The next time Sam came in the room, he was completely silent. His face was pale and his eyes were empty.
"Sam?" I asked, voice wavering.
He didn't answer. He just carried a bowl of water and a small towel over to me and started daubing the blood off my chest. It hurt, but it wasn't all that bad. I was able to keep from whimpering. I tried reading the words as they were uncovered, but my angle was bad and they looked upside down. I could only make out evil and worthless. He'd cut insults into my skin. I sniffled and turned my head away from him.
Eventually he finished cleaning and bandaging the cuts he'd given me. He covered me from the waist down with a blanket and left.
I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. That had been survivable. Sam being quiet was scary, but I knew he'd helped me, even if it hurt a lot. I couldn't quite wrap my head around that. He'd done something to me that hadn't hurt me or violated me, and he hadn't said anything mean. It wasn't normal Sam coming back or anything, but it seemed like maybe a step in the right direction. Maybe.
Sam came back in, this time carrying a tray with soup, a sandwich, and a glass of apple juice on it. Wait, if I'd lost my grace, did that mean I needed to eat like a human? I thought about it. My chest hurt enough that it was hard to tell if my stomach hurt from hunger, and my throat was painfully dry. My eyes stung like I guessed a dehydrated human's would, but I've never been a human and I don't know exactly.
Sam undid the handcuffs on my wrists. "Eat," he ordered.
I struggled, trying to sit up. I was too weak and it hurt too much. Sam had to help me sit up. My face burned with humiliation. I didn't want to eat, but I didn't dare defy him. I didn't want to lose whatever speck of goodness had somehow reawakened in him.
My hands shook, but I managed to lift the glass of apple juice and drink from it without spilling. The flavor was different from how I remembered. I didn't like it. The texture, though- it was incredible. My throat felt so much better. I gulped down the juice desperately, fast enough that some spilled down my chin and dripped onto the bandages on my chest. I was disappointed when the glass was empty.
I cast a guarded glance at Sam to see what he was doing. He was just sitting there in his chair, watching me. His eyes were dull, and he looked almost scared. It was confusing. I looked away from him and picked up the soup spoon. I tried to get a spoonful, but my hand wouldn't stop shaking and the spoon just dripped back into the bowl before I could lift the soup enough to eat it.
The sandwich was easier to eat. Hard, because Sam was still watching my every move, but manageable. The food was good but settled heavily in my stomach. My throat felt dry. My hands were steadier, and I managed to eat a few spoonfuls of the soup. I didn't feel hungry, though, and I gave up. I didn't have anything to do, so I just sat there.
It was a while before Sam broke the silence. "I don't know what I'm doing." His voice was hoarse, like he'd been crying.
I just stared at him silently.
"I didn't mean for-" Sam cut himself off and looked away. He stood, took the tray from me, and left.
In Sam's absence there was nothing for me to do. I was too scared of being caught to see if I could get my ankles out of the chains, and that left me stuck sitting or lying in bed. I didn't want to mess with my bandages, and I certainly didn't want to mess with the blanket over my legs. That was staying there for as long as I could possibly swing. I didn't know what I'd do if Sam took it away.
Eventually I fell asleep. I wasn't all that tired, but there was nothing else I could do.
…
I was in a forest somewhere. It was night, but the pretty kind of night, not the scary or creepy kind. I looked up and could see stars through the leaves. There was no moon, and it was dark. In the distance a wolf howled. The wolf was too far away to worry about, I guessed. Wolves could be dangerous for me without my grace, but it was pretty unlikely to be a problem.
The stars glinted. They were beautiful, but there was something mocking about them that I'd never seen before. I didn't like it, because I felt like they were laughing at me for being so close to human. It wasn't fair; it wasn't my fault I'd lost my grace! I felt cross and a bit scared, and stupid for getting mad at a bunch of stars.
A twig snapped behind me. I turned around; it was too dark for me to see. Anything could've hidden in the shadows of the trees. It was hard, not knowing. I wasn't used to it. As an archangel, I'd been able to easily see where everything was and exactly what was happening. There was no darkness too severe to see through. Now just the mild shadows of the trees were too much and I was helpless. It felt awful.
"Uh, hey!" I called, trying not to sound nervous.
There was no spoken answer, but another twig snapped.
I swallowed fearfully. "Come out," I ordered. My voice shook. Why did it have to be so easy to get scared now that I was graceless?
I heard footsteps, and another twig snapped. A very tall person stepped out of the darkest shadows to where I could mostly see him. Sam.
I squeaked and tried to jump backwards away from him, tripping over a root and landing on my butt facing him. My breathing sped up as I panicked. Why'd he have to be here? He was gonna be scary again, I just knew it.
