A/N Two chapters in a week? WHAT? Well, if you read the notes on the last chapter, THIS chapter was actually (mostly) finished first. So… don't get used to it, kids.
We're skipping right to the end of s0407 It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester. There are a couple of minor beats (when they are examining the first hex bag, and Dean says "Witches, man, they're so skeevy", in this world Sam throws a bitchface and Dean responds "present company excluded"; Sam just says, "right.") but they're not worth rewriting the entire scene for. Everything still plays out basically the same, until the end, where we finally get a payoff from some of the crap back in chapters 12 - 19!
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Moonlight Motel
One Day After Halloween
4:03 a.m.
And Sam moved, executing one single, fluid motion, to grab the arm on his shoulder with his left hand, spinning his opponent around and stepping up against "Dean's" back, the arm he'd captured pinned between them, while simultaneously swinging the machete he held in his right hand up against the other man's neck.
Exactly the way the real Dean had taught him.
"Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my brother?"
"I am your brother," Dean said carefully, staying as still as he could as the edge of the weapon pressed against his throat. "Sam, you are hallucinating again. You are not at all well."
"What I'm not," Sam growled, "is an idiot. And what you aren't, is my brother."
"Sam…" Dean began and started to lift his free hand toward the arm holding the machete.
"DON'T," Sam warned and pushed the machete slightly harder against the man's throat. "I will cut you," he warned, then gave the arm between them a little yank upwards. "Or break your arm. Maybe both, I'm not picky."
"Oh, Sam," the man said sadly. "I can prove it to you," he assured his captor. "I can prove that I'm Dean. Ask me anything. Something only we would know. Give me a test."
Sam scoffed. "I already gave you a test, genius. You failed. Three times. Now I admit, you got the look right, and some of the inflection. But you are woefully ignorant about hunting, and damn near clueless about my brother and me. So you listen carefully, before things get any worse," he suggested and pulled the arm between them up more, just this side of breaking it. "Because we're done with the part where you play games and pretend to be Dean. Now we're at the part where you tell me who and what you are, and where. My. Brother is."
"I'm your..."
"Nope," Sam said, firmly and tweaked the arm he held another sixteenth of an inch toward breaking. "I may not know exactly what kind of evil dick you are, but I know you aren't Dean." Sam said and leaned closer to whisper in the thing's ear as he pushed the edge of the machete into the thing's neck just hard enough to draw a single, thin line of blood. "What are you? And where. Is. Dean?"
A soft noise came from behind, and Sam stiffened, still holding his captive firm as he started to turn his head. He felt, rather than saw, someone reaching towards him, and then…
Sam woke suddenly, gasping in shock and immediately rolled to look at his brother — his real, flesh and blood brother — sleeping in the next bed.
Holy shit. He knew what that was, and it wasn't a dream. It was memory, from when he'd been in that, that coma-thing seven years ago, back at Bobby's, the summer before he and Dean moved to Palo Alto.
He knew that, like he knew his name. Like he knew that it was the Real Dean snoring in his sleep three feet away. He could feel Dean's mind, as familiar and as comforting as the seat of the Impala wrapping itself around him.
And that was what had brought that messed up memory back, the touch of some something he'd touched before, in his head.
Touched by an Angel, he thought a little hysterically and barely suppressed the snort of laughter.
He knew, now, what had been hunting him what felt like half a lifetime ago, before Stanford, before Jess, when Dad was alive and demon was just a word that was used against him.
When his life had still had promise and there was still a chance he could be….
NO. No, Winchester, you don't have time for that shit.
It had been Angels after him, back then. He was positive, as sure as, even in a coma, he'd known that whatever was with him wasn't his brother.
Angels had hunted him. Angels had damn near killed him.
Angels had tried to stop him from going to California?
"What the fuck?" he marveled softly, and winced when Dean snorted and rolled towards him.
"Sammy?" A voice in the darkness, full of sleep and comfort and worry and home. "Y' a'right?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm good, Dean. Just had to take a leak."
"Mmmf." Dean rolled away from him again. "Keep i' d'n, Bitch."
"Go back to sleep, Jerk," he smiled and some of the tightness in his chest eased.
"Y' too."
"Yeah."
Sam settled back into his pillow.
He still didn't know what that all meant, wasn't even a hundred percent sure he was correct… But it was okay. They'd figure it out, just him and Dean.
