Castiel wasn't even sure that he could sleep.
With his grace restrained as it had been for the past few days, and the exhaustion and trauma he'd experienced, sleep had come easily, just about every time he'd sat still and closed his eyes. Of course, it was always interrupted by suffocating, terrifying dreams that dragged him from his rest and left him gasping, sweating, blinking into the light until the strange room came back into focus and became familiar again – usually with Sam's arms strong and warm around him, Sam's voice quietly intent in his ear, leading him back into the light with soft, reassuring words.
But he did sleep, without dreaming, for once.
And when he awoke, Sam wasn't there.
Immediately, his stomach clenched, his heart thudding against his ribs at the thought that he'd been alone, and Dean might have been close by, maybe even close enough to touch, while Castiel had been sleeping and therefore vulnerable. Where was he now? Castiel struggled to maintain control of the panic he felt bubbling up in his throat, his eyes darting around the room to continually confirm what he kept repeating in his mind.
He's not here… you're alone, and safe… he's not here…
Castiel fought the impulse to call out for Sam, knowing that Sam was almost certainly near enough that he'd hear him and come running. Sam had stayed close, ever since they'd come to this place, doing everything in his power to make sure that Castiel felt safe. But it wasn't fair to Sam, to expect him to simply drop everything and spend every waking moment at Castiel's side, for no reason other than that Castiel couldn't seem to manage the overwhelming fear that had taken hold in that cold basement room, and hadn't let go.
And that was a bad sign, Castiel knew. Jacob's Call was broken. Dean no longer held power over him, and his grace was no longer restrained – but if that was true, then why could he still feel the terror on such a powerful, visceral level? It wasn't like the fear he'd felt in a dozen different seemingly hopeless situations as an angel at full power – distant, controlled, easy to push down and think through, so that he could continue to do what he had to do despite its presence. This was overwhelming, dark and all-consuming and so physical.
It didn't make sense – and it only added to the sick sensation of apprehension he felt at waking up alone.
Carefully, wincing at the shifting of his aching wings, Castiel sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His heart sank, his worry rising as he carefully inspected his bandaged arms and torso, and found that his injuries had begun to heal – but far less quickly than he would have expected. The shallow cuts and burns Dean had made, up and down his arms, on his shoulders, stomach, and back, were now reduced to nothing more than faint lines, nearly healed.
But the wound in Castiel's chest was still raw and tender, no different than it'd been when Sam had cleansed his wings. And the wings themselves, though Castiel couldn't see them to inspect them properly, still throbbed with every movement, the burns a constant torment. They didn't feel any different than they'd felt when Dean had broken the bond.
Did he break it, then? The whisper in his mind was suspicious, and his stomach churned. He lowered his head into his hands, trying to steady the increasing pace of his breathing. Maybe there's more to breaking the bond than what he did. Maybe he just wanted you to think he broke it. He doesn't want you to leave here, doesn't want you out from under his control… so he faked breaking the bond to appease you… but nothing's changed. You're still weak, still barely more than human…
… still at his mercy.
Castiel struggled to force down the panic, resisting the overwhelming desire to call out for Sam.
You can't expect Sam to be there every moment. You can't require all of his time and effort. He still has his brother to think about, and himself. You have to learn how to handle this on your own… you're an angel of the Lord, not a helpless child, so act like it.
Castiel raised his head, letting out a slow, shaky breath as his eyes focused on the closed bedroom door. He swallowed hard, sitting up and squaring his shoulders, suppressing a wince at the wave of pain that crested across his wings.
He wasn't sure of exactly how long, but he knew that several days had passed since Sam and Dean had brought him to this place. And he had spent nearly every moment of that time in this room. Castiel was suddenly certain that if he was going to start functioning on his own, going to stop depending on Sam Winchester for his every need… he was going to have to start by changing that.
