Thanks to Sandra for pre-reading and Gredelina1 for beta'ing. Love you ladies.
Chapter Eight
Sam woke in increments. The first thing to return to him was sound, and he marveled at what he heard. He felt like he was in the middle of a crowded auditorium and everyone was speaking at once. But these voices were like nothing he'd ever heard before in his life. They were beautiful, soft and musical, and he wanted to listen to them forever. Random words slipped through the hum, he heard his own name and Castiel's among them, and the voices sounded both jubilant and overwhelmed all at once. The sound was a hum.
The next thing to come to him was touch. He was lying on something soft with hard lines beneath. They were not the harsh lines of the rack though, so he didn't panic. He flexed his fingers and felt his blood rushing through them, as if he had been holding them into tight fists too long and now he had freed them. His body seemed to buzz slightly. The sensation was familiar and new at the same time, and he puzzled over that for a moment before shrugging it off as unimportant.
He drew in a deep breath and was met with familiar scents. He knew immediately where he was. He focused on what he was hearing outside of the hum and heard the thrum of the vent; it was like a giant heartbeat. That meant he was in the panic room. He loved Bobby's house. He'd spent weeks here as a child when his father had been off on hunts—it was the closest thing to a home he had outside of the Impala—but he hated the panic room. The connotations it held were dark and painful. And yet… he didn't feel it now. He felt perfectly peaceful.
He opened his eyes and his vision was filled with the rippling devil's trap. He looked to the side and smiled slightly. Dean and Bobby were there, fast asleep on chairs with their chins touching their chests. Sam felt a surge of love for them both. They were here. They were with him. They made sure he didn't wake up alone.
That feeling of love blossomed within him and lifted him, increasing the sense of serenity he felt.
Sam had never been at peace in his life, not that he could remember. Perhaps in those perfect six months before his mother died, he would have felt it, cradled in her arms, but he had no memory of that. He felt it now though. Everything in him was calm and serene. The adrenaline that was always so close to the surface was absent now. He did not need it. He was with his family in the most protected place he knew. There was no need for fear. He swung his legs around and perched on the edge of the cot.
Dean woke with a soft gasp, and his eyes drifted to the side, to Bobby. His arms came up above his head in a stretch and he glanced at Sam. His arms froze above his head and he stared at Sam with a look of immense shock and maybe a little wonder.
"Sam?"
Sam smiled slightly. "Hey, Dean." It felt so good to say the name, to be addressing his brother after all this time apart. He didn't know how long it had been for Dean, but it had felt like forever for him.
"Sammy?"
He knew what Dean was going through. He remembered it well: how it had felt to see him standing on the threshold of that motel room when Dean had been saved. The way the shock had rolled over him and the fury that his brother's memory had been defiled by something dark. He remembered how right it had felt to grip the hilt of that knife in his hand and lurch toward him, intent on revenge. Then Bobby had spoken and Sam's world had been turned upside down again. 'It's really him'.
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
Dean was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room and throwing his arms around Sam. Sam absorbed the embrace, feeling the sense of serenity increasing. Dean was here. It was all okay.
And then Dean released him and gripped his shoulders. "Damn, Sam, that was a hell of a nap."
Sam smiled again.
"You okay?" Dean sounded concerned now, and Sam realized he was worrying his brother.
He rallied for something to say and stumbled across a pressing question. "Dean, where's Cas?"
Dean looked uncomfortable and his teeth bit into his bottom lip. "Heaven."
He should have expected it. Where else would an angel be? At least he was out, Sam thought, even if they weren't together. "Okay," he said. "That's…"
Then he saw him, and his words trailed off. The last image he had from before was Castiel's face as he changed from the man Sam knew into a thing composed of pure, brilliant light. Now he was Cas again, in his trenchcoat and with his tie askew. He was looking at Sam the way Dean had, as if not sure what he was seeing was real.
Sam got to his feet without conscious instruction and walked toward Castiel. The angel crossed the threshold and came into the room with his arms wide, ready to receive Sam, and suddenly there was nothing Sam wanted more, no place he'd rather be, than encapsulated in Castiel's arms again, not taking comfort the way he had in the cage, but confirming their freedom.
"I am here, Sam," Castiel said. "I came."
Sam stepped into his arms and spoke in a whisper. "I knew you would."
They held onto each other for a long time, neither apparently wanting to pull back and break the embrace. Then someone cleared their throat roughly, and Sam released the fabric of Castiel's coat and turned back to the room.
Bobby was awake; it seemed to be him that had made the noise, as he was watching them with a raised eyebrow now. "Hey, Bobby," Sam said with a fond smile.
Bobby stepped forward and then hesitated before pulling Sam into a hug. His strong arms wrapped around Sam, holding him for a moment and then pushing him back so he could look him up and down.
"You okay?" he asked. "You need anything?"
Sam assessed himself. He was hungry and thirsty, but those feelings felt secondary to the fulfillment of his return.
"Sam?" Dean pressed, and Sam realized he had been quiet too long again. Bobby and Dean were looking at him expectantly, and he knew they needed something, but he didn't know what. It was as they were expecting him to freak out suddenly, but he had never felt better.
"I could use a sandwich?" he framed it as a question, and they both seemed to come to life again with the request.
"'Course," Bobby said. "You've got to be starving."
"Come on," Dean said, tugging on his arm and leading him to the door.
Sam allowed himself to be led out of the panic room and up the stairs. He looked back at the door, to check Castiel was still there, and received a nod in return. Castiel would have to go sooner or later, but for that moment, he was there, and that was good.
When they got to the kitchen, Dean pushed Sam at one of the chairs and then set to work, pulling things out of the fridge and handing them to Bobby. They were like surgeons working together, and Sam was reminded irresistibly of Lucifer and Michael in the cage. His eyes roved until he found Castiel, standing by the arch. Their eyes met and Sam knew they were thinking the same thing.