The way they always did.
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Moonlight Motel
One Day After Halloween
10:05 a.m.
Sam sat on the end of his bed, staring into space.
It was real. It was all real.
"Holy crap," he breathed, and brushed his hands through his hair.
He'd felt it again, when that dick Angel had shown up in their room. That presence, that pressure he'd felt in his mind back at Bobby's with those "cloud things".
And when Uriel had flown right up into his face…
"Holy crap!"
THAT had been a completely different feeling, an… itch in his head, a weird sense of something he'd only felt a few times before. But to feel it from an Angel…
"FUCK."
He needed to tell someone, to warn someone. But Dean would never believe this. None of it. He'd never believe Sam suddenly remembered what happened to him while he was in a fucked up coma over seven years ago.
And he wouldn't understand about Uriel. Sam had never told Dean what he'd realized — what he recognized — when he was interrogating all those demons, trying to find Lilith.
And Bobby wouldn't get it. Though he tried hard to hide it, Sam was sure the older Hunter was still uncomfortable with most of Sam's powers — except the witchcraft, bless him.
Ruby would've believed him, he thought and laughed. But then, Ruby was part of his proof, why wouldn't she? Bitch.
So, who…
He froze.
No.
No, he couldn't.
Could he?
"He felt different," Sam said to the room. "Not like Uriel, not at all like Uriel, he's not… And he can't know about it already. If he did, he'd never let that stand, he's too… GOOD. He can't possibly know. And Dean seems to trust him. Kinda. A little."
He shook his head.
"If I'm right… I'm right," he nodded. "I'm right. I know I am. I know what I felt, I know what I… smelled. And he… God, he won't believe me! Why would he? I'm The Boy With The fucking Demon Blood, after all. Still…" He rolled his lower lip between his teeth, biting down almost hard enough to draw blood. "I owe him. I owe him everything.
"FUCK."
Sam stood slowly and moved to the center of the room.
He took two, slow, deep breaths, folded his hands…
Should he kneel? Maybe he should kneel.
He knelt.
No, that felt weird.
He stood and folded his hands again, closed his eyes and tipped his head back so his face was towards the ceiling.
"I pray to the Angel Castiel," he said softly, his voice reverent and maybe shaking slightly. "This… This is Sam Winchester. I'm still at the motel, and… I have a need to speak with you. Alone. Just you. It's… I think it's important that you… I've realized… dammit," he breathed and winced at the blasphemy. "Sorry, sorry!. Just… if you could please just come, Castiel. Sir. Please."
"What do you require, Sam Winchester?"
The deep voice behind him nearly gave him a heart attack, and Sam spun around.
"Castiel! You came."
Castiel just stared at him. "Obviously," he intoned after a moment.
"Right, of course. Umm… Dean's not here," Sam explained. "So you know."
"I just left him in a park," Castiel said flatly. "I know he is not here. And you did ask to speak alone."
"I did, yeah," Sam nodded quickly. God, he sounded like a total idiot. It was just… He was an ANGEL. And he was so… he looked so…
Angelic.
"Did you require something, Sam?"
"Yeah, sorry. Umm," Sam frowned. What if he was wrong. What if… Shit. He stuck his hand out again. "Can I shake your hand again? Please."
Castiel glared at him, and Sam thought he might burn under the force of the gaze. "Will this be required each time we meet?" Castiel queried, but reached out and placed his hand in Sam's. "Dean does not require this when I meet with him."
Sam breathed deeply. He'd been right. "No," he said, more confidently, "just this time. I just needed… I needed to be sure."
Castiel's head tilted slightly as Sam let his hand go. "Sure of what?"
"It was you," Sam nodded. "It was definitely you."
"I… It… was, indeed, me. Yesterday," Castiel said slowly, beginning to look at Sam with some concern. Perhaps there was something wrong with The Boy, mentally. Not surprising, given what he was. Although, Heaven had emphasized his intelligence, reminding Castiel and his garrison that the intellect of The Boy With The Demon Blood could make even such a corrupted creature a formidable enemy.
"No, I…" Sam took another deep breath. "Seven years ago, Angels came for me."
Castiel frowned and tilted his head the other way. Like it was news to him.