Castiel swallowed hard, not taking his eyes off the door as he rose to his feet. His heart raced as he touched the knob, his mind working against him, and calling up images of what – and who – he might find just on the other side. He forced himself to open it anyway, even as his breath caught in his throat and his stomach clenched – but the hallway was empty, quiet and dimly lit.
Castiel started down the hallway, padding quietly, the smooth tile cool against his bare feet. His apprehension faded a little as he found no sign of anyone else present, and figured that the brothers must be sleeping. He hesitated outside one room where the door stood open, the soft glow of a lamp shining out into the hall. His chest tightened, a cold tingling sensation sliding down his spine as he took in the scene inside the room.
The floor was littered with discarded clothing. In the bed lay Sam – and Dean, wrapped around each other in a tangle of limbs, Dean's head on Sam's chest and Sam's arms around him, instinctively protective, even in sleep. Dean's brow was furrowed, and he shifted slightly. Cas's heart leapt up into his throat, a sick sensation churning in his stomach, and he found himself backing away down the hall, in the opposite direction from which he had come. He stumbled and caught himself against the wall, gasping for breath that seemed to escape him, closing his eyes and trying to block out what he'd just seen, trying to regain control, trying desperately to fight back the overwhelming sense of hurt, of betrayal he felt at the sight.
His fingers clutched at the wall, and he rested his head against it, drawing in several slow, deep breaths, listening as the roar in his ears gradually began to subside.
You're being emotional. Irrational, he told himself sternly. Too… too human. Sam and Dean have been intimate with each other as long as you've known them, and Sam made it perfectly clear that his concern in this situation is not only for you. Sam has every right to… to…
But Castiel was beginning to feel sick again, so he shut out the thought and continued down the hallway, steps lurching and too fast, just desperate to carry himself as far away from the sickeningly cozy, intimate scene that he couldn't seem to wipe from his mind. He wasn't sure where he was going, or how he got there, but Castiel found himself in a large, open room, books lining every wall, with a huge table taking up most of the floor space.
On one end of the table, books were piled in stacks a half dozen high, with more scattered open in front of an empty chair. It was so familiar, so similar to a hundred different times when Castiel had visited the Winchesters in the dismal motel rooms they frequented on their hunts. The familiarity of it made his heart ache, made him desperately wish that he could go back – that they could all go back to just a few days earlier, before…
Castiel swallowed hard, his mouth dry and his throat aching, as he approached the empty chair and sat down on the edge of it, careful to avoid crushing his wings. He scanned the spines of the stacked books, eyes widening as he read the titles: Angelic Physiology, Rituals in Enochian, Spells of Revelation.
It wasn't difficult to surmise what was the focus of the research that had been done here. Castiel smiled, surprised at the hot sting of tears in his eyes that blurred the letters until he couldn't read them anymore.
Sam… Castiel ran a hand down the notepad that lay directly in front of him, hastily scrawled notes covering most of the top page. Sam's been doing research, attempting to find a way to conceal my wings again. Sam has been so kind to me… what right have I to resent what little time he spends with his brother? When he spends nearly every waking moment…
Castiel frowned, considering. It was true. Sam had spent nearly all of his time during the past few days at Castiel's side.
So… when had he had time to do all this research?
He hasn't. Sam – Sam didn't do this. Castiel swallowed, his heart in his throat. Dean did.
A momentary terrible suspicion came over Castiel, and he hurriedly scanned the notes on the page in front of him.
What exactly was he researching? Ways to hide my wings, or – or something else? Ways to fake the breaking of Jacob's Call? Ways to keep me under his control permanently?
And now that he looked at them more closely, it was clear that this couldn't possibly have been Sam's work. The hastily scrawled writing was barely decipherable. Still, after a few minutes, he was able to make out enough words to confirm that Dean had indeed been looking for a means to undo the spell that had made Castiel's wings corporeal.
