Evolution

by Aethena618

my 1st Supernatural Fanfic! What if the effects of the Demon Blood showed up in Sam way earlier? AU. teen!chesters (Sam 15, Dean 19) to start, will probably move into the series later. WARNINGS: M for some violence, language. Some extreme child abuse. (I like John, think he obviously loved his sons. For this story, however, he's an abuse jerk who blames Sam for Mary's death

48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

A/N Yeah, still in the Panic Room to start with.

Sorry for the delay on this one. You may notice the barest hint of building Sastiel in chapter 47. (I know I did. It wasn't planned. YOU try corralling these assholes.) Well, 48 went way past a 'hint', and I had to dial it back. Which meant, basically, scrapping an entire scene and rewriting another. So, sorry for the delay.

It also took me a while to get out of the Panic Room (honestly, torturing Sam is SO. MUCH. FUN.), but it had to be done so that we can get on with the rest of Season 4. So… sorry for the abrupt end to this one. Those last couple scenes were straight up coyote-ugly writing. IFYKYK.

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Bobby Singer's House

Panic Room

November 5, 2009

2:15 am

"…ll right, Sam. You're all right. I'm here."

The deep voice wormed its way into his consciousness, pulling him up from the dark, peaceful depths where he'd been more than content to stay. But something in the tone of that increasingly familiar voice — a worry, almost a pain — compelled him to come back to himself, despite whatever he wanted.

"C'st'el?" his own voice was soft, wavering, almost unintelligible in its slurring.

"SAM!" The relief in the angel's voice was almost a physical thing. "Oh, thank Father," he heard the celestial whisper. Gentle hands skated over his head and back. "You're all right. You're all right."

Sam let himself be held, couldn't help himself from snuggling closer against the warm chest, just breathing in the scent of the angel — like a field in a thunderstorm, all bright ozone and dark earth — until his brain cleared a little.

"Castiel," he repeated, his voice stronger and finally clear, and slowly pulled away.

The angel allowed it, but kept his hands on him, one on Sam's chest over his heart, the other on one arm, preventing him from pulling too far away.

"What…" He looked around the room, at the fine dust that was piled at the floor along the walls; at the dents in the walls themselves.

At the large pool of blood lying below a particularly deep dent on the wall directly across from the head of the cot where (he suddenly realized) he sat basically in the angel's lap.

The position he'd woken up in — clearly cradled on the angel's thighs, held tight in those surprisingly muscular arms — should have left him embarrassed, humiliated even. It didn't. He wasn't sure how he did feel about it, exactly, but embarrassed definitely wasn't it.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Castiel queried with what was considerably more caution than he usually used when speaking.

Sam frowned. "I was… we were…" Cuddling. They'd been cuddling. There was no other word for it, but his father and brother had trained him too well to say the word out loud. "And then I…" His eyes grew wide. "Oh, my god," he breathed (and, for once, didn't even flinch at the blasphemy in front of an actual Angel of the Lord). "I had a vision."

"A vision," Castiel repeated, frowning, and the hand on his chest shifted to his other arm. "We had heard of your visions, in Heaven," he admitted. "I had no idea they were so… bloody."

Self-consciously, Sam raised a hand to his upper lip, feeling for blood. His face was clean. He looked at Castiel, frowning.

"I cleaned the blood away," Castiel confirmed.

"Thanks," Sam nodded, and frowned slightly. "Is that how I got so clean after you got here?" he wondered. "You… magicked me or something?"

"Yes, I did clean you with my grace," Castiel confirmed. "I hope that was not overstepping, but…"

"Yeah, no that's fine," Sam assured him. "I know I smelled a bit," he admitted sheepishly.

"Stank," Castiel corrected. "Or reeked would perhaps be more appropriate. It was fairly nauseating."

Sam laughed. "Okay, got it. Sorry,"

"It was to be expected, given what you were going through," the angel replied magnanimously. "As bad as your stench was when I arrived, it was easily addressed and, as I said, perfectly understandable. The violence of your vision was far more disturbing."

"Oh. Well, I mean, I wouldn't call it violent, really, but I do pretty much always get nosebleeds with those."

Castiel frowned deeply. "Nosebleeds?" he repeated.

The Hunter nodded, cautiously, something in the angel's tone setting the hair on the back of his neck rising

"Sam." The angel went still in that way Sam was coming to realize meant he was extremely serious. "You were bleeding from… everywhere. Your nose, yes," Castiel confirmed, "but also your eyes, your ears." One hand skated over an eyebrow, down the side of his head, tucking a strand of hair behind one (now bloodless) ear with a gentleness that made Sam's breath hitch. "You were coughing up blood, Sam."

"I… Wh…" He swallowed down the panic that started to rise. "Th-That, that's never happened before."

"What did you see?"

Sam looked away. "I don't want to talk about that," he said quietly. His gaze fell again to the deep, blood encrusted dent in the panic room wall. Slowly, he extricated himself from Castiel's hold (and lap), and stood, crossing to stand before the damage, running his fingers through the tacky, still-drying blood he knew was his own.

"I hit here," he said softly.

Castiel was standing suddenly behind him, and a warm hand rested on his shoulder. "Yes. Something… You were thrown here. With some considerable force."

Sam nodded and frowned. His hand, now sticky with his own blood and the little bits of hair that lay stiff in the mess, slowly raised to rest at the base of his skull. "I remember," he whispered and turned around, facing the angel who's hand hovered in the air, inches away. "My neck broke," he breathed. He blinked a few times, quickly and made himself meet Castiel's gaze. "I felt it," he said, forcing his voice to normal levels, keeping his tone even, calm, even as his pulse raced. "My neck broke," he repeated and let his hand drop to his side. "Didn't it."

The angel only nodded.

"Castiel?" His voice remained almost normal, though he couldn't stop the slight quaver from breaking through. "Did I.. did I die?" He stopped himself from adding again.

