted his head as he looked at Sam. "I want to do this. I want you to make love to me."
"Yes, Cas, yes," Sam moaned as he stuck two of his fingers in Cas' mouth then reached for the angel.
"What are you doing?" Cas asked.
"Need to open you up…get you ready for me."
"It's not necessary. I'm an angel. I can loosen my muscles for you if you wish. I can even lubricate the channel if you desire."
"Yes, Cas, less talking, more of doing whatever you're talking about."
Cas hovered over Sam's cock and slowly began to lower himself down. The moment the heat sucked in the head of Sam's cock, he couldn't help but buck up, thrusting hard until he was fully seated inside Castiel.
Cas' careful control faltered for a moment and he leaned just a little too hard into Sam's chest. Sam cried out. Cas immediately pulled back.
"This will be better if I can heal you," he said, reaching for Sam's forehead with two fingers.
"No," Sam grasped Cas' hand and pulled it to his heart. "I need to feel it. I need to know there is no one in here but me.
Cas nodded before beginning to ride Sam in earnest, making sure that he was doing all the work.
They reached the peak at the same moment and two things happened. Sam's soul finally snapped back into place, erasing the last traces of Gadreel from his being, and stretched farther, finding Castiel's grace and urging it to do the same. And Castiel's grace responded, wings bursting, glorious and full, to cover them. His grace finally shifting to mold to the angel it now accepted as owner, and flowing beyond to find all the cracks in Sam's soul, repairing the damage from Lucifer's reign, the pain from the trials, the hurt from Dean's betrayal, and even further, to the demon blood addiction and the taint from childhood. All erased; all whole. Sam gaped up at the angel as he softened and slipped out of Castiel's hole. For the very first time in his life, he knew what it was to feel complete.