The thought of Dean sitting at this table during the long hours that Sam spent at Castiel's side, poring over dozens of books and desperately searching for some way to undo the damage he'd done – it was jarring in contrast with the image that filled Castiel's mind now – vindictive smile, eyes lit with cruel satisfaction as his blade had drawn screams and sobs and desperate pleas from Castiel's lips.
No, this was – this was more like the friend Castiel had come to know, the one he'd risked everything for – and who'd risked everything for Castiel in return, time and again. It hurt to think of Dean, guilty and alone and hurting, and Castiel ran his hand down the page, for just an instant wishing that he could reach out to Dean so easily, and ease his suffering. But only for an instant, because just the thought of getting close enough to Dean to touch – it made Castiel shudder, the sick feeling creeping back up his throat.
It was all so confusing, and overwhelming, and it drained the life out of the anger and resentment Castiel had been feeling, drained away the suspicion and left only an overwhelming sense of sorrow for what had been lost between them.
Castiel lowered his head to rest on his arm on the page, letting out a heavy sigh.
It was just too much, too exhausting and painful to think about.
"Cas? You okay?"
Cas tensed visibly at the sound of Sam's voice, carefully soft, from a few yards away – but he didn't raise his head, didn't acknowledge Sam's question in any way. Sam hesitated for a moment before closing the rest of the distance between them, grabbing the nearest chair and pulling it nearer to the one where Cas sat before settling in close beside him. He reached out a cautious hand to rest on Cas's shoulder.
"Cas? Hey… what're you doing, man?"
Cas did react then, shrugging out from under Sam's hand and turning his head away. Sam felt a cold ache in his chest at the rejection, withdrawing his hand and straightening his shoulders.
"Okay, then," he said quietly, rising slowly to his feet. "Sorry. I'll just… get out of your way."
"No." Cas's hand shot out and caught Sam's wrist, his grasp trembling but firm, and Sam turned to face him again, his heart aching when he saw the pleading look in Cas's eyes looking up at him. "I-I'm sorry, Sam, don't… I don't want you to… please…"
"Okay." Sam sank back down into the chair beside Cas, allowing Cas's hand to remain on his wrist as he rested his hand on the table between them. "It's okay, don't apologize, man. You got nothing to be sorry for, all right? If you don't want me to touch you…"
"But I do, I just…" Cas looked away, miserable and confused. "I'm sorry…"
"Hey." Sam ducked his head, trying to catch Cas's gaze, concerned. "Cas… what is it? What's got you so upset?"
Cas just stared down at the table in front of him for a long moment before placing one hand on the notepad in front of him and sliding it across the table so that it lay in front of Sam instead. Sam scanned the page in front of him, taking in Dean's chicken scratch handwriting – easy enough for him to read after years of practice. He studied it for a moment before looking up at Cas again, questioning.
"This is how Dean has been spending his time since… since we got here." Cas's voice was quiet, unsteady. "He's been… trying to find a spell… trying to help me…"
There was a dull ache in Sam's throat, and his eyes burned, as he slid his arm around Cas, gentle and reassuring – even as he recognized that this was an opportunity he'd been waiting for, and one he wasn't likely to get again anytime soon. He was quiet, careful, the words coming out thick and a little shaky when he finally found them.
"Of course he has, Cas. Like I told you, he – wants to… make things better. He's… he's so sorry for what he did…"
Cas pulled away from Sam, eyes brimming with tears, jaw set in stubborn anger as he retorted, "He doesn't even know what he…" His words broke off abruptly, and he swallowed hard, shaking his head a little.
It wasn't a new concept to Sam – the idea that somehow, in what they had done to Cas's wings, they had done far worse than they'd anticipated, damaged Cas on some level that they had yet to understand. It was still deeply unsettling to hear coming from Cas's lips, and Sam fought back the nausea that rose in his throat.
"After what he… did to me…" Cas fairly spat out the words, bitter and resentful, before his voice broke off. He reached out toward the notepad in front of Sam, his fingers tracing the edge of the page. When he spoke again, his tone was much softer, a lost look of confusion in his eyes. "… how can he still do this to me?"