Castiel crossed the room and pulled out the chair beside Sam. He sat down and then shifted it closer, scraping the legs across the linoleum, until their knees were pressed together. Sam smiled slightly at him and received one in return. Then Sam realized the sound of preparation had faltered and he looked up. Dean and Bobby had paused mid-action—Dean was gripping a loaf of bread and Bobby had a bottle of mayo in his hand—staring at them. Sam thought that perhaps it looked a little odd, for them to be sat so close together, but they didn't mind their scrutiny. He wasn't going to move.
"How are you?" Castiel asked softly. His voice was low, so low it was clear he was speaking to Sam alone, but Dean and Bobby scrutinized him as he considered his answer.
"I'm fine," Sam said.
"Really?" Bobby asked, looking uncomfortable. "Because it's okay not to be, fine, you know?"
"I am though." He smiled slightly. "Just hungry." He wasn't lying. He was fine. He knew he shouldn't be, he should probably be reeling from what he'd been through, but he wasn't. Hell was like a bad dream or a book he'd read once. He remembered it all, but the only thing that stayed with him, that resonated with him now, was Castiel.
Bobby nodded and turned back to the counter. Dean just watched him, silent and attentive. Sam pushed his hair back from his face and looked out of the window at the bright sun reflecting off the junkers. He could feel Dean's gaze on him, and while it should have agitated him, it didn't. He understood why Dean would be looking, as he had once felt the same.
Bobby presented a sandwich with flourish and set it down in front of Sam. "Here you go, boy."
Sam smiled his thanks and took a bite. It was good, and his stomach received the food gratefully. He wondered idly how long it had been since he'd eaten, how long he'd been gone. He chewed and swallowed then asked.
"About three months," Dean said. "Feels longer, right?"
Sam nodded vaguely and looked to Castiel. "How long were you there?"
"I believe two earth months have passed since I came to you. It's transcribes to Hell time as…" He trailed off. "Well, you remember how it was."
Sam remembered well. He remembered the unending days of pain and the crippling misery. He remembered cowering under Castiel's arms. He remembered losing Adam. He remembered being so close to perishing himself. He remembered that Castiel saved him.
"Cas," he said softly. "Did Adam…"
Dean gasped. "Adam!"
"He was saved, too," Castiel said, ignoring Dean. "He is free now. I have taken him to his mother's heaven. He will be at peace there. He may even recover somewhat."
"Recover?" Dean said, and there was a bite of anger in his tone. "Recover from what?"
"Hell," Sam said simply. Dean looked at him expectantly, waiting for more, but Sam found he didn't want to talk about that. He wasn't despairing, he was still peaceful, but he didn't want to have to explain what had happened to their brother in his care, or his own culpability in it. He didn't want to talk about it, but he didn't mind when Castiel took up the explanation for him.
"Adam… perished in the cage."
"He died?" Dean asked. "How can he die in Hell? He's got to be dead to be there, right?"
"Adam's soul was the thing that perished. It is not dead in the literal sense of the word, a soul cannot be destroyed completely, but the damage it suffered was so great that it became less that the barest spark of life, unable to feel. It is that mere spark that is in Heaven now with his mother."
"But Sam…" Dean said, and Sam shifted uncomfortably under his and Bobby's combined gaze. They seemed to be searching him for signs that he too was damaged, close to perishing. He decided then and there that he would do whatever it took to keep the fact he'd almost followed Adam down that path from them. They didn't need to know how close he had come, and they didn't need to know how Castiel had saved him. He doubted they, Dean least of all, would understand.
"Sam is fine," Castiel said.
Sam nodded serenely and took another bite of his sandwich. He felt fine, better than fine. He'd been through hell and he'd made it out intact. Adam was at the closest thing to peace that was possible for him now. He had his family around him and Castiel was there. He had never imagined he would have this peace again. The only thing he was wanting for now was the chance to speak to Castiel alone. He wanted to talk to him about the hum in his mind. Castiel would know what to do; there was no need to trouble Dean with it.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable, and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth a few times only to snap it closed again without speaking. Then he spoke in a rush and Sam was sure what he said wasn't what he intended to say. "Cas, you should have told me you were going in after Sam."
"How would that have been helpful to anyone?"
"I would have known. I should have known. You don't go doing something that huge without letting someone know. You don't do something like that period. Not alone."
"I was attempting to save Sam," Castiel said patiently.
"I know, and believe me, I'm grateful. I'm just saying, you don't do something like that alone. You take backup."
Sam felt a flare of sadness separate to his confusion. He puzzled over the emotion for a moment, wondering what it meant, then shrugged it off as unimportant when Castiel spoke.
"Backup would have meant putting other angels in danger of…" He shook his head. "I cannot make you understand, Dean, but I know I did the right thing." He shifted slightly closer to Sam. It was only a matter of millimeters, but Sam felt the difference.
"Well, we're grateful," Bobby said gruffly. "Damn grateful, Cas."
There was an expectant silence and Sam realized he was supposed to be saying something. He turned to the angel and stared deep into the blue eyes that had been one of the only light spots for him for so long.
"Thank you, Cas."
Castiel smiled and laid his hand over Sam's where it rested on the table. "You are welcome."
When I had the idea for this story, the first thought was that hooked me in was Castiel and Sam in Hell together. The second was the idea that Sam and Castiel's bond would be more than just sharing grace and soul. I wanted a connection that was more than emotional and I wanted Sam to have something good inside him, something opposite in nature to the demon blood. I think I succeeded in explaining that, but if you have questions, feel free to drop me a line.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx
