Author's Note: Second Fic! Whoo! This is somewhat AU-ish, I suppose, and takes place around season 4.

Reading, favoring, alerts, and reviewing are all appreciated! Enjoy the fic lovelies!

Summary: Forgive me Father, for one of your angels has sinned. I love a man that is an abomination to Heaven.

Pairing: Sam and Castiel


Castiel shook Sam Winchester's hand.

That, Castiel supposed, was the first sin he had committed. Though he had no intentions to sin in the first place, (does anyone ever have that intention?) he had done something he could not take back. By taking his hand, the man staring at him in unadulterated awe, Castiel had acknowledged him. Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood flowing freely in his veins. He could hear the angels cry out in Heaven, in disgust and horror at an angel doing such a thing. They cried out for Samuel to be smitted with all of the right as a Heavenly figure that Castiel is.

But he doesn't do that, as he once again should. Instead he takes Sam's large hands with both of his. This, he believes, is his slow descent into an angel's fall.

/*/*/*/

He'd keep a vigilant watch on the brothers, as is his duty assigned to him. He'd watch Dean and Sam as they went upon their business, stopping any seals they could and hunt at the side. Admittedly, their drive to stop the inevitable is quote admirable, if not a bit foolish. Then there were the moments, rare as they come and last, where they had a moment of serenity. Castiel watched, with an underling of curiosity that is unfitting of an angel, as they drank, gambled in bars, joke with each other, and be at ease. Their behaviors, strange, flawed, and so very human...he soaked them all in. But he watched Sam closely, knowing what he is keeping secret from his brother. Castiel can feel it, his grace flaring up inside his vessel, a natural reflex to the startlingly large amount of demon blood inside Sam. He was still consuming it despite his promise to Dean.

If Dean were ever to know...it would increase the guilt he had. He feels that he had somehow failed Sam for having this addiction. Dean in all his gruff bravado, all of the swearing, jokes, and drinking cannot hide the raw vulnerability. The guilt that tied him down, the hurt, and anger. Castiel would know, he knows all about Dean's soul from repairing it, piece by piece. This is happening because of Sam. Sam was-no, is a an odd enigma to Castiel.

While Dean was in Hell (as was Castiel), he had tried to find means to bring him back. In that while, he was alone, mourning over the last of his family. It drove him into the arms of that demon woman, Ruby, and the blood. Sam knows what he is doing, what's being done is wrong. He knows that he's betraying Dean in doing so. But the blood is drawing him, corrupting him, and Castiel could see how the dark crimson blood is corrupting the once pure soul's that was Sam's. And something happens that he's unaware he could do. He worries. It startles him, jerking him back as he stands invisibly by the brothers. He puts a hand on his vessel's chest and processes this. An angel never worries, never has the need to, their resolve is absolute to uphold orders. No worries or doubts to blind their judgment, a perfect soldier.

Castiel looks at Sam, at the moment smiling and drinking a beer with his unsuspecting brother, and...yes,there it is. Something that cuts through him, something foreign. But other then that, he worries for Sam. This has become his second sin.

/*/*/*/

Somewhere in Utah, a seal they couldn't save and they are unhappy about, hiding their rage within. Dean's gone to quell his rage and slowly decending hope of averting the apocalypse with liquor. Sam stays behind, telling Dean that he'll find some more research. He says it with a small smile, endearing and completely innocent of any other ulterior motive. Unfortunately, Dean believes it. As soon as Sam hears the Impala drive off the parking lot, he bounds for his duffle bag under his bed and opens it to pull out a silver flask. He unscrews the cap with an underlying haste, breathing through his nose is getting fast.

Sam happily gulps down the toxic blood from the palm of his hand, relishing on the taste of the blood in privacy. But he wasn't alone. Castiel stood by his side, like all other times when he had that urge to consume the toxin. It cuts through something within him to see Sam willingly drink the blood, needing it like a lifeline. His concern was concerning him too. Since when did he start to care? It was supposed to be this way, Sam's need for demon blood, predestined to kick off apocalypse. So why is Castiel so unsettled by this? As he ponders this, Sam shakes the silver flask over his open palm, panic in his eyes as not a drop of the crimson toxin comes out. He whips out his cellphone and called someone, though Castiel is already aware of whom he's calling.

Sam curses under his breath. "Ruby, I'm out. I need some more. Call me." Quick and precise was Sam's message. His breathing is shorter and his heartbeat is irregularly fast. Sam leans against the headboard on his bed, breathing hard through his nose. He leans his head back with closed eyes and licks his lips as though there will still be a drop more left on his lips. He's panicking and Castiel looks on with something he's seen Dean express, sadness.

Sadness. Emotion. He feels. Because of Sam. Thus it became his third sin.

(To Be Continued...)