A/N: Okay, folks, this one is a sad one. This takes place right after "Road Trip." Oh, I should probably mention that Dean is going to be a part of this story (starting in chapter 2), since it didn't say that in the description.
Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine (wow, amazing, I know)
Pairing: Sastiel
Warnings (PLEASE READ, I DO NOT WANT ANYONE TO GET TRIGGERED): a kiss, language, VERY graphic description of self harm, lots of angst, some mentions of suicidal thoughts.
I hope you enjoy it :)
Sam was done. He was just done. He was tired of being the good little soldier, quiet and brave. He missed his brother, who had abandoned him again.
Dean had said it was because he was poison, because everyone who got near him died.
"Or got possessed by a fucking angel," Sam whispered, leaning over the bathroom sink.
He knew that wasn't the real reason Dean left, even if Dean said it was. Dean was tired. Tired of lugging around his useless little brother who kept fucking everything up. First he was a psychic demon kid, then he got addicted to drinking the blood of the spawn of Hell, then he was possessed by Satan himself, then he was soulless, and then Sam went insane, like clinically inane. Then, he had gotten his insides ripped apart in an incomplete attempt to close the gates of Hell. Sam had been ready to die then, but Dean dragged him back to life by having some psycho angel possess him. And because of that, he had Kevin's blood on his hands.
Sam let out a shaky sigh. He still wanted to die. He had wanted to then, and he wanted to now.
Sam dug around in his bag with trembling hands, gripping a small package between his fingers. Unzipping it, he pulled out a silver razor blade.
It's funny how I protect my fingers my keeping the blades in this goddamn package when I'm just planning on slicing up my arms anyway.
Sam could already feel his pull towards the blade. He missed the feeling of his skin being sliced apart, of the red blood rushing over his arms. He even missed losing consciousness when he cut too deep, a sweet release from the hell he was living.
Rocking back and forth on his heels, he pushed his hands against the cold porcelain of the sink. He was so disgusting. He was so wrong for wanting this, for wanting the pain. He was still the addict.
Letting out a fast breath of air, Sam pushed himself off the sink, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a plethora of self-inflicted scars, spanning from wrist to shoulder, although the fabric still covered his biceps.
He traced a thin, light mark on his left arm with his finger, smaller than the rest. It had been his first. He had made it with a kitchen knife when he was thirteen, and he had been doing it ever since.
Placing the blade on his arm in between scars, Sam slowed his breathing.
If Dean ever came back and found out, he was going to kill him. Or leave him again. Which, in a way, was killing him.
"Fuck," Sam whispered, and dragged the blade across his skin. The blood welled up immediately, as if it was waiting to escape.
Right above the new cut, Sam pressed the blade down again, harder this time. Slowly, he made a deep slice. The red warmth sprang faster, pooling in the cut and spilling over. The stream of blood poured into the sink, coloring the white bowl a deep maroon.
Strangely mesmerized, he watched, his arm throbbing.
Cas was going to kill him. That defective angel had saved him over the last few years almost as much as Dean had. He had dragged Sam back from the edge of death more than he ever should have.
Why did Castiel care about him anyway? He had repeatedly called him an abomination or other things like it. Even when they first met, Cas had immediately dubbed him "the boy with the demon blood."
He was only sticking around to heal him now because Dean wanted him to. His living was just a formality for both of them. Saving him was a habit, nothing more.
Letting out a loud sound of frustration, Sam made another cut, right above the last. Small drops of blood met the still steady stream next to it.
He was starting to get lightheaded. That second cut was going to need stitches. He had gone too far.
But a part of him couldn't help but hope for the blackness.
No. He had to stay awake. Castiel was here, and if he discovered-
"Sam?" Cas's rough, deep voice sounded through the door. "Are you alright? I heard you- You sounded angry."
Sam let out a sharp breath of air, running water down the sink, washing the blood away. "Uh- uh, yeah, Cas, I'm fine. Just, uh-" He swept his hair out of his face and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He blinked quickly, shaking his head to try and clear it.