The angel nodded, slower this time, frowning. "Yes," he admitted. "There was a… a crunching noise," he reported and Sam saw the shudder the celestial couldn't quite suppress. "And you were… You were dead."

"But I'm… Castiel? Did you… did you save me? Did you bring me back?" He wasn't sure what he'd do if the answer was yes. Wasn't sure if he'd be grateful (he should be grateful) or if he'd be angry, feel cheated from that peace he'd felt just before he awoke.

But the angel shook his head. "Not I. I did heal you, Sam," he admitted, "but after you were resurrected. I don't know… I presumed it was your own healing ability."

"You… know about that?"

Castiel nodded once. "Dean told me. After you…" The angel blinked at him, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. "Dean told me," he repeated decisively, and Sam knew there was no point in asking when or under what circumstances. "Was it your healing, Sam?"

He started to shake his head. "I can't…" Absently, he touched his chest, remembering the rib kicked into his heart in a beautiful cabin along a peaceful river, a decade ago. "I don't know," he corrected himself. "I, I've… done it before, but… Only once. And I think that was because I was already healing a bunch of stuff at the time. The healing just… kept going, I guess? Out of the blue like this… Just starting cold like that, I don't…" He shrugged, helplessly. "I don't know. Honestly? I don't think so." He met his fr… the angel's damn blue eyes. "Castiel. How am I alive?"

"I am not sure." There was a pause, then a slow, wide smile. "But I am glad of it, Sam Winchester. I prefer a world with you in it."

Sam huffed a laugh. "One of the few," he sighed, and walked back to sit on the cot, missing the look of pain on the angel's face at the off-hand comment.

Castiel joined him on the cot and rested a hand gently on Sam's knee. "Perhaps," he said softly, "it was my Father who brought you back. Perhaps he recognized the goodness in y…." His voice trailed off at the look of horror that crept over the Hunter's face. "Sam?"

Slowly, the Winchester met his gaze. "I'm… I don't think… it was… God, Castiel." A hard exhale escaped him. "I think it was… very much not God," he decided in a shaking voice.

"Sam…"

"Castiel!" he said and grabbed the hand that still rested on his knee. "Can you get Dean? Can you get him to come down here?"

Castiel frowned. "Is that wise, Sam? Every time Dean has come to check on you, you have been in increased pain."

"It won't be for long," he reassured. "I need… I need to tell you about the vision, you and Dean, and believe me when I say this isn't anything I want to talk about twice."

Castiel still hesitated. "I do not like leaving you alone," he admitted. "Sam, the Demon Blood, the Blood you were drugged with, it is still in your system. Less now, assuredly, but it does not seem to take very much to have some… extremely negative effects."

"I'll be fine."

"You cannot know that."

"I know I need to tell you and Dean what I saw," Sam said firmly. "Please, Castiel. Go and get him."

Castiel glowered at him, but acquiesced. "As you wish."

"Castiel!"

"What?"

"Don't… Let's, um… Can we not tell Dean that I, you know… died? Please?"

The glower deepened into a full on glare. "You wish me to lie for you. To your own brother."

"I wish you to not… volunteer information… that is… no longer true!" Sam corrected, and shrugged, doing something… odd… with his face and his eyes that Castiel was unable to deny.

"Very well."

Sam suppressed a smile. Dean would've been disgusted to learn that even an Angel of the Lord couldn't resist Sammy's puppy eyes. Disgusted, but probably not surprised.

"I shall return momentarily," Castiel promised. "Shall I bring Bobby also?"

"Yeah. Yeah, do that."

With a small gust of wind and the sound of wings, the angel was gone.

Sam sighed and tried to school his features into something less tense.

"They are on their way," Castiel said from behind him and Sam only just managed not to jump.

"Yeah, I can hear that," he said drily as heavy footsteps echoed over the floor above and clattered down the stairs

He was fine. Cool. Calm. Serene, even. He'd almost convinced himself right up until the moment Dean met his eyes through the little view window.

"Sam?"

He closed his eyes and resisted opening the door and flinging himself into the safety of his brother's arms. Just.

He might've done it, if he didn't feel Castiel standing right behind him, gently resting the knuckles of one hand against his back.

"Hey, Dean," he said, his voice far more even than he expected. "Bobby."

"What's going on, boy? Castiel said you had something to tell us."

Slowly, he rose from the cot, walked to the door.

For a moment, Dean looked hopeful, but Sam carefully raised his hands, rested them against the sill of the little window, a clear signal he would not be opening the door.

"Sam…"

"I had a vision," he said, cutting off whatever plea or admonition Dean had been about to make.

"You… I-I thought those went away after Yellow-eyes died?"

"So did I," he chuckled nervously and Dean reached his fingers through the opening between the narrow bars to lightly touch his hand.

"Hey, it's okay," his brother promised. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."

Sam nodded and gave a grateful smile — both at Dean's words and in reaction to feeling Castiel standing behind him again, that comforting touch returning to his back.

"What was it, son? Another seal breaking? A job?"

"Neither," he admitted and forced himself to meet his brother's eyes. "It was… Oh, fuck," he whispered and closed his eyes before forcing himself to open then again. "It was… I think it was… I mean, I can't be sure, but…"

"Spit it out, son," Bobby urged.

"I, I, I just… I-it…"

"Sam." His brother's voice grounded him, just as something unbearably soft and light grazed across the back of his neck.

Just where it broke.

"Lucifer," he blurted out. "I saw Lucifer."

"WHAT?!"

"Are you sure, boy?"

"Oh, Sam. Surely not..." The last, from behind him, sounded so sad it made his chest ache.