Sam frowned, puzzled. "Do… what?"
Cas just shook his head, listlessly picking at the corner of the page under his hand. He looked so sad that Sam ached with it – and suddenly, it all fell into place in Sam's mind, a picture so clear that he wondered why he'd never put it together before. He reached out and placed his hand over Cas's, stilling it, but Cas just ducked his head lower, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.
"You love him," Sam concluded softly. "Or… you did. Didn't you?"
Cas said nothing, just closed his eyes and swallowed hard – and that was answer enough.
Sam hesitated, weighing the risks, the undeniable inappropriateness of pursuing this conversation given everything that had happened – and then pushed on anyway, gently, as far as he dared before his window closed. This could be his only chance to help bridge the rift between Cas and Dean. He had to try.
"He – he loves you too, Cas," he said quietly, intently. "Just like he loves me. We've – talked about it before…" Sam stopped, taking a deep breath before venturing to add, "Cas… this is killing him. You have to know that he didn't want to…"
"But he did." Cas looked back at Sam, eyes blazing with such breathtaking conviction that it stopped Sam's protests in their tracks. Cas's voice ached with grief and utter certainty as he concluded, "If it'd been you… he'd have let the world burn first."
There were simply no words.
Sam tried to find his voice, tried to answer – but any comforting words that came to his mind would have been a lie. Cas was right, and knew both Dean and Sam far too well for Sam to try to deny it. Sam guessed that his dismay must have shown quite clearly in his expression, because Cas's face fell, and he lowered his eyes, self-conscious.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's – unfair for me to place you in such a position. I know you – you love…" His voice broke, and he let out a shaky sigh, swiping angrily at his eyes. "I'm sorry."
Sam watched him for a moment – and slowly, understanding fell into place. He'd awakened to a wide open bedroom door, which he'd forgotten to close in his urgency to care for Dean the night before – an open door that Cas would have had to pass in order to get to the library.
"You saw us, didn't you?" Sam said softly, a little regretfully. "Me and Dean."
Cas was quiet, eyes locked onto the table in front of him, and Sam knew he was right.
"I'm sorry I left the door open." Sam weighed his words carefully, reaching out a hand to rest gently on Cas's hand, to soften any unintended sting that might accompany his next words. "I'm not sorry that I was there with Dean."
"And you shouldn't be," Cas hurried to agree, meeting Sam's gaze with earnest, sad eyes. "I know that he needs you, too. It's just…" He looked away again, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It was… strangely difficult to see."
"I know," Sam conceded softly. "I'm not sorry it happened, but – I am sorry you saw it."
Cas shook his head, a bitter shadow of a smile on his lips. "I'm sorry. I realize it doesn't make sense. I'm just – overly emotional right now."
An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Sam's stomach, and he ran his hand down Cas's arm, taking in the smooth, mostly unblemished skin, where hours earlier there had been livid burns and dark scabbed cuts.
Well… that at least is promising, but… the rest…
"Speaking of… your emotions, Cas…" Sam began carefully. "How are you feeling, after getting some rest? Is your grace any stronger? You look better."
"I have begun healing." Cas offered what positive news he could, but the worry was unmistakable in his eyes. "That… must be a good sign."
"Yeah," Sam conceded, cautiously non-committal. "But… emotionally…"
"No change," Cas grimaced apologetically. "As is clearly evident."
Sam ran a sympathetic hand down Cas's back, carefully stopping just below his shoulders. "How are your wings?" he asked softly. "Any better?"
Sam felt Cas shiver slightly under his hand, his eyes downcast, his face flushed. "I don't know," he said very quietly. "They feel... much the same, but… I can't see them, so…"
Sam was quiet for a moment, cautious, wanting to be as respectful as possible. Finally, he ventured to ask, "May I look at them for you, Cas? See if they've started healing?"
