"Dean, I candrive, you know," Castiel said to his friend.
As humans would say, Dean looked like crap, and not even sitting behind the wheel of "Baby" brought life to him. There were still cuts and bruises on his face, bruises that were black and blue, now yellowing, and there was a bandage on his hand, over the butterfly bandages Castiel had used to close his wound. And there were other wounds on his body, those that Castiel had stitched up and bandaged and still wished to heal, hidden underneath his clothes. Dean had changed out of the sweatpants he'd had on, and was wearing jeans, though he could tell it was painful due to the cut on his pelvis, and the one that went down to his hip. Just an hour ago he'd been drinking, too, so Castiel really didn't want him driving.
"Nope. No one drives Baby but me."
Castiel knew Dean was protective of his car, knew that being in control of at least one thing right now was probably good for him, but he needed to rest.
"Besides, you don't know how to get to Jody's."
"Will Claire be there?" Castiel asked.
He knew his long-dead vessel's daughter probably would be, but maybe talking, getting Dean to think about one good thing in his future would help. Castiel needed it too.
"Probably. Don't think she's gone off on her own yet."
"I'm excited to see her. And to meet Jody. I'm surprised you've never taken me to see her before."
Dean shrugged slowly, painstakingly, his shoulders barely lifting.
"You're not always around," he answered, sounding bitter.
That stung a little, but Castiel knew he hadn't meant it that way. Surely he hadn't.
Dean glanced at Cas, and gave him a smile, adding, "But I'm glad you're here now."
Sometimes Castiel felt ridiculous tying his emotions, himself, to the Winchesters, to this human in particular. He was an angel, far older and more powerful than them, though now he felt powerless, useless. But he had to keep trying. For them he had to keep trying. And he would because amidst the guilt, the sense of failure, there was anger, anger at Vadrach for ordering a demon to hurt his friend.
He wanted to kill him.
For Dean. He'd kill him for Dean, the man who meant so much to him, the man he was grateful to have at his side.
"You know," Dean began, "after all this crap is over, we should do something."
"Dean, we're always doing something," Castiel reasoned, not sure what his friend was getting at.
"No, no. Like, something fun. You, me, S-Sam. A night out on the town or whatever. Somewhere more exciting than Lebanon."
"I'd like that."
"Yeah?" Dean asked, cracking another smile, this one nearly reaching his eyes.
Castiel nodded.
"What do ya think of Vegas?"
"Isn't that something only you and Sam do?" Castiel questioned.
Dean reiterated, "It's something I do with family. And you're family, Cas. You'll always be my family, no matter what. Right?"
Castiel had been ready to smile, for the conversation to stay bright as they looked to a future where they weren't hurting. But Dean's tone on that last word had been dangerous, challenging.
He was mad about their last phone conversation, the one they'd had before Dean had gotten tortured. Castiel had thought, had hoped, that amidst what had later transpired that he'd forgotten about it.
Castiel wanted to forget about it. He hadn't meant to say the words he had, wanted to keep the fact that he'd accidently tortured Sam a close-guarded secret.
Sam knew. That was probably one of the reasons he'd taken off.
Oh, Sam.
Castiel had failed his friends and that dark secret burned inside of him, wanting to be let out. But he was afraid that Dean would turn on him. Castiel didn't blame him. He'd turn on himself were he in Dean's place. He felt he was turning on himself now, guilt ripping him apart.
"Of course."
Dean sighed. "What did you mean over the phone, Cas?"
"Hmm?"
"Don't play dumb. You're more than just a pretty face."
Castiel was too tense from where this could lead to feel shocked that Dean had called him pretty. He knew by many human standards he was attractive. Most people didn't keep that a secret, but hearing it from Dean should've felt different.
Only it didn't. He was too nervous.
"I meant that I feel guilty," he explained. "About everything." That much was true. He didn't want to lie to Dean. He abhorred having to do that.
"Uh huh," Dean responded, clearly not believing him.
Instead of prompting Castiel he remained silent, probably hoping that would drag it out of him.
An unbearable minute passed before Castiel worked up the courage to say something: "I'm not around enough. I don't doenough. And… and I failed in saving Sam from the Cage."
Dean shot him a wary look. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Castiel didn't like where the conversation had turned, even though his secret would remain safe. But this was another thing he had agonized over. He usually saved it for when the Winchesters slept, and he hadn't wanted to discuss it with either of them, knew Sam might never want to, but Dean was here, and he was looking for answers Castiel wouldn't give. He had to give him something else instead, even if it made him sick inside.
He let out a long breath, meeting Dean's eyes for a second before his friend quickly turned his attention back to the road.
"What we found out about Sam-"
"No," Dean said fiercely. "I don't wanna talk about it."
"Dean."
"Cas."