"No, I'm not sure," he admitted and pulled away from the door, away from all of them and began to pace the confines of the panic room between the door and the cot. "Honestly, he looked like… just… some guy…. you know? Nothing special. Except…" He forced himself to stop at the door again, look his brother in the eyes. "His eyes glowed. Red. Not, not crossroads demon red. Like. RED, red. I don't… I, I can't explain it. But he was… There was power, Dean. Lots of it. More than when the an… those shadow things tried to get into the house, even. He wasn't even using it, Dean! It was just… THERE. Honestly, I've never felt anything that strong. Not ever."

"Lucifer is an archangel," Castiel added quietly. "The second archangel created. He is therefore perhaps the third or fourth most powerful creature that's ever existed."

"Oh, good," Dean frowned, dripping sarcasm. "And he just decided to stop by for a chat?"

"Did he say what he wanted, Sam?" Bobby asked, more reasonably.

"He, um… he just… kind of wanted to say, 'hi'," Sam admitted and smiled slightly when Dean threw one arm up in a see! gesture. "And to tell me, uh…" He shook his head. He couldn't say it, he just couldn't say it.

"Sammy," Dean said firmly. "Open the door."

He shook his head. "I'm still not in control, Dean."

"You're fine. You seem fine. Open the door, I'll take my chances."

"No," he said firmly. "You won't."

"Sammy," Dean said in that voice — the one that combined Dean's you are in so much trouble, young man tone (the one only Sammy ever heard) with his you don't want to fuck with me, asshole voice (the one that had monsters quaking in their boots on the regular). It was a voice that promised serious trouble, specifically for little brothers, if not heeded immediately.

Sam, of course, ignored it. "No."

"SAM!"

"Dammit, Dean, pay attention!" Sam snapped. "Look around, dude!" He stepped back from the door and made a sweeping gesture with his hand, taking in the entire panic room, as well as the figure standing a few feet away in what was once a trenchcoat and was now just a collection of beige streamers hung together at the shoulders.

Dean's mouth fell slightly open, and his eyes widened. He'd been so startled when Castiel popped up behind him in the kitchen, demanding that he and Bobby go downstairs immediately, that he'd failed to notice the state Castiel was in. "Cas? You okay, man?"

"I am unharmed," the angel assured, and picked at his… coat. "The clothing may have been damaged, but I was not. I cannot say the same for the rest of the furnishings."

"W-well…. where… where is everything?" Dean stammered, finally noticing that nearly all the things that had been previously pounded into the wall were just… gone.

Bobby pushed him slightly aside and looked quickly around the room. "If I had to guess, I'd say 'everything' is now the dust at the base of the walls," he surmised, and stepped aside so Dean could look again.

"I didn't mean to," Sam said softly, puppy eyes in full force. He looked like he expected a rolled-up newspaper across the nose.

"YOU. Did this?" Dean stared at him.

"Not on purpose?" Sam shrugged. "It just… came out."

"Holy fuck."

"I can't let you in," Sam repeated.

"Sam…"

"No, of course you can't, Sam," Bobby agreed and just raised an eyebrow at the glare Dean sent him. "You got him, Cas?" Bobby continued, ignoring his older boy's ire.

"As I said, I will stay with Sam until the detoxification is completed."

"How much longer will that be?" Dean growled.

"I cannot say for sure," Castiel admitted. He shifted slightly, and Dean noticed that the ubiquitous trenchcoat was whole once more.

Nice trick. It'd save a fortune on their clothing bill.

"But there is significantly less of the blood he was recently dosed with left in his system," the angel continued. "I would estimate that… at least two-thirds, perhaps three-quarters of what was in his system when I arrived has been metabolized. I would think there is less than a day left of detoxification required, certainly."

Dean relaxed slightly. "Well, that's something, anyway. And hey!" He snapped his fingers to pull Sam's attention back to him. "Don't think I didn't notice you still haven't told us why the fuckin' Devil paid you a house call, Sammy. What did he want?"

"He… he wanted me to know…" He shook his head. "Dean…" he said brokenly.

"It's okay," Dean promised, his voice gentle in a way it never was with anyone else. "I told you, whatever it is, we'll deal with it."

"He says I'm His," Sam half-sobbed, suddenly unable to keep it inside any longer. "He says, once all the seals fall, that he'll… That I'll…" He closed his eyes, and shook his head.

"Hey, hey," Dean snapped his fingers again and when Sam opened his eyes once more, his brother had worked more of his hand through the bars and was waving him forward.

Sam staggered to him, and pressed his cheek to the hand that reached for him.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean promised, and guided him forward, until their foreheads were both touching the bars (not quite each other, but as close at they could get, presently). "He's not getting you." It was more than a vow, it was a fact, as inescapable as the fact that they were brothers.

"He's an archangel, Dean!"

"Archangel, shmarkangel," Dean scoffed. "I'm your big brother, and he's. Not. Getting you." He worked his other hand through the bars (and if the bars around both of Dean's forearms were slightly bowed outward to give him more room, well, neither Winchester would complain — or mention it), and cupped Sam's other cheek, using his thumbs to gently brush away the tears Sam didn't even know he was crying. "I told you, Sammy," he whispered. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Okay, Dean," he whispered in agreement, ignoring all the bad things Dean hadn't been able to stop before, so desperate for it to be true. "Okay."

They stayed that way for a while — bars and iron door between them, but Dean still holding, comforting his baby brother as best he could — until Sam gave a little shudder and winced.

"Sammy?"

Sam pulled slowly away, and backed up a step. "You need to go," he said, his voice quiet, a little shaky, but in that tone of voice that Dean recognized as full-on Stubborn Sammy Mode, from which his little brother had never backed down in his life.

"Sammy," he protested anyway.

Sam shook his head. "I'm okay," he flatly lied, "but my head is starting to hurt. And that's not… I can't… You gotta go, now, Dean. Please."

"Aw, kid…"

"Please, Dean," he gasped and wiped away tears with a look of such loss and pain that…

It just wasn't fair when Sammy looked like that.