Cas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I – yes, please," he whispered at last. "Thank you."
"Want to go back to your room?"
Cas nodded, his voice barely audible at all. "Yes."
Sam rose to his feet, and Cas rose with him, catching Sam's sleeve just as he turned back toward the hall. Sam stopped, turning to look Cas in the eye. Cas swallowed slowly, looking up at Sam anxiously.
"Is – is Dean…?"
"He was asleep when I left the room," Sam replied. "He probably still is."
"Okay."
Cas's voice was small, scared. And as they started down the hall, Sam noted with a sinking heart that Cas kept his eyes down, kept to Sam's left, making sure that Sam would be between him and the open bedroom door. When they passed it, Dean was still sound asleep in the bed. Sam's chest tightened when, just at that moment, he felt Cas's hand slide into his, Cas's body shifting closer to Sam's side. Sam freed his hand just long enough to put his arm around Cas's shoulders and hurry their pace to the security of Cas's bedroom.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Cas turned out from under Sam's arm, pushing the door shut hard. Immediately his shoulders fell with relief, his eyes closed, as he rested his head against the door, his breath coming rapid and uneven. Sam reached out a cautious hand to touch Cas's arm, to steady him, and Cas flinched.
"Sorry," Sam whispered, withdrawing his hand. "Sorry."
But as Sam backed off, Cas swiftly turned to face him, moving back within his reach and clutching at the hem of Sam's shirt, his head on Sam's shoulder. "No," Cas replied, his voice muffled and hoarse. "Don't be. Just… please…"
Sam didn't need any further clarification. He put his arms around Cas, sheltering and protective, and backed toward the bed, pulling Cas with him. Cas went willingly, clinging to Sam, as Sam sat down, and maneuvered Cas down to sit beside him. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Sam just holding Cas and listening as his harsh, rapid breathing began to even out, and the fine tremors that shook his body gradually ebbed away.
"I'm sorry," Cas said at last, the words punctuated by a loud sniffle. "I know… Dean's not going to… I just… I can't seem to…"
"You don't have to explain," Sam assured him, running a hand through Cas's hair, his voice hushed and soothing, his lips nearly brushing Cas's ear.
For a single, very weird moment Sam almost leaned in to press a kiss to the soft skin so close to his mouth, before he stopped himself, alarmed. It was almost habit; he was only accustomed to being this close, this intimate, with Dean – but Cas wasn't Dean, and such a presumptuous gesture would certainly not be welcome. Sam drew back a little, slowly enough that Cas wouldn't see it as a rejection, and waited until Cas looked up at him to offer a reassuring smile.
"I get it, Cas," Sam insisted gently. "And it's okay. I'm here, all right? Until – until you feel safe when I'm not. All right?"
Cas nodded gratefully, letting out a shaky sigh. "Thank you, Sam," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "You… are kinder to me than I deserve."
Sam's chest clenched, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He swallowed hard, schooling his features to conceal what he felt as he changed the subject. "Okay… are you ready for me to take a look at your wings?"
Cas immediately looked away, but he nodded again. "Yes. Thank you."
Cas lay down on the bed on his stomach, his arms folded in front of him across the pillow, his head resting in his arms. Sam sat down beside him, placing a hand low at the base of Cas's spine as he spoke quietly.
"Tell me if I'm hurting you, or if you want to stop," he instructed. "I'm going to take the bandages off and see if there's any improvement since… since last time."
Cas nodded into the pillow, and Sam proceeded to gently unwind the bandages from the wing nearest to him. Cas shivered at the exposure, and Sam instinctively ran a hand over the dark, glossy feathers that rustled in the cool air of the room, smoothing them down.
"You okay?"
Cas nodded, and the muffled, wordless sound that reached Sam's ears sounded like assent. Still, he wanted to be sure.
"Does that hurt?"
"No," Cas said, lifting his head just a little so that Sam could hear his response. There was a strange hesitation in his voice, but he added haltingly, "No, it… it feels… pleasant."