"It wasn't the first time," Sam admitted, "and I didn't know that's what it was. It was just… like, like weird clouds. And, and a light. The first time, there was a light, eight years ago, but seven years ago, there was… Sound. Loud. Like… screeching. In my head. Like what Dean said you sounded like when you tried to talk to him. Before you met. Face to face, I mean. On Earth."
"I understand," Castiel assured him. "Go on."
"I.. I ended up in a coma. And while I was in the coma, I… somebody…" He had to look away, close his eyes. Looking too long at this fucking… angelic… Angel… messed with his concentration. "Somebody came to me. In my head."
"While you were in a coma."
"Yeah. They pretended to be Dean. And I…" Sam forced himself to look the Angel in the eye. "It was you, Castiel. I recognized you when we shook hands yesterday. And again, just now. It was you," he breathed and chuckled. "It was you!" It was a revelation, a relief, a…
"That never happened."
"…Uh…I….Uh…what?"
"I cannot speak to clouds and lights, but I was not in your head, Sam Winchester," Castiel said firmly. "That is fantasy."
Sam stood up straighter for the first time, not quite to his full height, but not hiding it anymore either, his shoulders going back in the defiant stance he'd first learned under John Winchester's wrath. "It's not," he said flatly. "It happened."
"Perhaps," Castiel conceded, carelessly. "But it was not me."
Sam sighed and relaxed slightly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Castiel. It was. Listen, I… I'm psychic. In addition to… everything else," he shrugged, waving a hand vaguely in the air to wipe away all the demon blood things. "And I can't read minds. I can't even speak to all of them, telepathically. But I recognize them. Every time," he insisted, stabbing a finger into the air for emphasis, "every one. If they touch me, if I touch them, I get their… I don't know… signature? What their mind feels like. And I. Felt. Yours," he insisted. "Then. And Now."
"I… I do not remember this," Castiel said, the furrows in his brow deepening. But The Boy seemed so sure, and he wasn't lying. Castiel prided himself on being able to see Human Lies. Or Demon Lies, for that matter. Either way, he was confident he would know if the… creature… before him were not telling him the truth.
Sam shrugged. "Neither did I," he admitted. "Not until we touched. I don't know, Castiel, I… I think… I think something took that memory from me. Maybe… maybe they took yours, too," he suggested.
"Heaven would not do that. To you, certainly," he admitted. "Not to me."
Sam sighed, then shook his head and shrugged. "I hope you're right."
"THIS is why you called me?" Castiel demanded. "This… this fiction? These unfounded accusations?"
"No! Not… not entirely."
"What then?" Castiel demanded. He shifted to stand on feet slightly spread, crossing his arms, his disapproval dripping from him. "And I am warning you, Sam Winchester. Do not. Waste my time."
"I wouldn't, sir, I never would," Sam assured him quickly. "But… there's… The other angel, Uriel, he was here. Just, just now."
Castiel frowned. Uriel was meant to be in heaven.
"To what purpose?"
"To threaten me, basically," Sam admitted.
"He had reason," Castiel admitted. "You did use your powers again."
"I saved the town!" Sam reminded, incredulous that that needed explaining again.
"I'm not questioning your motivation," Castiel said, more gently. "I am… It is good the town is saved. I think that you and your brother… performed… perhaps even admirably. Despite the way you disobeyed Heaven's orders."
"Uh… thank you?" Sam frowned, unsure if he was being praised, or condemned or just condescended to.
"Nevertheless, if you called me to complain about Uriel…"
"NO! I… I called you to…" Sam looked away for a moment (why was it so hard to look into those blue eyes?) then forced himself to look back again. "…To warn you."
"Warn me. Of what?" Again, the inquisitive head tilt. It reminded him of a puppy hearing an unfamiliar sound.
A puppy that can burn you eyes out, Winchester. Remember that.
"You… look, I know what you think of me," Sam admitted. "I'm The Boy With The Demon Blood. I'm tainted. You probably think I'm evil."
Castiel looked disconcerted but said nothing.
"And I admit, I had been using my… powers… my telekinesis, to exorcize Demons. The weaker ones, I can… I can… even… kill," he admitted.
Castiel was fascinated by the way Sam seemed to pull in on himself when he said he'd killed, how reluctant and soft the words were. It was as if The Boy were almost ashamed to have killed the Demons. The angel wondered if he were ashamed to kill his own kind or just… ashamed to kill at all.
