Black Night Still There Shining
One-shot
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters or plots. I mean no infringement, this is for personal benefit only.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Word count: 791
Rating: PG
Summary: Sam used to pray every day, now he can't remember the last time he did. He wishes things were different. That he'd never heard of demons and angels. What good is faith when you don't have to believe without seeing?
Prompt: "Friends" by Led Zepplin
Beta: welfycat
Author's Notes:
- Shifted the timeline of Season 6 a little, doesn't affect anything but the weather and the date.
On the sixth anniversary of Jess's death, Dean brings back tacos for dinner. On the best of days, Sam doesn't want tacos, and he particularly doesn't want them tonight. He's sure Dean remembers the date, if only because it's when their mother died, too. But Sam hardly knew her. He knew Jess.
Dean gives him a sideways look when he grabs his jacket and stands up, but he doesn't say anything, just watches Sam go. Before, before the soul and before Death, Dean would have asked him where he's going. Now, though, there's a tilt of his head towards the keys to the Impala, if Sam wants to take a drive. Sam glances at them, but the Impala's never been the haven for him that it's been for Dean. He leaves the keys on the table.
It's cold outside in Somewhere, New Jersey. There are clumps of snow here and there, dirty with exhaust and whatever else people throw out of their cars. It's not a lot of snow, but it's enough that Sam zips his jacket up a little to stave off the cold.
He's a couple miles from the motel when he stops walking. It's dark, the town's lights ended about half a mile back, and Sam can't see his breath anymore, but he's almost sure it's still there. These days he's not really all that sure about anything, least of all if he's still breathing or if he's finally kicked the bucket. There seems to be any number of forces keeping him alive. Most days he's not sure why.
He looks up and sees stars. He can make out Ursa Major and Cassiopeia and Camelopardalis. If he squints he can see Ursa Minor, too. There are tiny grey clouds below them, moving against a celestial background.
Sam used to pray every day, now he can't remember the last time he did. He wishes things were different. That he'd never heard of demons and angels. What good is faith when you don't have to believe without seeing?
The words are familiar, though, when he opens his mouth. They stumble out without thought and he can't stop himself even if he wants to. It's a small prayer for Jessica, and for his mother. A small hope that maybe they're in a better place, that maybe they ended up with a Roadhouse of their own.
He's not sure who he's talking to anymore. Maybe a God that has long abandoned his children, maybe Michael, maybe Castiel. Maybe himself.
Sam finishes with a small laugh. If it's tinged with irony, then that's what it is.
"Sam."
Sam doesn't turn around. He knows Castiel's voice as well as he knows Dean's. "Hey, Cas."
He hears Castiel's trench coat rustle as he walks to stand next to Sam. Then, as one, they start walking again, still moving away from the motel where he left Dean and the tacos.
Castiel's hand slips into Sam's, and it's warm, as though it isn't cold at all. Sam threads their fingers together and resolutely doesn't think of how he used to do the same thing with Jess.
Castiel is different from Jess in a hundred million different ways. Sam can only name one thing they have in common: they both love him, or loved him, in Jess's case.
Sometimes he'll wake up and smell coffee and remember when Jess used to bring it to him in bed. If the motel room's dark enough when he stumbles in, he can sometimes pretend it's home and not another in-between, and when he wakes up, Jess will be there. He was with her for three years, but it's already been twice that and he still expects to turn around and see her.
It's easy to not expect Castiel.
"I grieve with thee," Castiel says gravely. His tone is as serious as ever, but there's an undercurrent of-Sam thinks it might be honesty.
Sam slows to a halt again and Castiel stops with him. He turns to face the angel and Castiel meets his eyes. He raises a hand and uses his thumb to wipe away the few tears that Sam has shed.
Castiel tilts his head and offers Sam a smile. It's sad and heartbreaking, and it really is full of grief, but it's a smile nonetheless, and Castiel doesn't seem to have many of those in supply; the ones he does have are reserved for Sam only.
"Stay tonight," Sam says. "I'll make you coffee in the morning… bring it to you in bed."
"Of course," Castiel answers. "Decaf, though."
"Of course," Sam echoes, a small smile plays on his lips. He squeezes Castiel's hand and together they turn around, beginning their trek back to the motel and back to Dean.