Sam smiled. "Good."
He gently lifted the wing in his hands, leaning in close, gently pushing aside the feathers to inspect the damaged flesh beneath them. His heart sank when he saw that they'd barely changed at all since the last time he'd seen them. Cas tensed at the contact so near to his most painful injuries, letting out a little whimper, and Sam backed off a little, running his fingers lightly through the surface feathers again, since Cas had said that it felt good.
"Shh, it's okay," Sam said quietly. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Cas. It's okay."
He continued gently stroking through the surface of Cas's wing with one hand, soothing him, as he unwound the bandages from the second wing with his free hand – though he was fairly certain he was going to find it in the same condition. And unfortunately, he was right. It was barely changed at all in the past couple of days.
But Sam did notice that a few more feathers seemed to have died since he'd cleaned Cas's wings, hanging loosely among the feathers that were still attached and relatively healthy. There were smaller, new feathers growing in between the others, and Sam took that as a good sign.
"Hey, Cas," he said, keeping his voice quiet and level. "I'm gonna get rid of some of these feathers that are falling out, okay? Make room for new ones to grow in. That's how it works, right?"
Cas nodded. "Y-yes," he whispered.
Something in his tone gave Sam pause, and he hesitated, one hand resting lightly against the upper ridge of Cas's wing, his fingers sliding gently down over the glossy black feathers that lined it. "If that's okay," he amended gently. "Cas – if you don't want me to, I won't…"
"No, I – it's okay," Cas insisted, but he turned his face so that it was buried in the pillow again, and Sam noticed with concern that Cas's fist was clenched tight against the sheet by his head, knuckles white. "It – doesn't hurt, and – it has to be done, so…"
"Okay." Sam frowned. He was quiet a moment before venturing, "You're sure it doesn't hurt?"
Cas nodded, silent, and Sam cautiously continued, running his hands gently, slowly, down the length of Cas's wings, smoothing the healthy feathers, tugging gently at a few that were barely attached until they came free, and combing out dead, loose feathers with his fingers. As he worked, he noticed with some surprise that Cas's wings seemed to arch back into his touch, and Cas let out a soft gasp now and then in reaction to the contact. Cas was trembling, too, his tight fists flexing against the top of the bed – but he didn't cry out, didn't ask Sam to stop.
"You okay?" Sam asked for what felt like the hundredth time, as he slowed the pace of his touches, sliding gentle fingers between the feathers and just stroking lightly downward, hoping to soothe Cas's unease. "Cas, I can stop…"
"N-no," Cas whispered. "You have to – I mean, I d-don't want you to – don't stop." Cas struggled over the words, and Sam's frown deepened.
"It feels good?" Sam asked.
Cas's breath hitched in his throat as he gasped out, "Y-yes… feels… good, Sam…"
Sam kept up what he was doing, gently smoothing Cas's wings until they were free of any damaged feathers, and the remaining healthy ones gleamed from his attentions. They were trembling, though, the sound of rustling feathers and Cas's increasingly harsh, shuddering breaths the only sounds in the room.
"Cas?" Sam said at last, when he was finished. "Sit up for me, okay? Come here."
Cas pushed himself up on one shaky arm, drawing his legs up and folding them beneath him, and Sam immediately was certain that despite Cas's assurances, something was very wrong. Cas wouldn't look at him, his eyes locked onto the mattress, his face flushed and his breathing shallow and rapid, one arm awkwardly placed so that it lay across his lap.
"Hey, Cas, what's going on? Are you okay?" Sam asked, reaching out a hand to run down Cas's bare shoulder.
Accidentally, Sam's fingers brushed the top of Cas's wing, and he gasped, his entire body shuddering under the touch. Sam raised both hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender, backing off of the bed and standing up.
