AN: I'm on such a Sastiel trip, it's all I want to write! Must be hanging out with the right people, I guess.
Anyway. What if Cas was allowed to stay in the bunker? Well, then, I'd really like this scene to go down. Angst with a helping of fluff at the end. Enjoy!
Sitting forward on the couch, Sam stared out at the array of papers scattered over the coffee table and rubbed his temples. This room was supposed to be for relaxing.
Well, actually, it hadn't had a couch in it at first, but they figured they needed a relaxation zone more than they needed yet another boardroom-style chamber with a big table and loads of high-backed chairs, like the set of some illuminati-themed B-movie. So, they'd got a couch. And a TV.
But unfortunately, the war-room table was completely overrun by news articles from local papers all over the country that could potentially be about the fallen angels, and the library table was packed with Kevin's tablet-based notes and scribblings, his laptop perched precariously on top of one pile. There was no way Sam was going to touch any of that stuff. It just wasn't worth making Kevin upset over. And, besides – Dean was on Kevin-helping duty tonight (God help Kevin).
He frowned down at the script from the angel tablet he'd been examining – just in case it had any information about how to shove the angels back where they came from – but Kevin hadn't translated all of it yet, and it was a case of slim pickings in terms of actual useful intel.
And he was getting a headache.
He sat back, actually using the back of the couch to rest against, rather than leaning forward and craning over the paper-strewn table. He picked up his coffee cup, and took a sip – before remembering a few seconds too late that he'd let it get cold accidentally, due to being distracted by research. He grimaced, and huffed in annoyance. He needed more coffee.
"Where does it hurt?"
He jumped, almost sloshing the cold coffee all over him. He looked over at the doorway, slightly embarrassed that Cas had seen him jump.
"Uh – Castiel," He acknowledged, flashing his friend a small smile. Cas smiled back sadly, before striding over, and sitting himself down on the couch next to the younger Winchester, who was unperturbed by how close the former-angel sat. It was just what he did.
"So?" Cas pressed, referring to his earlier question. Sam shook his head.
"It's nothing. Just been concentrating too long," He excused.
"Your head?" Cas asked, suddenly pressing two fingers against Sam's temple. Though used to this behaviour by now, Sam was taken aback for another reason: Cas couldn't heal him anymore. Why would he perform that gesture?
"I'm sorry Sam. I would help you, if I could," He explained. Though still slightly surprised, Sam smiled back at Cas, who removed his fingers from Sam's temple, his fingers brushing down Sam's stubbly face on their way back down.
Sam swallowed the emotions that simple statement forced him to feel, and turned back to his research, his mouth suddenly dry.
"You don't have to apologise, Cas," He replied, not looking his friend in the eye.
"Yes, I do. It is my fault, after all," Cas admitted passively, staring at the dormant TV pensively.
Sam shook his head, looking back at Cas with a frown:
"No, it's not . . . You're not exactly the first guy in history to get played, you know," Sam told him with a sheepish smile that failed to fully hide the depth of his statement. Cas picked up on his meaning, though.
"If you're referring to yourself, then I can only say that at the time, you thought you were doing the right thing,"
"And you didn't?" Sam asked earnestly, looking into Cas' eyes, which snapped back to Sam finally.
Cas' mouth snapped shut as he returned the younger Winchester's gaze. Their eye contact lingered for a few moments, before Cas looked down.
"You need to forgive yourself, and move on. Or we'll never get out of this mess," Sam told him quietly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Believe me. I've been there. So, please – move on,"
Cas sighed, and put his hands between his knees for warmth. He stared down at them as he confessed:
"It's so hard, when it's so obvious all the time – it's there, with every beat of my heart. When I feel cold, or hot, or hungry, or when I need to urinate," Sam rolled his eyes, but kept his comforting hand on Cas' shoulder. "Or when I feel . . ." He blushed slightly, pausing for a moment, before continuing: "It's there, reminding me that I'm human, and it's my own fault. You may not understand that – you've always been human. You don't know what it's like to go from being filled with Grace to feeling empty and alone,"
"But you're not alone, Cas," Sam replied instantly, even before he knew what he was saying. Castiel looked up at him, and was astounded by the emotion in his eyes.