"I've been looking for Lilith, for a while now. Interrogating demons close to her. And I've learned something."
"What?" Castiel asked urgently. "What have you learned?"
Sam took a breath and made himself continue. "It's my psychic thing, again. Kind of how I recognize minds, like I said."
Castiel glanced away with a disappointed sigh.
"I've learned," Sam continued, his voice raising slightly to bring the angel's attention back to bear, "that some demons, demons with a certain… commonality. In my mind they… it's…" He shook his head frustrated. "It's hard to explain. It's like there's this… feeling. This… itch in my brain when I get near them. I think of it… I don't know, my brain doesn't know how to classify it I guess, so it classifies it as a smell. It's not physical. It's just… it just… IS."
"And what does this… smell… tell you?" Castiel asked, picking up on what Sam was getting at so quickly that the Winchester smiled widely, flashing his dimples.
Castiel blinked.
"I 'smelled' it the first time, on Meg. The demon we called Meg. Azazel's 'daughter'," Sam explained, waving his hand about in a most distracting manner. "Then on Azazel himself. I didn't recognize it when I first smelled it on Ruby," he admitted, frowning and blushing slightly with shame. "But I came to realize she had it too, before I… before I killed her. And I smell it on all the demons that follow Lilith. And on Lilith herself." He looked into the too-blue eyes of the angel. "I smell it on the demons… who, ultimately, follow… well, Lucifer," he finished, wincing slightly. Sam took a breath and squared his shoulders. "And I just smelled it on Uriel."
For a moment, Sam was convinced time had stopped, the angel stood so still. Sam stopped breathing, and he wouldn't have been surprised to find that his heart had stopped.
Then a hand grabbed his bicep in a grip like a fucking vice and dragged him forward.
He gasped and shuddered as Castiel leaned in and drew his nose up the side of Sam's neck and into his hair, inhaling deeply, before he let go and half-threw Sam away from him.
Sam staggered back a half-step before he caught himself, and he counted himself lucky he wasn't pinned to a wall right now.
"You carry the stench of Hell," Castiel informed him, with so little emotion he might have been giving a passing stranger the time.
Sam winced, gritting his teeth for a moment to stop the tears that wanted to form. "I didn't know that," he admitted. "But I'm not surprised," he added, the words barely audible over his shuddering breath, staring at the carpet, realizing — finally — what he should have realized the moment they'd come into the motel to find Castiel and Uriel yesterday. He, Sam Winchester, the Freak, the Half-Demon, the Boy with the Demon Blood, and the Boy King of Hell by Prophecy, wasn't worthy to look at the angel at all, much less look this marvelous creature in the eye. Defiantly. God, he was lucky to still be alive.
"But I don't smell lies on you," Castiel added, thoughtfully.
"No, sir," Sam said, meekly. "I wouldn't lie to you, sir."
Castiel paused and looked at the younger Winchester thoughtfully. His head drifted slightly to one side as he took in the downcast eyes, the tense form, the way The Boy seemed to be bracing himself for…. What?
"Is something wrong?"
Sam jumped and his eyes flew to Castiel's face, then quickly back to the ground. "No. I…" He paused, and took a deep breath. You're a Winchester, dammit, a voice in his head (remarkably like Dean's, really) admonished him. Fucking act like it. His breath came out in stutters of fear but his head came back up and his shoulders went back as he, for once, stood up to his full height. "If you intend to… smite me… or whatever," he said firmly, and forced himself to look into those really fucking blue eyes, "please just do it."
Castiel frowned. "Why would I smite you?" he wondered. After a moment, recognition seemed to dawn and he almost smiled. He reached out a hand towards him — The Boy was trembling (a human would never have seen the minute shivers, but to an Angel they were small earthquakes on the long, lean form) and Castiel was certain he expected to die at any second. The angel found himself reluctantly impressed that Sam held his gaze with a calm look and didn't so much as flinch when he put his hand on The Boy's shoulder. "Sam," he said, softly, "I would not smite you for what you have told me here this day."
The Boy's relief was palpable to the Angel, but Sam simply gave a small, curt nod. "Thank you."
Castiel smiled. "It may come to pass that I will one day thank you for this information."