"Gabriel." His voice was dull. He sat down next to me on the ground, shoulders slumped.
"What do you want from me?" I demanded.
"I'm sorry," he said. He lifted his hand, reaching up to cup my cheek.
I froze and couldn't move away. There was a big part of me that didn't want to, anyway. I was still scared and angry, but he'd said sorry and he seemed sincere. He was still beautiful, and he looked like Sam. The Sam from before, the one I wanted. Why couldn't he just be nice?
Sam's hand dropped, and he turned away from me. "I still feel so guilty, even in a dream," he complained.
"Well, you should," I told him, cross and shaking.
"You hate me, I guess," Sam said softly.
"Uh, no," I said, almost confused. It was so out of the range of what I could imagine feeling. Hatred for Sam? What?
"The real you hates me."
I stared at him. "You really think that, Sammy?"
"Duh." He laughed bitterly. It was the kind of laughing that's just barely not crying. He might've been crying. He scowled miserably at me. "You're not even realistic. I thought my dreams could do a better job."
It was my turn to laugh. I was pretty sure this was another of the shared dreams, like we'd had earlier. He didn't know about that, of course, but it was still funny that he thought his dream was unrealistic in its portrayal of me when I was just really, honestly myself.
"So you care if I hate you," I noted.
"No!" he snapped angrily, "I hate you. You killed Dean a hundred times, and you made me watch! I hope you hate me." He hid his face in his hands and started crying.
He thought it was a dream, so I could do whatever I wanted. I reached up and carded my fingers through his hair. It was smooth and silky, and I loved the way he leaned into my touch.
"Gabriel…" Sam's voice was broken.
"It's ok, Sammy," I told him, petting his hair. I don't know why I wanted to comfort him so much. It's probably that stupid crush. But those gentle, miserable doe eyes…
"You should hate me," he sniffled.
"You should know by now rules aren't my thing," I said, trying to sound casual and in control, "I don't hate you, kiddo, and I'm not gonna."
And suddenly he was hugging me and crying, and I couldn't help my shocked squeak. Casual and in control really isn't working for me this week. There was too much contact with him, and after all the abuse at his hands earlier it was terrifying. It startled me awake, I guess, because I woke up a few moments later.
…
I was alone for a few hours after I woke. There was nothing to do, and it was boring, boring, boring. I was feeling less scared after how vulnerable Sam had been in our dream, and the lack of fear was making it really obvious how BORING being a prisoner was. Why? Somebody come torture me or something, I'm bored.
Sam walked in, and I froze. Was he gonna torture me? I started hyperventilating. His face had that hard, cold look from before. I'd hoped he was done being scary and horrid, but this wasn't looking good. And he was carrying a needle.
I could've really taken some boredom right about then.
He approached me with the needle, face impassive. I sat up nervously. Maybe if I talked, he would get distracted and forget to hurt me. "Hey, Sammy! Great to see you. This whole prisoner thing is getting a bit old, huh? Whyn'tcha lemme go, we call it even and forget this whole thing happened? It'll be so much more interesting! We can eat candy and stuff!" Needles make me so nervous.
"You talking is getting really old," he snapped.
"Uh, I'll just- shut up, then," I said, shivering. Needles. Help.
Sam climbed onto the bed and knocked me onto my back. He straddled me. I whimpered.
"What are you doing?"
He leaned down to answer me, whispering in my ear. It could've been romantic in another context, and even as it was it made my heart beat faster to feel his breath on my cheek. "Shutting you up."
Was he planning to kiss me? Cuz I would totally object, but- not totally. And it'd sure as hell be nicer than being tortured or assaulted.
His lips were close to mine, close enough to feel his breath and his heat. His pupils were a touch dilated. Mine probably were as well. He gave a weak laugh, and then pain stabbed through my mouth. I screamed and threw my head to the side, which just made the pain worse. Pain from what? What was happening?
Sam pulled my head back to where it had been. His hands were warm on the sides of my face, and I took a bit of comfort from that. How sick is that, to get comfort from my captor while he does whatever awful thing he's doing? But it hurt so much, and his hands were big and warm and gentle and felt safe, even if I knew all he'd really give me was pain.
"Sam?" I asked pitifully, "Ahhh. Whazz happening?" Every word hurt.
"Just a needle." There was more pain. Lots more pain, that went on for ages. I was crying, but there was too much pain for me to feel the tears. I couldn't see very well through the dampness, and snot clogged my nose and made it hard to breathe.
I tried to talk, wanting to beg Sam to stop or at least try to find out what it was he was doing. I wasn't sure what I would've said, but it didn't matter. I couldn't get my lips apart, and trying made pain shoot through them. I screamed brokenly with my mouth closed. It hurt, it hurt so much. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe- I fainted.