Cas opened the door, and Sam pushed his left arm into his back, attempting to stop the bleeding. He moved the razor blade to his left hand. The angel's eyes narrowed.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Sam's eyes skirted the counter quickly. Clenching the blade in his left hand, he noticed the small pouch that held his others.
He cleared his throat, bringing his arm up and running his hand through his hair. "I was just, uh-"
"Sam, your arm," the angel grabbed his hand, then forced his arm straight. Cas traced his fingers over the pinkish-white scars on Sam's right forearm. "What are all these from?"
Sam could feel Cas scrutinizing him, eyes traveling up the length of his arm, noticing how the scars disappeared under his rolled-up sleeve.
Sam was so lightheaded. He felt Cas trying to roll up his sleeve farther. He pulled back quickly. "Uh, they're from, uh-" he felt the blood from his left arm drip to the floor. He had lost so much blood it had soaked through his shirt. "-all the rituals Dean and I had to do."
Sam swayed dangerously. Castiel put a hand on his chest, holding him up. The youngest Winchester watched Cas's eyes travel down his body, looking for a source of his sickness. Finally his eyes drifted to the floor, alighting on the steady drip of blood staining the white marble.
"Sam, show me your other arm."
Sam was pressing heavily against Cas's hand now, but he still managed to begin, "Why? I mean-" Finally, he fell completely, passing out against the angel.
"Sam!" Castiel called as Sam fell against him. He lowered the man carefully to the ground, wary of his head. Immediately, his eyes flew to the boy's left arm. It was gushing blood from three different areas, and based on the sheer amount, he had probably lost a lot of his life force.
Castiel ran his hand over Sam's wounds, healing them in a white glow. "Sam! Wake up!" He grabbed his chin, shaking his head. Sam was out cold.
Cas began to panic. If Sam didn't wake up, Cas would have to tell Dean, and Dean would kill him. Hell, if Sam died, Cas would kill himself.
He never showed it, but he cared a lot about the younger Winchester. Because of Sam's past mistakes, angels made a point of avoiding him. But ever since Cas met him, he had been fascinated by him. No matter what he had done, Sam remained completely devout. He was strong, and had such a capacity to believe in others, even though he had been through so much. Castiel relied on him. Sam was his rock. He had seen Dean cry, he had seen Dean break. But he had never seen Sam crumble like that (except when he went insane, of course, but that was an exception). Castiel relied on that man, the boy with the demon blood, to keep him strong.
Castiel sat back, angel ears peeled for a sign of life. And there it was. The steady, but faint in-and-out of Sam's breath. Cas exhaled with Sam, eyes darting to his arms again. They were covered in straight, clean scars. Cas was hard-pressed to find a square half-inch of clear skin.
Dean's arms certainly didn't look like that. So why did Sam's?
Cas's eyes focused on a silver glint of metal in Sam's left hand. He pulled it out of the man's grasp. It was a blade, small and sharp, fitting perfectly to the common shaving razor. It was bloody.
Squinting in confusion, Castiel scanned Sam's body. When he opened the man's right hand, he noticed a small, circular indent where his right thumb must have been holding the object.
Castiel's eyes went wide in realization. "You did this to yourself," he said aloud, shocked. "You've done all this to yourself. Why would you do that?"
Cas supposed he already knew the answer. His pain was more than his desire to live. Castiel understood this. When he was human, he had felt regret. He had felt fear, and loss, and unbearable guilt over the things he had done in the past. And when that had first happened, he had wanted to kill himself. He had wanted to jump off a cliff and end it all. For those few weeks, he had felt like he was being thrown around and trampled over violently. He had felt like no one cared about him or even cared that he was alive. He had felt alone.
His pain was nothing compared to that of the man in front of him. If he was in Sam Winchester's shoes, he might have taken a razor to his arms, too.
Sam drifted back into consciousness a few minutes later to find Castiel staring at him, pain in his eyes.