"Please, it's… part of it… maybe it's my fault."
The hunter gave a nervous and incredulous laugh.
"Sure, and I'm Satan," he joked.
"That's actually who I'm trying to talk about."
"No. No, no, no. Didn't happen."
"Then when? Who?"
"Well…" Dean began, seeming as if he knew something.
"What?"
"He… He told me about his first time with Ruby." Dean remained silent, maybe hoping Castiel would ask him to stop, but when no such thing seemed forthcoming he went on, "It was iffy."
Castiel didn't need to ask what he meant by that. He knew. He knew, and it hurt.
"I tried to not think about it," he continued. "Most day I forget it. But now I'm wondering."
"I think this is more than that."
"Cas, seriously, don't borrow trouble."
"I'm not," he argued.
"Look, why… why would he…?"
That was the wrong question and they both seemed to know it. Castiel didn't want to raise his voice at Dean, but he felt like he was coming apart, and maybe shouting would help some.
"Why wouldn't he?! We know who he is, we know what he does, we know how evil he is. And-and Sam was with him for centuriesbecause I failed. So tell me, why wouldn't he?!"
Dean turned on the stereo at that, blasting a rock song that Castiel recognized, but didn't know the name of.
"Dean!"
He turned the volume down, and Dean glared at him before cranking it back up.
Castiel grew so angry from that that the stereo sparked and died, the music silencing.
"Hey! Did you just do that?"
Castiel felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes now.
"It was an accident," he murmured.
Not saving Sam from the Cage, torturing Sam…
"It was an accident."
"Okay. Okay," Dean relented, taking in a shaky breath. "Say… Say he did. What does that have to do with any of this? Sam ran away, that's on him."
"Sam is scared, Dean. He's scared of the amulet, scared of the demon blood. He's scared of us."
"What, you think he thinks we're gonna hurt him?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"That we're going to judge him. That we arejudging him."
Dean looked so lost in that moment, green eyes drawing away from the beaten road again to look at Castiel. Nothing was hidden from him in that moment. With the anger faded away he saw nothing but hurt, and sadness, and longing for his brother. And he truly was glad to have Castiel at his side.
"But we're not," he told him quietly, voice broken, looking like a little boy who had already given up on the world. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Castiel felt his own tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. "I… I told him I'm not."
"He probably doesn't believe it."
Dean clenched his jaw, then admitted, "I don't know how to save him this time."
He knew his friend was expecting wise words, or reassurance, but Castiel drew his gaze away as he said all he could, "Me either."
Dean put a hand on Castiel's shoulder, maybe for comfort, for both of them, and Castiel reached up to lightly grip his hand, not wanting to ever let go.
Rowena was still next to Sam, and as he got up he pushed her aside, nearly throwing her in his haste. Ivan was sitting up, already sobbing and Sam wrapped him up in an embrace, not even noticing the pain or that he was still bleeding.
The shock of suddenly being held made Ivan's sobs stop, and Sam pulled away.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, realizing his mistake.
He got off the bed to give Ivan his space.
The thousand-year-old who looked so young frowned, and then sniffled.
"You saw?" he asked, not meeting Sam's gaze.
"Everything."
Without thinking, Sam took off the amulet, setting himself on the bed beside Ivan.
"Here," he offered. "This belongs to you."
Without his soul, Ivan shouldn't be hurting like this, unless Vadrach had made it part of the spells. Vadrach was cruel, so he probably had, and he had seen evidence of such spellwork before.
Sam wanted to kill him, crush his skull beneath his boots.
"Sam, what are you doin'?" Rowena asked in shock.
He ignored her, holding the amulet closer.
"Ivan."
"No." He lifted up his head, blue eyes filled with agony. "I… I won't be able to stop him, Sam. I'm not strong enough. I wasn'tstrong enough. I'm weak."
"Hey, you are notweak."
"Sure," Rowena cut in disbelievingly.
"Shut up," he told her. "Leave."
He felt her eyes on him, like fire against his back, but then she relented, "Fine. Maybe I'll go play with your other slave."
Sam knew that was supposed to irritate him, but it didn't; he was focused on Ivan.
He heard her leave, and then he prompted, "Ivan, please. Take back yourself."
"I can't. He-he…"
"I know, but, you can."
Maybe Sam wasn't just pleading with him, maybe he was pleading with himself. He had to see that somehow there was a way to belong to only himself again, to be happy.
His hopes crumbled as Ivan pushed his hands away, turning away from him.
"Just get on with it, master."
A tear rolled down Sam's cheek, and he clenched his jaw, fearing that if he opened his mouth he'd start sobbing.
He put the amulet around his neck once more, and it felt comfortable there despite the evil of it. Evil ran in Sam's blood as it was. Maybe evil was all there was left to him.