Sam blinked, clearly surprised as Castiel squeezed his shoulder, so much more softly than he had grabbed him moments before.
"I am not certain that what you have told me is true," Castiel admitted and at that, Sam did flinch. "But I know you believe it so. And," the angel added thoughtfully, "it is possible that your Demon Blood might give you the ability to recognize one of Lucifer's own. That is the original source of the Blood, after all," he mused and smiled at Sam. "Ultimately, the blood in your veins belongs to Lucifer," he pointed out, logically, and failed to note the way Sam's eyes widened as The Boy went pale.
When Castiel removed his hand from Sam's shoulder with a final pat (like on the head of a spaniel, some part of Sam's psyche spat), Sam locked his knees to keep from falling to the floor under the weight of the new knowledge. The blood in your veins belongs to Lucifer, the deep voice echoed in his head, endlessly.
"I will think on what you have told me," Castiel decided and Sam snapped back to himself.
"Castiel!" he said urgently and the angel regarded him closely. "Just… please… Look, if they… If I'm right about it, any of it. If they took your memories. If Uriel is on Lucifer's side — and I believe both of those are true, I do — Please, Castiel. Please. Be careful."
Castiel looked at him closely. "You are… concerned. For me."
Sam nodded. "Of course. Why… Castiel, I owe… You saved Dean," he said with so much reverence and sincerity that Castiel could all but taste it. "You… You gave me back my brother. You gave me the whole world. I owe you everything, Castiel. EVERYTHING. I will… I will always do whatever I can to help you, in any way I can."
For a moment, Sam hesitated as a small, soft voice in his mind — his own, this time — just tsk'd at him and said really, dude? Really, he realized and stood straighter again, his own tri-colored eyes boring into the Blue. "I can never repay you, Castiel," he said simply. "But I will do everything I can to protect you. Always."
It was a ridiculous thing to say, and they both knew it. What could a Human — a sub-human really, the all-but-demon Boy With The Demon Blood (Lucifer's Blood, Sam thought) — do to protect an actual Angel of the Lord?
But the sentiment struck something in Castiel, resonating in his grace, and he smiled.
"Thank you, Sam," he said with no less sincerity than Sam had given him. "I will be careful."
And the angel was gone.
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45 minutes later, Dean opened the door to find their bags packed and neatly waiting by the door.
His little brother sat on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed further from the door, steadily — almost mechanically — draining a bottle of the rot gut whiskey they used almost solely for cleaning wounds. (The stupidly high alcohol percentage would kill just about anything in the wound, and the horrible taste - something reminiscent of the way kerosene smelled - meant that they didn't usually drink it themselves and, most importantly, it was dirt cheap, so they always had some on hand.)
"Sammy?"
The boy on the floor didn't respond, just tipped the bottle back again.
Dean frowned and closed the door behind him, glancing at the clock. Nearly eleven, they needed to get out of here before they got charged for another day in this shithole, but that was the least of his problems.
Sammy didn't drink. Not like this, like… well, like Dad. Like Dean. Oh, beers, sure. The occasional glass or two of whiskey, no problem. But Dean had just replaced that bottle a few days before this hunt. It hadn't been opened — at least not by him — and now it was over half gone.
"All right, little brother," he said softly and crouched next to the kid. "I think you've had enough," he added and reached for the bottle, only to get an elbow in his throat as Sam switched the bottle to his other hand and held it away from him. "C'mon, Sammy, gimme the bottle!" he urged and reached for the bottle again, just to be pushed away with a big hand literally in his face.
"Dammit, Sam!" Dean snapped and stood, then reached down and grabbed the bottle from his brother's hand. "The hell is wrong with you?!"
Sam looked up at him, slowly tipping his head back until their eyes met, and nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice thick with pain or tears — or both. "It is."
"Wha—" Dean sighed. "Never mind," he decided. "Wait here." He quickly took the bags — and the whiskey — out to stuff them into his baby's trunk, then returned to his brother.
Who was now lying curled up into a ball (and how the hell could somebody 6'-4" make himself look so damned small?) on the rug at the foot of the bed he'd been leaning against.
"Okay, Sammy," Dean said gently and crouched before him. "We gotta go, little brother. Can you stand?" he wondered as he bodily pulled Sam into a sitting position.