"Cas, what-" Sam started. What happened? Then, he remembered. His right hand flew to his arm. It was bloody, very bloody, but there were no cuts. Did Cas heal him? Wait- where was his- he had had it in his hand.
Sam looked up to see Castiel twirling the blade between his fingers.
Shit. Sam broke into a nervous smile. "Cas, this isn't what it looks like, I-"
"Sam," Cas cut him off. He tilted his head. "You did this to yourself." He looked confused. Sad, almost.
Sam sat up, immediately feeling dizzy and sick. He wanted to pass out, or throw up.
His body, apparently, decided on the latter. He crawled to the toilet and expelled the contents of his stomach. Apparently, Cas couldn't heal blood loss. He would just have to wait it out like every other time.
Castiel handed him a glass of cold water.
"Thanks," Sam whispered. He was shocked to feel tears welling up in his eyes. He hated letting Cas see him this low. He wanted to seem strong, for him, for Dean, for everyone. But Sam was broken. He was broken beyond the point of repair.
He clenched the glass with shaking hands, drinking a little bit, then spitting it out into the porcelain bowl. He flushed, then leaned back against the wall, panting heavily.
"Sam-" Cas started. Sam flinched. Here it was. The hatred, the disgust, the abandonment. The truth. He willed himself not to cry, keeping his eyes shut. He bit his lip.
"Why?" Castiel said.
Sam's eyes flew open. "What?" He clenched his fist, waiting for the ball to drop, his green eyes meeting Cas's blue ones.
"Why didn't you tell anyone what you were doing- what you were feeling? We could have helped you."
A dark laugh sprung from Sam's throat. "Because nobody was listening, Cas!" It was tough to hold back the tears now. "I don't know if you've noticed, but no one pays attention to an addict, or a college dropout, no one pays attention to a complete screw-up like me!" His voice rose until he was yelling, breaking on the last word. Lip trembling, he pulled his mouth into a mirthless smile. "No one fucking cares."
Finally, Sam Winchester shattered, breaking down completely. He sobbed into his hands, shoulders shaking violently, knees pulled up to his chest. He wanted to be strong, he wanted to show everyone, he wanted to yell, "Fuck you!" to the world, but he was done. He couldn't handle it anymore. He wanted to scream. A deep, real, raw scream that would reverberate through his very soul, catching everything negative and expelling it into the air, letting everything go.
So he did. Sam screamed, expressing everything inside him, laying his heart out for everyone to see.
Silently, Cas scooted over to be next to him, putting his hand on the crying man's back.
Instinctively, Sam leaned into him, and Cas slid his arm around his shoulders.
The angel held him like that until Sam stopped crying, for five minutes at least, but it felt like longer.
Finally, Sam sniffed, looking up at the ceiling.
"Sam Winchester," Castiel began, grabbing the sides of Sam's face. "You listen to me. You are not an abomination. You are not a disgrace, or worthless, or whatever else you think you are. You stopped the apocalypse. You save lives. You are a hero, Sam. And don't you dare think you can hurt yourself like this and have no one notice. I care about you, Sam, and I couldn't bear losing you!"
Sam just looked at him. Did he really mean it?
Cas's eyes skirted over Sam's face, thumb catching a stray tear. His eyebrows furrowed, and he tilted his head. Then, he leaned in.
Sam didn't know whether it was how overwhelmed he was, or the damage this ordeal had done on his emotions, or how the blood loss must have been affecting his brain, but when Cas's lips touched his, he kissed back.
Sam's lips parted, mouth conforming to the movement of Castiel's, hand gripping his short hair and coming to rest at his hairline in the back.
Castiel slid his hands from Sam's face to his chest, sliding around his sides and to his lower back.
As Sam lightly flicked his tongue against Cas's teeth, he realized. He was kissing Castiel. He was full-on making out with an angel of the lord.
He started to feel lightheaded again, but for an entirely different reason this time. He had forgotten to breathe.