"You're . . . You're not alone, okay? Not anymore. Try and remember that," He reaffirmed, squeezing the shoulder before letting it go.
Cas gaze him a small smile in return, and whispered, "Thank you, Sam. I shall try,"
There was a long pause, where they just sat in silence in each other's company: Sam wrote a few more notes, and Cas watched him; his eyelids were drooping, and from the corner of his eye, Sam could see him rubbing his hands together for warmth.
"You cold?" Sam asked quietly, his voice sounding incredibly loud in the very quiet room.
"I – believe so," Cas answered.
"Why didn't you say something? – here," Sam reached over the back of the sofa, where a blanket that was usually part of one of their first aid kits was slumped haphazardly. Dean had put it there one time, when he realised Sam had been pulling all-nighters, before the Trials.
Now, Sam realised, this would have to make do for Castiel, at least for tonight: there was no bedroom made up for him yet, and besides – Cas looked ready to drop. Looking at his watch, Sam grinned as he saw that it was only 9 o'clock.
He retrieved the blanket, and stood up, handing it to Cas while he arranged the cushions at the end of the couch to form a make-shift pillow. When he was finished, he looked up at Cas, who stared at him blankly.
"There you go – all yours," He indicated the sofa, which Cas climbed down onto, lying back tentatively, as if he were afraid it was going to be yanked out from beneath him at any moment. It was heart-breaking for Sam to watch.
"I . . . I'm sorry you had to sleep rough, Cas," Sam apologised, perching on the edge of the couch for a moment. Luckily, it was big enough for the two of them.
"It was . . . An experience. I met many kinds of people – I found that those with the least, are usually the ones prepared to give the most. Even to help strangers," He replied thoughtfully. His eyes lingering on Sam's for a moment.
"Huh," Sam hummed, yet again unsettled by the thought of Cas having to ask people for basic things like food, or water, or shelter – and yet coming out of it with the most profound and strangely optimistic observations.
"I . . . I was scared, Sam," Cas told him, fiddling with a thread on the blanket. Sam nodded in agreement, thinking his friend was referring to his time on the streets – but what came next stunned him into silence. "I was scared, when you looked like your head was in pain – I thought it was from the trials or, or – that you were experiencing a relapse of some sort-" He sounded suddenly distressed, and Sam had to shake himself into action.
"Whoa, whoa – what?" Sam asked, surprised.
"I can't help you. Not anymore," Cas replied miserably.
"I don't care. You already fixed me so many times . . . Maybe it's my turn this time?" Sam asked tentatively, with the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.
Cas didn't know how to respond to that, other than to try and calm down, and tell himself that it was okay to be human. It was okay to be with Sam, and to let Sam take care of him, when he couldn't take care of himself.
". . . If I sleep . . . Does it mean you will go?" He asked tentatively.
"Uh . . . I was gonna-" Sam, began, but then saw the subtext of Cas' question.
Please, stay.
". . . Not if you don't want me to," He replied carefully. That was good enough for Cas, who promptly pushed Sam back, so that he had his back to the couch's back, and threw his own legs over Sam's lap. A little taken back, Sam watched as the former-angel pulled the blanket up to his chin, closing his eyes. Sam pulled the blanket so that it covered Cas' cold feet.
"Good night, Sam Winchester," The former-angel mumbled.
"Night, Cas," Sam murmured back; Cas heard him fine, and fell asleep with a smile on his lips. And if Sam followed suit a few hours later, simply lying down next to Cas and enveloping him in long limbs, warming him up further and comforting him exponentially – then, well . . . He didn't care. He had missed Cas.
But things were better now – even though Castiel was human, and the angels had fallen, and Abaddon was on a one-demon mission to tear the planet apart. At that moment, lying next to Cas, falling asleep listening to him breathe with a hand over his still-beating heart . . . Things were better.
Better than ever.