Sam looked up at him and sighed. "'S not the quesshun," he said softly, slowly gaining his feet with Dean's help. "Quesshun is," he slurred, "how do you stan' it?" he wondered as Dean led him from the room.
"What the… hang on," Dean sighed and leaned the kid back against his baby's grill. "Stay."
In the three minutes it took Dean to check out of the motel, Sam had leaned back so he was lying on the hood of the Impala, one arm flung across his eyes, his legs dangling down the grill and his feet three inches from the ground.
"That's just — " Dean sighed and leaned down to grab Sammy's arm from over his face to pull him until he slid off the car and onto his feet. Well, almost on his feet — Dean had to catch him to keep the kid from crashing to the ground. "Come on, Sasquatch," he grunted and pulled the arm over his shoulder, grabbing the back of Sammy's belt and half-walking, half-dragging him to the passenger side of the door. He pushed Sam to lean against the back door while he opened the front door — keeping a firm hand against the broad chest so the idiot didn't just slip to the asphalt — then manhandled him into the front seat, buckling him firmly in place so he didn't have to worry about Sam either falling back out of the car or sliding into the footwell.
By the time Dean had closed Sam's door, walked around the car and climbed into the driver's seat, Sam was half-asleep and still all drunk.
"What the hell is with you?" Dean wondered again as he started the car and backed out of the space.
He almost ran over the curb when the answer was yelled in his ear.
"I'M NOT WITH HELL!"
"Jesus, Sam!"
Sam turned to face him, tears beginning to slide down his cheeks. "I'm not, Dean. I swear. I know, I know wha' I am, bu', bu', but I'm no'… I'm not with Hell, Dean, I'm not. 'S in me," he rambled, pounding his chest, "but I'm not… I'm on Heaven's side, I swear. I'm on your side, Dean, I swear. I sw'r."
"I know, I know," Dean hastened to calm and comfort, reaching his hand over to pat Sammy's chest in a way that had grounded the kid since almost before he could walk. "I know you're on my side, Sammy. I know it."
"WHY?" Sam wailed. "Why're you — you shou'n't be," he half sobbed. "I'm… I'm evil, D'n. I got evil in me."
"Sammy, you're not…"
"The blood," he moaned. "The BLOOD, Dean! 'S in me. Cas'iel said. His blood," he continued and began to scratch at his arm over the long vein that ran up the inside of his left arm. "Gotta ge' i' ou'. Gotta get it out, gotta…."
Dean glanced over in horror as the scratches began to bleed. "Hey, hey! No!" He reached over and grabbed Sam's arm, taking his hand to keep the kid from scratching himself open.
Sam started trying to pull his arm away, muttering over and over get it out, get it out.
Quickly, Dean pulled onto the side of the road and threw his baby into park, before turning his whole attention to his brother. "Stop it," he demanded as Sam pulled his hand away and started to tear at his skin again. "Sam, cut it out!"
Sam glanced at him, just for a second, and Dean found himself pushed - by nothing visible - back against the driver's door and momentarily pinned there, until Sam's attention returned wholly to his offending arm.
"Dammit, kid," Dean muttered, and pulled himself away from the door, moving slowly so Sam wouldn't get alarmed. "Sam… Sammy…"
The kid didn't look at him, just kept clawing at himself.
"I'm sorry, kiddo," Dean sighed and punched him as hard as he could, right across his cheek, once, twice, three times until the kid fell against the passenger door, unconscious.
For a moment, Dean just sat there, breathing heavily as the scratches on Sammy's arm — and the small cuts and bruises he'd just caused on the kid's face — began to close themselves and fade.
And all Dean could do was sit and watch helplessly, Sam's words running endlessly through his big brother's brain. It's in me. His blood. Get it out, get it out…
Dean ran one hand over his short cropped hair, shaking his head.
"What the fuck?"
He sat there for several long minutes, trying to figure out what exactly he'd just witnessed, and what had his brother so tied up in knots that he'd actually hurt himself like that.
He kept replaying it over and over and over in his head, and it didn't make any sense. His blood. WHOSE blood? The Demon blood? But it had seemed more specific than that. Azazel's blood, then.
But Sammy had known that Azazel's blood was in him for over a decade, why would…
Wait. Castiel said it.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean threw open the driver's side door (after checking for traffic, of course) and moved to the front of the car, where he began pacing along the shoulder where his car sat, a dozen or so feet away from her grille, then back to the car, to check on Sammy, all the while muttering to himself.