Sam Winchester was kissing a celestial being, and not only that, but his best friend of five years, and he was enjoying it.
Was he gay?
Sam pulled away. "Uh, Castiel, I-" he said, startled. His hands fell away from the angel. He looked down, ashamed, but he didn't know why.
Cas stood up rapidly. "Sam, I d- um." Hesitating as if to say something else, his hand moved to touch the man's shoulder.
Thinking better of it, he turned on his heel, walking out of the room.
Right before he closed the door, Sam called after him, "Cas!"
"Yes, Sam?" the angel replied, peeking his head through the door.
I'm sorry. "Please. Don't tell Dean."
Castiel tilted his head, eyes sad and almost pitying. "I can't promise that, Sam." He exited, closing the door behind him.
Sam hit the floor with his fist. "Fuck," he whispered. Slowly, he stood up, his breath shaky. He pressed his hands against the cold wall, trying to fend off the dizziness. He pushed off, hands landing roughly on the counter, mimicking his earlier position. He jumped up on the counter, sitting with his back against the mirror before his lightheadedness could overcome him again.
He surveyed the scene before him. Blood on the floor from where it dripped of his shirt, blood smeared on the marble from where he passed out, a small patch where his back had been, stretching to the toilet where he had spilled his guts, and ending on the bottom of the wall. Where Cas had kissed him.
And Sam had kissed him back.
He wasn't gay; he had loved Jess and Amelia easily enough.
Of course, there was always the possibility that he had only responded because he was so fucked up in the brain due to blood loss; it did look like a fucking battle went down in here.
Sam dismissed the thought. He was in more or less perfect control of his thoughts and his emotions when it had happened. He sighed, wishing it was that simple.
Sam knew there were other sexualities out there, but he'd never assigned himself to one, or really even considered that he wasn't straight. There was bi, but Sam didn't really feel like that fit him. There was asexual, but that one wasn't right either- he liked sex enough.
He clenched his teeth, frustrated. Maybe he didn't fit a label at all. He had been the freak his entire life. Why should this be any different?
And why would Cas even kiss him in the first place? Did angels even have romantic connections? Sam suspected so, but not with humans... right?
Sam laughed a little, shaking his head. Wrong, apparently.
This was just too complicated. He looked at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and tried not to think.
Castiel stared at Sam's phone. He had been debating picking it up and dialing Dean for the past few minutes.
He knew it would be right, of course, to call the older brother, since something was wrong with Sam. But in this case? Sam had been doing it to himself; he had been causing himself pain.
And he had practically begged him not to tell Dean.
Sighing, he grabbed the phone. Sam was hurting himself. He needed help. And Cas didn't know anyone better for the job than Dean.
Cas dialed the number. He needed to get one of these devices. They were very helpful.
The phone rang until it went to voicemail, Dean's voice sarcastically telling him to leave a message after the tone.
"Dean," Cas began, unsure of what to say. What does one tell a man when his brother is hurting himself? "Um, it's Cas. I was just... calling to let you know that-" Cas sighed. "Dean, it's Sam. Um, he's... Just call me back. It's important." He hung up the phone, tossing it onto the table, then he waited for the call back.
A/N: Thank you for reading, guys! I have no idea how many chapters this story is going to end up being, but it won't be more than 5 chapters. I will have the second chapter up soon, since most of it is written already. If I need to up the rating, tell me and I will definitely do so. (Also, reviews are greatly appreciated! I love hearing feedback, it makes my writing better!) (Also, I am not a medical professional, so I know absolutely zero about blood loss. If I screwed up, please tell me and I will fix it. I've never written romance before, either, so let me know how that kiss was.)
On a more serious note: If any of you are struggling with the issues that Sam is in this story, I highly encourage you to get medical help. If that isn't one of your options, you can always come and talk to me about anything, on here or on Tumblr (my url is the same as my domain name). Another site I have found to be extremely helpful is 7 Cups of Tea. It's a chatting site where you anonymously talk to people who are 100% willing to help. :)