"Okay, that's it. I'm hurting you. Cas, if I'm hurting you you've gotta tell me, man, okay? I can't just…"
"Y-you're not," Cas insisted, breathless and ragged, still not meeting Sam's eyes. "It's not – I mean… I don't know… what…"
Sam drew in a deep breath, trying to quell his rising alarm, before cautiously approaching the bed again. He sat down gingerly on the edge, reaching out a very tentative hand toward Cas's wing.
"Okay, let's slow down," he said softly. "Because… this isn't making any sense. Cas… when I do this…" Long fingers threaded through the sleek, downy feathers, and Sam watched Cas's face for his reaction. "Does it hurt? Or does it feel good? I thought it was helping, but I don't want to… hurt…"
Sam's voice trailed off, his eyes widening as Cas's eyes suddenly locked onto his. There was confusion, and shock, and panic, and – Sam's mouth went dry, his own pulse racing as he took in the blown pupils, the haze of pleasure in Cas's eyes – arousal.
And suddenly – horrifically – so many things began to make sense.
The way Cas had desperately tried to hide, in the basement of the cabin, when he was in too much pain to even speak, and yet had still struggled to draw in his mangled, broken wings… the shame on his face every time anyone mentioned the wings in those first couple days… the way Cas had exposed his human form like it was nothing when getting into the tub for Sam to clean his wings – yet had utterly fallen apart, shaking, weeping at the prospect of having his wings examined.
Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he withdrew his hand abruptly, standing up. Cas's wide eyes watched him closely – and then Cas's gaze dropped, his face flushed, his arms wrapped around his body and his shoulders drawn in and shaking. Sam knew immediately that he'd reacted wrongly, only compounding the shame and confusion Cas was feeling.
"Cas… I'm sorry," he offered softly, crouching down in front of Cas beside the bed. "I didn't know…"
He reached out to take Cas's hand in both of his, trying to reach out to him in a way that wasn't so horrifically inappropriate as what he'd been doing just moments earlier – but Cas jerked his hand away, sidling out of Sam's reach and getting to his feet at the foot of the bed. He held out his hands in front of him as if fending Sam off, his eyes still averted, his backward steps lurching and unsteady.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered out, his voice thick and hoarse. "Something's… something's wrong with me, I didn't – mean to… I… I'm sorry."
"Cas… wait a second…"
But Cas was rapidly backing toward the door, stumbling the last step so that his damaged wings, unprotected by the bandages Sam had removed, slammed into it, and his knees buckled as he let out a yelp of startled pain. Sam instinctively started forward, but Cas's anguished, "Don't!" stopped him in his tracks. Cas held up one hand in front of him as a warning as he struggled to steady himself, then fumbled for the doorknob with his other hand.
"Cas… please just wait a second so we can talk about this, okay?" Sam pleaded.
"I'm sorry, I – I can't…" Cas shook his head as he finally managed to open the door, then stumbled out into the hall. "Please, just… leave me alone. Please." Then he turned and hurried away down the hall, leaving Sam standing there in shocked dismay, still processing what had just happened.
The Unspeakable… that's what they called it…
His stomach roiled, and Sam found himself reaching out to catch the edge of the dresser, the room momentarily spinning around him as all of the pieces fell into place.
… because it's the ultimate violation. Because it makes an angel vulnerable like nothing else does.
He sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, mind and heart racing.
So when we exposed his wings, by force… we stripped him bare… left him naked and humiliated and so, so vulnerable… and he still is. God, he still is… and… Dean… when he touched them… when he tore into them and violated them…
When I touched them… just now…
God, no…
Sam lost the battle to his churning stomach, lurching to his feet and barely making it to the bathroom before he was violently sick. But even as his stomach rejected its contents, his mind could not reject what it had learned – and an overwhelming, anguished guilt swept over him, hot tears spilling from his eyes as he knelt beside the toilet and struggled to regain his breath.
Oh, Cas… Cas, I'm so sorry… we didn't know… God, we didn't know…