"God dammit. Fuckin' Angels, man. Always messing with your head. What the hell, man? What did he… Stupid fucking…
"CASTIEL!" he yelled at the sky. "Castiel, get your feathered ass down here!"
"I am meant to be saving seals, Dean," the angel frowned. "I cannot come every time a Winchester calls."
Dean turned quickly to face the Angel, who was standing next to the passenger door, bending at the waist to peer in at Sam like he was studying a fish in a fishbowl.
"NO! No, you get away from him!" Dean demanded and Castiel slowly straightened and faced Dean.
"What has happened to Sam? He appears to be unconscious."
"Yeah," Dean confirmed angrily, "because I had to punch him until I knocked his sorry ass out, APPARENTLY because of something you said. And when, exactly, did you even see Sam without me?"
"He prayed for me, shortly after I left you in the park."
"Okay. Okay. Did you stay long?"
"A few minutes."
"Great. Great," Dean nodded and moved to stand in front of the angel, glaring down at the being in a way that should probably have Dean apologizing or at least frightened if he weren't so pissed off. "Well, I was back to the motel less than an hour after you left the park, and he —" Dean pointed at the unconscious giant in the front seat of the car, "was talking about not being with Hell!"
"He said what?" Castiel glanced at Sam again and turned his attention back to Dean.
"That he wasn't 'with Hell'. That he was on Heaven's side." Dean blinked at the slight smile that suddenly appeared on the angel's severe countenance, and the slight softness in the too-blue eyes as the angel, too, looked at the limp form in the shotgun seat. "And then," he continued and was pleased when the angel returned his attention to Dean, "he started going on about 'the blood' and 'his blood', and that he had to get it out. He was hurting himself trying to get it out."
Castiel frowned and glanced again at Sam's limp form. "The Blood is a part of him," he said solemnly, and met Dean's gaze again. "There's no removing it. Surely, he knows that."
Dean sighed heavily. "Well, it didn't stop him from trying," he said and blinked quickly to hold back the emotion that wanted to come.
"I… I don't understand," Castiel said quietly, and turned back to the car, gently opening the door.
Dean reached out quickly, but pulled back when Castiel put a hand on Sam's shoulder, keeping him from tipping over.
"You said he hurt himself?"
Dean nodded.
"He isn't hurt now," Castiel noted.
Dean shrugged. "He heals himself," Dean explained and frowned when Castiel threw a confused look over his shoulder at the Hunter. "You didn't know that?"
"I did not."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Dean snapped, and Castiel twisted around to look up at the elder Winchester. "You're all hyped up about him not using his powers, and you don't know what they are? What the hell, man?"
Slowly, Castiel stood. "I have been made aware of his telekinesis, which he gets from the demon blood, and his visions which were also… gifts…" the angel said with clear disdain, "from Azazel. When Sam and I spoke, he mentioned… other… psychic abilities. But Heaven had not mentioned he can heal himself."
"Well, he can," Dean confirmed. "He heals me, too. And civilians, if they're hurt on a hunt and he can do it."
Castiel frowned, slightly, with that little head tilt Dean couldn't decide was annoying or endearing. He was leaning towards annoying, at the moment.
"Really?" Castiel said softly, and glanced back at Sam again. "I would not have thought that he would do that. I would not have credited him with the emotional response necessary for that sort of compassion. Given what he is."
'Yeah, and what exactly do you think he is?" Dean challenged.
"He's The Boy with the Demon Blood," Castiel said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer. As if it were the only answer.
"Got that from Heaven, did you?"
Castiel nodded.
"If that's all Heaven thinks he is," Dean snapped, "then Heaven doesn't know it's ass from a hole in the ground. Demon blood is what happened TO him, not what he IS! What he IS, is probably the most empathetic, and stupidly compassionate man I've ever met," he continued, his voice slowly sliding from angry to broken as he continued. "He's strong, and way too smart for anybody's good. And he's…" his voice broke and he shook his head. "He's my brother. And you hurt him."
"I?"
"What did you say to him when the two of you talked?"
"He had… news… to share. Information. As yet unverified," Castiel was quick to add.
"What information?"
"I told you, it is unverified."
"Did you get it from Sam?" Dean challenged.
"Yes, I told you…"
"Then consider it verified," Dean said coldly. "Because unless Sam said he's not sure about it… Trust me. It's true."
"I believe he believes it's true," Castiel nodded. "I told him as much."
"Whatever it is," Dean shrugged, "if it's something that can be a verifiable fact, you can believe it, if Sam does. Sammy doesn't lie about shit like that. And he doesn't tell you things if he's not sure about it. Or if he does, he tells you he's not sure."
Again, the frown from the angel. "Still. It was a… disturbing… possibility he shared with me."
"What possibility?"
Castiel shook his head. "I cannot say. Not until I have done my own investigation. I will say however," he added at the dark look he received from the Hunter, "that the presence of Demon Blood in your brother's veins does lend credence to his claims." He looked back at Sam one more. "After all, the blood in his veins does, ultimately, come from Lucifer."
Dean flinched. "WHAT did you just say?"
Castiel turned back to face Dean. "All demons come from Lucifer. Lilith was the first Demon, and then he created the Princes of Hell, and then the lower demons after that. His blood flows through them all, most especially through Lilith and the Princes. As a Prince of Hell, Azazel's blood would be, essentially, Lucifer's blood. "
Dean stared at him, eyes wide and jaw slacked. "Oh, my god. Holy shit, Castiel! PLEASE tell me you did not say that to Sam!"
"Only in passing."
Dean rubbed his fingers into his eyes for a moment before running them over his hair. "In PASSING?! Are you kidding me, right now?! Holy fucking…"
"Please do not blaspheme."
"Mother…" Dean buried his face in his hands and took a few deep breaths in and out into his palms. When he thought he could speak without screaming, he slowly lowered his hands. "You haven't spent much time with humans, have you?" he said dully.
"It's been… quite some time since I was last on Earth for any significant period. So, no, I suppose I have not."
Dean pointed a trembling finger at the (still mercifully unconscious) Sam in the car. "He hates himself," Dean explained. "Because my Dad hated him. Our father used to say Sam was an actual Demon. That Sam killed our mother, because of what that… fuckwad… Azazel did to him, bleeding into his mouth. Sam's been called a demon, and evil, and tainted, his whole life! He's been accused of being the fucking Anti-Christ, for…" He shook his head. "And you, you stupid, clueless son of a bitch, just told him it's not just Demon blood, it's LUCIFER's Blood. Do you know what he did with that information, Castiel? Do you?!"
Castiel turned his suddenly stricken gaze back to Sam and shook his head.
"He got obliterated on rotgut whiskey, and then he tried to claw the blood from his own veins."
"No," Castiel breathed and knelt again at Sam's side. "I did… I did not know that…"
Dean watched, eyes wide, as Castiel cupped Sam's cheek in one hand and gently stroked Sam's arm with another.
"I'm sorry, Sam Winchester," the angel whispered. "You promised me your fidelity and I gave you pain." He turned to look up at Dean. "It was not done with malice," he assured and
looked at Sam again. "I find that I have no desire to hurt this boy at all."
Slowly, Castiel stood. "I am sorry, Dean. Please, when he awakens, tell Sam. I am sorry."
Dumbfounded, Dean nodded.
Castiel looked quickly up at the sky. "I must return to Heaven. I am sorry about my part in Sam's… misadventure."
"Misadventure," Dean scoffed. "One word for it."
"Tell Sam… tell him I… overstated… the matter. It is matter of… semantics, in this case. Much more so than blood."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, we'll give that a shot," he agreed coldly.
"I am sorry," Castiel repeated.
Dean nodded and blinked when suddenly he was alone with his car and his unconscious brother.
"Fuckin' angels," Dean sighed. "And I would've said Cas was a good one."
===SPN===SPN===SPN===SPN===SPN===SPN===
A/N
Princess of the Fae I know. Jensen was brilliant in that scene. As usual.
Words hurt, y'all.
If you haven't figured it out, but found the beginning of the chapter (in italics) familiar, that's an excerpt from Chapter 18..
Touched by an Angel was an American TV show that ran from the mid 1990s to the early 2000s. In it a group of angels were sent from Heaven to tell depressed and lonely people that God had not forgotten them. It was absolutely as saccharine as it sounds. (Angels were very popular in the US in the late 1990s. I have no idea why)