After collecting himself he got up, telling him, "Not now."
Sam wanted power, but he wasn't sure he had it in him to kill Ivan.
How could he kill someone who felt like his son?
Rowena was in the empty kitchen, looking annoyed.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"A few minutes," she answered. She let a few seconds stretch on before questioning, "He's still alive, isn't he?"
Sam nodded, holding himself up with the counter, feeling heavy with the knowledge he now had. Feeling poisoned.
Despite being angry with him a few moments ago, Rowena began rubbing his back, and Sam let her.
Her hand stayed as just as her hand, and that moment was all there was. It wasn't unpleasant, her touch warm against his skin.
"What did you see?"
"Trust me, you don't want to hear it."
"I want to know what took your hate and changed it into love. What's powerful enough to do that to you?" Sam shot her a look at the word loveand she went on, "Don't give me that face, Samuel. I'm no expert in love, but I can still recognize it when I see it."
He sighed and turned around, leaning against the counter. Her hand reached up to his shoulder now, her touch still an attempt to reassure.
"He's not evil, Rowena," Sam answered. "I thought he was, but he's not. He's hurt."
"Sounds like someone else I know."
"Me?" Sam asked incredulously, slapping Rowena's hand away.
"You ever think you're just pretending to be bad?" she asked him, suddenly raising her voice. "That deep down you're not?"
"I think it's the other way around," Sam retorted.
"Ha, that's rich! Nice, compassionate Sam is just a demon inside, is that it? Sweetheart, you don't know evil."
Sam wanted to yell, wanted to lash out, throw her against a wall, but he laughed instead.
Hedidn't know evil?
The idea was preposterous. He'd shared a bed with evil.
"Don't pretend to know me," Sam snorted once he'd stopped laughing. He stood to his full height now, hoping he seemed imposing. "You don't know what I've been through, what I've done, what I want. Evil has been flowing through my veins nearly my entire life, and it's not gonna disappear just 'cause you think I'm pretending."
"Wow. Dramatic much?"
Something snapped inside Sam at that, and he grabbed Rowena's wrist, intending to go to the basement and drag her along.
"Come with me," he said, though he wasn't really giving her much of a choice.
"Let me go, you giant!"
That was just about the only fight she put up, aside from smacking his wrist. She could've used magic, could've hurt him. But she didn't, and Sam was too worked up to wonder why. Maybe Rowena knew he wasn't going to harm her.
When Sam got to the basement, Lamazar's gaze drew to Rowena.
"Oh, interested in making it a threesome?" she taunted. Sam growled at her, more annoyed that she was still trying to get the upper hand here than with anything else. "And nice rune-work," she commented, eyeing Sam's torso appraisingly. "Kinky."
She shut up as soon as Sam let go of Rowena and took out a knife. The wound on her neck had not yet fully healed, but Sam was going to open it again.
"Rowena," he began, not looking at her as he approached Lamazar and straddled her, "Don't say anything. Just watch."
Sam wrenched Lamazar's head back, a hand in her hair, reopened the wound, and then began to drink her blood, knife now against her collarbones. He was still sated from earlier, but he could never have too much. He'd found that out right before saying yes to the Devil, had drank gallons of it, and he wanted that much now.
"Get him off me!" Lamazar cried to Rowena.
Sam felt so good from the blood his eyes nearly rolled back in his head, and he couldn't help but let out a hungry moan, which was muffled against her skin. Lamazar was straining against him, tugging uselessly at her chain, crying out. Her voice cut off when he dug his tongue into the wound.
He wanted to drink her dry, but he knew he had to keep her around, so he forced himself to pull away. Lamazar was trembling, eyes burning with hatred.
Sam got off of her, and turned to Rowena, holding his arms out.
"There. Now you know what she's for. Still think I'm not evil?"
Sam hadn't been sure what he'd expected from Rowena. She wasn't a good person, but he was sure this was a whole new thing to her. Her eyes were wide with shock, but dark with something that made Sam uncomfortable, even though he was sure he was the one in power at the moment.
Or maybe he wasn't. He had just revealed more of himself to her. And now he just had to wait for her to pass judgment on him.
Rowena went up to him, producing a handkerchief, and began cleaning the blood from his face, one hand on his chin to keep him steady. "I think," she told him, "that we're going to accomplish a lot together."
Before Sam could ask what she meant by that she was standing on her tiptoes and kissing him. It was a quick kiss, hardly anything romantic or sexual, more of recognition, an acceptance that he was what he was. Rowena was okay with that, was okay with the demon blood, with the darkness. And that was what Sam needed.
Maybe he didn't feel about her the way she clearly did about him, but he needed her.
Whatever happened, with Vadrach, with Ivan, with Dean and Castiel, Sam wanted Rowena at his side.