"Okay," Dean nodded, and blinked back the moisture in his own eyes (because he'd be strong for Sammy, always, no matter how much it hurt). "Okay, Sammy. If you need me…"

"I'll send Castiel," the boy nodded, and stood up a little straighter when the angel stepped up behind him.

"I am staying, Dean," Castiel reminded. "I will take care of him," he added and put a hand on Sammy's shoulder.

"Come on, Dean," Bobby urged and tugged gently on one elbow until Dean pulled his arms back through the bars (and if they were suddenly straight again once Dean was clear of them, no one was going to mention that either).

"Okay," Dean nodded again. "Okay." Reluctantly he turned away, pausing before he turned the corner which blocked sight of the panic removed from the stairs to send a quick thought back to his kid.

Sammy…

I know. Me, too.

Dean smiled weakly and headed up the stairs at Bobby's heels.

Once the door at the top of the stairs had closed, Sam let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding and sank slowly to the floor with a moan, holding his head.

"Sam!" Castiel knelt beside him, placing two fingers on the boy's forehead.

"I'm okay," Sam promised, even as he began to tremble from head to toe.

Castiel sighed and simply slipped an arm under his knees and behind his back and picked him up.

"Castiel! Put me down!"

"No," the angel said calmly and returned to their previous position, with himself sitting on the cot and the Winchester on his lap.

"Castiel…" A firm hand rested on the back of his head and pushed, lightly but with an irresistible force, until his head was on the angel's shoulder. "Castiel…" he tried again

"Hush," Castiel commanded. "Let me help you, Sam."

"I don't need help," Sam protested, but shifted to be more comfortable on the (surprisingly firm) thighs and turned his nose into the crook of the angel's neck, inhaling more of the angel's unique scent, finding it oddly soothing.

"Of course, you do," the angel insisted. "I am not technically a Guardian angel, that is a different class of angel altogether," he continued implacably. "But I will guard you, Sam Winchester. I will guard you from the Demon Blood you were given, from your out-of-control powers, from the Adversary himself, if I must. I will guard you until it is safe for you to leave this… room. And much longer, if you will let me. You and Dean, both."

Sam stopped breathing for a moment and slowly pulled back to look the angel in the eyes. "That… that almost sounded like…"

"A vow," Castiel nodded. "You pledged yourself to my protection, Sam Winchester. I am pledging myself to your brother's and yours."

"Castiel, you shouldn't…" Sam gasped, and winced in pain, his arms instinctively covering his middle. "I mean, Dean, sure, but I'm not…" he panted. "Castiel, you're an angel. You can't make that kind of a vow to… to something like me."

The angel tipped his head to one side. "To a good man, you mean?" he challenged.

"I'm not…"

"If I am not to protect a man of such conscience and compassion, a man of such Faith," the angel wondered, "who is an angel supposed to protect?"

"Castiel," Sam whispered. "I keep telling you, dude," he said, brokenly. "I'm not a good man. I'm… I'm evil. I'm demonic."

Castiel frowned, and just yesterday, Sam would have shrunk away in fear at the look. Now, he saw the little twinkle in the blue eyes. "I am the angel, here, Sam, not you. That makes me the expert on what is good and faithful and what is demonic or not. And you are not demonic," he said severely, the sharp words tempered by the gentle hand over the back of Sam's hair.

"But…"

"Do you do anything other than argue, Sam Winchester?"

A laugh was startled out of him and he leaned his forehead against the angel's shoulder. "Not according to Dean."

"Well, you are extraordinarily good at it," Castiel admitted, and rested his cheek against the soft hair. "But it is most vexing to have to argue every point with you."

Sam nodded, his nose burrowing into the angel's neck again. "Yeah, that's what Dean says."

"Really?" Castiel said dryly. "Dean Winchester has used the term vexing?"

"I think the exact phrase was fucking annoying," Sam admitted and moved his arms from his own middle to the angel's waist. He gasped in pain again, and Castiel pulled him closer.

"Sam? What is happening?"

"I'm not… I don't… Ugh. I don't know," he admitted. "I'm… it feels…"

Castiel shifted, pulling back slightly, using his long fingers to lift Sam's chin so he could look into those ever-changing eyes. "What does it feel like, Sam? Tell me, so that I may help. Are you in pain?"

"Yes," Sam gasped. "No! I don't… It's not… FUCK!"

And that fast, the Boy was ripped from Castiel's grasp and flung against a wall again, just to the side of where he'd broken his neck.

"SAM!" Castiel was at his side, holding him close to his chest, desperately working to counter the force that was trying to pull the long body from his grasp again.

Long minutes of tug-of-war dragged on before Sam went limp in the angel's arms and the pair slid slowly to the ground.

"Sam!" Castiel tipped the boy's head back, brushing sweat-soaked hair from his face. "Sam, answer me."

"C'st'el?"

"It's me," Castiel assured him and pulled him close. "I'm here, Sam. I won't leave you alone."

Slowly, Sam lifted his head. "Jesus fuck," he breathed and lifted one hand slightly toward the bed in the middle of the room, flicking two fingers towards them.

The mattress flew to the wall just behind him, and Castiel gently laid him down. "It's all right," he soothed. "It's all right, Sam. You're okay."

A small huff of laughter from the long, supine form. "I'm really not," he admitted, clearly fighting back tears. "Fuck, Castiel, I'm not."

"I know," Castiel agreed. "I was attempting to be comforting."

A large hand patted the angel's bicep gently. "You did good," Sam assured and gave a weak thumbs up.

"I could not have done that well. You clearly did not believe me."

"Yeah, well, points for trying, anyway," Sam gasped and grabbed the angel's arms. "It's gonna happen again," he warned. "I'm gonna…"

Castiel wrapped his arms around the lean body, holding him as tightly as he was able.

One short week ago, it would never have occurred to the angel that he would willingly even touch The Boy With the Demon Blood, much less hold his legendary enemy in his arms, but now Castiel couldn't imagine letting go.

Winchesters, he marveled. What extraordinary creatures they are.

"I've got you," he vowed and brought the celestially-enhanced strength of his vessel and all his Grace to bear to prevent the infernal power that ripped at the boy from tearing him away.

"Oh, fuck, Castiel, it hurts! It's not just… It's more than just trying to, to toss me around," he admitted. "Feels… feels like I'm… boiling… inside. Castiel…"

"I know. I know it hurts, gohed dodsih. I am sorry for it."

Sam blinked. "What… what did you call me?" he panted.

Castiel suppressed a smile. Even in such a short acquaintance, he'd learned that a mental puzzle could distract the younger Winchester quite effectively.

"It is Enochian," Castiel admitted and shifted his hold on the panting form.

"Enochian," Sam repeated, his voice weak but curious. "The language of… the Angels."

"Yes."

"Say it again?"

"Gohed dodsih."

"Go…"

"NO!" Castiel interrupted, and placed a finger over the Winchester's lips. "Enochian is not for humans to speak, Sam."

"But…"

"It holds power. Power that can, and will, damage a human's vocal chords, possibly their lungs as well. You must never speak it. Promise me."

Sam sighed and shook his head. "I have… There are a few… spells… in Enochian," he admitted, his voice still coming in grunts and gasps. "I don't use them much, but…"

"Hunters use spells?" Again, that (frankly adorable) head-tilt. "I thought witches used spells, and hunters, well, hunted witches."

"Normally," Sam agreed and suppressed another gasp of pain. Castiel held on tighter. "But sometimes, you… need a spell to… fight something. And…" He hesitated and met Castiel's curious gaze with a small smile. "I'll… I'll tell you something, Castiel. I-if you… promise not to… smite me."

"I just vowed to protect you," Castiel reminded, reasonably. "I would not smite something under my own protection, it would leave me honor-bound to destroy myself. Suicide is a grave sin amongst angels."

"Good to know," Sam smiled, weakly.

"What would you tell me?"

"I'm…" Sam exhaled heavily. Was he really going to do this, after everything that had happened around Halloween?

Yes, yes he was. There was apparently no limit to the stupidity he would stoop to with this angel.

"I'm a witch, Castiel," he confessed, unable to prevent the slight wince at the words.

"Witch."

"Yeah. Natural-born. Apparently."

"Hmmm. That may explain…"

"What? Might explain… what?"

Castiel ran his fingers through Sam's hair, idly cleaning the sweat away with his grace as he did so. He suppressed a smile when the boy lay his head on the angel's shoulder. "Your abilities — healing and the telepathic abilities you explained to me, in particular — they were not found in any other of Azazel's so-called special children. If you are a natural-born witch, perhaps that explains…"

"Or I'm… just a demon," Sam sighed.

"Do you believe that demons have the ability to heal others, Sam?" Castiel challenged and pulled him closer when another shudder rippled through his charge. "Demonic power is destructive, not helpful. Surely, you know that."

Sam nodded, reluctantly. "Yeah," he gasped. "But I…"

"I know what you've been told, Sam. Even by your own father," Castiel scowled. "It is well that John Winchester is already dead. I believe it would be upsetting for Dean if I were to smite him."

Sam chuckled and then let go another gasp. "Oh, fuck! Feels like… I'm getting… torn in… half!"

"I know," Castiel brushed his cheek gently over the top of his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your…"

"I am being empathetic."

"Right."

"Sam… I do not… The pull is becoming stronger," Castiel admitted reluctantly. "I do not know how much longer I will be able to hold on to you."

Sam nodded. "I know," he panted. "I know. 'S okay."

"It truly is not. Sam…"

"I know, Castiel. You can't… Mmm," he grunted and licked his lips. "I think… I think the… the Blood's actively… tryna kill me, now."

"I am getting that impression also."

"Castiel," he gasped and reached up. The angel took his hand. "I told Bobby. And Dean. Now… you."

"I am listening."

"I will not… stay addicted… to this," The Boy With the Demon Blood vowed. "Even if it… kills me… Castiel. I will… die… before I drink… more Blood."

"Sam…"

"'Cause, if… if Dean… if Dean knows… how bad… it's…. gotten. How close I am to… that I'm…." He couldn't bring himself to say the word, but somehow the angel heard it. If Dean knew Sam was dying. "He'll find a…demon. Drain it… dry… for, for me, and I… You can't… can't let him, Castiel."

"Oh, Sam," the angel's voice was a bear whisper on the air, barely louder than his shifting wings.

"Promise me," he gasped. "Promise me… you won't let… anyone… Not even Dean… You won't let them… feed me… Demon Blood. Not even to…"

Castiel closed his eyes and pulled Sam's head to his chest. "I promise," he whispered, voice breaking. "But Sam… I believe that…"

"I know," Sam nodded, and screamed in pain, even as his body tried to rip itself from the angel's protective hold. "Oh, fuck. Castiel!"

"I am here."

" 'F it… pulls me away from you…"

"I know."

"Even if you can hold… on… my blood… the heat… I, I can't…"

"I know."

"Oh, god. I know why… why you came," Sam gasped, not even trying to stop the tears. "I know what I… what I prayed for."

"Sam," the angel whispered, his voice shaking almost as much as his charge's.

"I'm not afraid," Sam assured them both. "Been a long… long time… since I've been… afraid to… to die... But… oh, god!… I don't… I don't want… I don't want to die, Castiel."

"You will not."

"You can't… stop it. Not even you…" the boy panted. "You're not strong… enough to hold on… much… much longer. If you… If you try… It's gonna… rip me apart. Even if… if you could… it… god… it's… the blood's gonna…"

"There are chains on the cot," Castiel suggested, desperately. "I saw them. I examined them while you… slept. They have devil's traps on them. Perhaps…"

"NO!" Sam begged. "No, please! Don't… don't chain me. I can't… I can't do that again."

"Again?"

Sam shook his head. "Just… promise you won't."

"You'd rather die," Castiel surmised.

Sam nodded desperately. "I can't… I spent two… months chained up, once," he admitted. "Don't tell Dean. He doesn' know. "

"I won't. I won't tell him," Castiel clarified.

"Even if you… if chained me," Sam panted, "it wouldn't stop. It'd just…"

"Pull you apart," Castiel finished. "Or boil you alive."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"You've been… You're so… You've been so… kind, Castiel. You shouldn't… shouldn't have to watch… watch me…"

"You are not going to die, Sam Winchester," Castiel said and for the first time since they met, Sam felt the real power in the angel's voice. "I forbid you."

Sam chuckled. "Don't think I… got much say in it. Don't think you…. do, either. Re -respectfully."

Another strong tug, pulling the Winchester's body away from the hands holding fast to his upper arms. Even over Sam's screams, Castiel heard the sharp crack as several bones snapped.

"Let go," Sam gasped. "Castiel, just… let me go…. and just leave."

"I will not leave you."

"PLEASE. I don't want you… don't want you to see…"

"You are not. Dying."

"You can't… stop it," the boy panted.

"I can if you trust me," the angel vowed. "Do you trust me, Sam?"

"Of course."

The pure Faith in that statement warmed the angel, strengthening his resolve as well as his Grace.

"You are correct," he admitted, "I cannot hold onto you, not for much longer. And my Grace does not seem to be affecting the, the boiling you are feeling. And since you've asked, I will not chain you."

"Then… go," Sam ground the word out between teeth gritted tight with pain like even he had never felt before.

"But there is something I can do. I can save you."

"Castiel."

"Trust me," the angel pressed. "Say yes, Sam."

"Castiel?"

"Let me save you. Say yes."

"You want… to possess me?" Sam gasped.

"With my grace inside you, I can keep you alive. I am certain of it."

"And your…. your vessel?"

"Jimmy," Castiel nodded. "He would regain control of his own body. He would be fine."

Sam shook his head. "He… he wouldn't. My… my power… There's… too much," Sam gasped. "By the… by the time you… you could s… suppress it… he'd, he'd be… crushed against the wall."

"Sam…"

"Tell me I'm wrong," Sam challenged. "Tell me you leaving… leaving him… right now, right here… would be safe for… for Jimmy."

Castiel was silent, wanting so badly to say the Winchester was wrong. Unable to do so.

"Then, no," Sam gasped. "No, Castiel. I will… not allow it."

"Then, I'll leave the panic room, leave Jimmy outside and come back…"

"I'll be… dead… before you… get back inside," Sam countered. "And you… you know it."

"No…"

" I'm going to… die, Castiel," Sam insisted, "and you… nothing… can stop it."

"I will," the angel vowed.

Sam let go of the hand the angel had been clutching and placed it gently on the celestial's stubbled cheek. "It's okay," he reassured. "Thank you… for… for staying. And… trying. I'm… glad… glad you're here," he whispered and his eyes slipped closed on a last gasp of pain as his hand fell to the floor.

"I will save you," Castiel vowed, and lay the boy gently on the mattress. "I swear it, Sam Winchester. You. Shall. NOT. Die."

====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN===SPN===

Bobby Singer's House

Panic Room

November 5, 2009

4:33 am

By the time Dean had made it all the way down the stairs, Castiel was waiting by the door, looking out through the view window.

It had been two hours since Sam had last opened his eyes, and he only hoped that the way he'd just arranged the boy on the mattress by the wall, made it look like Sam was simply sleeping. It worried him what Dean's reaction would be if he knew that his little brother was so profoundly unconscious that Castiel was constantly checking for breath and pulse.

Happily, they were in one of the little lulls between what Castiel had decided to call 'episodes', when the remaining Demon Blood in the boy's system tried to throw him across the room. The angel could safely leave his charge's side for a few, brief minutes.

He was pretty sure.

"Cas?" Dean tried the door, as he always did. "Can you…"

"No, Dean," the angel shook his head. "Sam's powers are still too dangerous to you."

Disappointed, but not really expecting a different answer, Dean nodded, and looked beyond the angel to the supine figure resting on the mattress by the wall. "Why is…"

"He is resting," Castiel assured.

"Yeah, but… why… there?"

Castiel shrugged, a little more fluidly than had just yesterday. "It was his preference. I did not ask."

Dean nodded. For a few moments, he just stared at the still figure, blinking back the moisture in his eyes. "It doesn't look like he's breathing," he whispered, and it was hard to draw a breath in, himself.

"I assure you that he is."

"He's not… he isn't…."

"Your brother lives, Dean," Castiel assured and pain-filled green eyes flew to meet calm blue.

Dean only just stopped himself from making the angel swear, contenting himself with a jerky nod.

"How's he," he began and swallowed thickly. "How's he doing?"

"Your brother is remarkably resilient, Dean," Castiel said quietly, glancing back at the subject of their discussion.

"You don't know the half of it," Dean chuckled bleakly.

Castiel gave a sad smile. "We have… talked… Sam and I. I think I understand. Certainly better than I did. Better than Heaven does."

"Heaven," Dean scoffed. "Heaven wants him dead."

"I am not certain that is the case," Castiel admitted. "And even if it were…" he raised a hand to reach his fingers through the bars, the way he'd seen Dean do for Sam just hours ago. Hesitantly, Dean laid his fingers over the offered hand. "I have told Sam, and I tell you, now, Dean. I am not a Guardian Class angel. What I say is… technically, it is not permitted. But I will protect you. Both of you. I will stand with the Winchesters, and all who are theirs. This is my vow to you. And your brother."

"Cas," Dean breathed. "That's… Wow."

Castiel looked down. "I know you have little Faith, Dean. That must sound very silly to you," he realized. "Ridiculous, even." He started to pull his hand back, stopping when Dean's fingers tightened around his own.

"Not silly," Dean shook his head. "Never that. Unexpected," he chuckled, "but not silly, Cas. Not ridiculous at all. Foolhardy," he grinned. "You've just tied yourself to a lost cause, Cas," the elder Winchester shook his head.

"I have not," Castiel assured him. "I have tied myself, as you say, to the most worthy cause I can think of."

Behind him, a small gasp, a whimper, rose from the mattress.

"Sam!" Dean called out, leaning closer to the door as if he could touch his brother through the iron.

Castiel glanced back and turned his full attention to Dean. "He is in pain, again," Castiel reported. "You must go."

"But…"

"Dean."

Something in the angel's voice, a gravitas, a sincerity, drew Dean's attention from the figure on the cot to the celestial before him.

"Cas," he shook his head.

"I believe that we are reaching a critical stage in the detoxification," Castiel said solemnly. "The Demon Blood is actively trying to kill him, now, Dean."

"No…" The word was so soft, barely a breath, that Dean wasn't sure he even spoke it.

"I will keep him alive," the angel vowed. "Between his own healing power, my Grace and, his frankly almost unearthly stubbornness," he continued and Dean barked a laugh, "I know he will survive this, Dean."

Another groan echoed in the iron room.

"But I must concentrate on Sam, now," Castiel continued. "You must go, Dean. Do not come back down."

"But…"

"Is your comfort more important than his life?" Castiel snapped.

Dean winced. "No. No, of course not."

"Then, go, Dean! NOW. When it is over, when Sam is safe, and swear to you, in my Father's name, on Heaven itself, on all that I am or have ever been, Sam Winchester. Will. Be. Safe. When he is, I will bring him to you. Go. Don't come back down," he repeated, "neither you nor Bobby."

With that the angel turned away and returned to kneel by Sam's side, placing his hands on the boy's head and chest, infusing him with as much Grace as he could.

He had minutes, now, maybe only moments before the Demon Blood tried to throw Sam again, and he was unexpectedly certain that Dean would not approve of Castiel's preventative measures.

It was with great relief that he heard a soft, "Don't get dead, Sam," and footsteps walking away.

Just in time. The Demon Blood gave Sam an immense push, and Castiel…

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, did what he had to do.

====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN===SPN===

Bobby Singer's House

Kitchen

November 5, 2009

4:42 am

Dean came slowly up the stairs from the basement to find Bobby pouring a cup of coffee from a newly-made pot.

Bobby handed Dean the cup; one with 'World's Greatest Dad' screen-printed on it. Bobby was drinking from a cup with the identical sentiment. They'd been gifted to the pair by Sammy, Father's Day 2000 — two months after John had come for Dean, and Sam had clearly declared who his fathers were. Dean and Bobby each considered the mug (Dean's red with white lettering; Bobby's white with blue letters) his most prized possessions, not that either would ever admit that (or that he'd ever have to). Dean took his mug with a grunt and sat at the table, waiting for Bobby to pour his own cup and join him.

"Sam's resting," Dean reported, quietly.

Bobby frowned. "That's good, right?" Dean shrugged. "I mean, the boy could use a break. It's been, what, 12 hours, now?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, his voice far too quiet, and took another sip of his coffee.

"What 'm I missing, boy?" Bobby demanded. "What's got your panties in a bunch?"

Dean scoffed, then closed his eyes, clearly fighting back some strong emotion. From the devastated look on his face, Bobby guessed fear.

"Dean…"

"Cas says the blood's trying to kill him, now," Dean blurted, his voice shaking and rough. His breath caught on a sob he wouldn't set free. "He could —"

"He won't," Bobby said, firmly.

"Bobby," Dean gasped, and wiped his eyes roughly, trying to keep the tears from making their way down his cheeks. "We don't know that."

"What did Castiel say about it?"

"He says — he says he'll save him. Between Cas's Grace and Sam's healing." He huffed a laugh. "Sam's stubbornness," he admitted.

"That alone oughta save 'im," Bobby nodded.

"Yeah," Dean tried to laugh, ended up just gasping instead. He set his cup down and pressed his fingers against his eyes. "God, Bobby. What if… If he…"

"Cas says he won't," Bobby reminded. "And I know this is weird, after everything you told me about the Angels — can't believe I'm saying it, really — but I'm just glad we're lucky enough to have Cas."

Dean nodded, thoughtfully. "Yeeeaah," he drawled. "Lucky."

"Dean? What?"

"He sent me away, Bobby. Said neither of us can go back down there again. That he… he needs to concentrate on Sammy, and I just…"

"You just what, son?"

"I dunno," Dean shook his head. "What if… what if he's doing something to Sam, Bobby?"

"Like what?" Bobby countered. "Giving him hallucinations? That started before he got here. Seems to me, the Demon Blood's been killing him, Dean. I think we should be grateful that Castiel is pitchin' in. Because, I know you don't want to hear it, but Sam is right — either one of us would be dead, we were in there with him."

"Yeah, I know," Dean sighed. "But… There's something going on with those two, man." He ran a hand down his face, as much for something to do as to wipe away unfallen tears. "Cas keeps saying he owes Sam, that Sam told him something, but he won't say what, and it's giving me the heebie-jeebies."

Bobby shrugged and took another sip of his brew. "Seems to be workin' for us, whatever it is."

"Yeah, but… I dunno, Bobby," he repeated. "I just keep thinkin'… It's all a little convenient, you know?'

"How so?"

Dean gave a half-shrug of his own. "I mean, when we went after Sam Hain, it was… everything was all, do what I say, and stupid humans, and we're going to smite this town and drag you from it, and now it's just, how can I help?! I mean, Cas, man, he told me… well, I promised not to tell what he told me, but… it seemed like he was on our side."

"OUR side? You mean, yours and Sam's?"

"Humanity's," Dean clarified. "But what if… I don't know. His partner, that Uriel asswipe, he's such a dick, man. What if… what if this is all some kind of a trap?"

"A trap."

All Dean could do was shrug again. "I mean… Castiel meets Sam, and the first thing he does is call him The Boy with the Demon Blood…"

Bobby winced.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Like Sammy's some kind of thing."

"And your brother needs that opinion reinforced like he needs another hole in his stubborn head."

"Exactly! And now, suddenly, it's all, I owe him, and I'll protect him? It's been what, a week? Does that make any sense to you?"

"Well, not when you explain it like that," Bobby had to agree. "On the other hand," he frowned, "you did say that Castiel said Heaven has work for you, or some such."

Dean nodded in confirmation.

"Well, they've gotta know that if they hurt Sam, or let him get hurt, you're not doing squat for anyone. Or Heaven's a lot stupider than we think."

"Yeah." Dean downed another long sip of coffee, got up to get the pot, refilled both his and Bobby's cups, then put the pot back on the heat, before settling down on his chair again. "Whole thing's just…" He shook his head.

"Weird," Bobby nodded.

"I was going to say fucked, but tomato, tomahto," Dean decided and rubbed one hand over his short hair.. "What do you think, Bobby?" he asked suddenly. "Am I doing the right thing here, trusting an angel, of all things?"

"I don't know, son," Bobby admitted. "It's early innings, anything could happen."

"Great," Dean groaned and leaned his forehead into one hand.

"Although," Bobby continued, "when that angel arrived here, he seemed awful anxious to make sure Sam was safe, that no other angel could get him and… you know, answer his prayer, or whatever."

"Yeah," Dean sighed and frowned, lifting his head to look past Bobby, down the hallway towards the door to the basement. "And that was… You really think Sam… I mean, he prays, I know that, he has for years apparently, but to pray to… pray for that?" He shook his head, unable to say the horrible words. "You really think he would?"

"He'd been screaming for eight hours, pretty much solid," Bobby reminded him. "And we can only guess what he was seeing…"

"WHO he was seeing, you mean," Dean sighed deeply.

"Yeh. And I think we both know exactly who would have no problem getting him to make that prayer."

Dean nodded slowly, and leaned back in his chair, wrapping his arms behind his head. "That bastard," he muttered. "Even after everything, he's still fuckin' up our lives. You know, the last thing that sonuvabitch ever did was to lie to my face?" he snapped.

"No," Bobby corrected, mildly. "The last thing that sonuvabitch ever did was to save your ass."

Dean's eyes snapped up, but Bobby was just looking into his coffee cup. "Yeah," Dean whispered, and lowered slowly lowered his arms to rest again on the table. "Yeah."

"I'm no fan of your daddy, boy," Bobby admitted, still not looking at him, "and I make no bones about that. But I'm damned grateful to him, every single day, just th' same." He cleared his throat and met Dean's eyes. "If you think Sam really was prayin'… what he was prayin'… Do you think he was?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, probably."

"Well then, maybe we should treat Castiel with the same gratitude. 'Cause your brother's still alive, boy. And I don't know that he would've been without that angel's help."

Dean sighed, and nodded slowly.

"So," Bobby continued, "if Castiel's saying he'll keep Sam alive… Gotta say, Dean. I'm inclined to believe him."

"I guess it's kind of stupid not to," Dean agreed. "I mean, he saved me. But it's… different with Sammy, you know?"

Bobby nodded sagely. "It is, it definitely is. Especially for you. Especially this time."

"What… what does that mean?"

"You're Sam's protector, have been since you were all of four years old. So used to saving Sam all by yourself, and now, here's some big shot angel taking care of him, and you're on the sidelines. Hard pill to swallow, trusting somebody else with your little brother, 'specially when you can't even be there."

"That's not what this is about!"

"Isn't it?" Bobby challenged. "Dean, I know how much you love your brother. How much Sam loves you. I know it tears you up that Sam is going through something terrible and there's nothing you can do to fix it."

Dean bowed his head and rested his forehead against the palms of his hands, his elbows on the table. "God, Bobby. I just need him safe."

"I know, son. Me, too," Bobby admitted. "But here ain't a damn thing we can do to keep him safe, right now. All we've got is Castiel, Dean. So it comes down to this: do you trust that angel, or don't you?"

Dean dropped his hands back to the table, lifted his gaze to his father-figure and shook his head, shrugging. "With me? Sure, in a heartbeat. With Sam?" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When his eyes opened again, they were clearer, less damp. "I kind of have to, don't I?"

Bobby nodded. "Yup. But, Dean, for whatever it's worth — I think I do trust Castiel. Generally. You know?"

Reluctantly, Dean nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I kinda do, too. He's a squirrelly little dude," he chuckled. "But I think he's sincere. I think he genuinely wants to help." His eyes skittered away.

"What?"

Dean forced himself to meet Bobby's gaze again. "Downstairs. Just now. Castiel, he… Bobby, he vowed… he pledged himself to us. Me and Sam. And 'all who are ours', whatever the hell that means."

"Fancy it means me," Bobby shrugged. "Rick, maybe? Ellen, Jo and Ash. I dunno, sounds pretty good, to me. An angel in your pocket?"

Dean scoffed. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." He sighed, and looked down the hallway towards the basement. "He'll be okay. Right, Bobby?"

"He will be," Bobby confirmed and Dean looked back at him, surprised by the conviction in the older Hunter's voice. "There's never been anything yet that could keep that boy down. And he's got Castiel watchin' over him, Dean."

Dean nodded and smiled. "You know, Mom used to say that. There were angels watching over us."

"Guess she was right," Bobby smiled softly.

Dean nodded again, slower this time. "I hope so. I sure the fuck hope so."

====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN===SPN===

Bobby Singer's House

Panic Room

November 5, 2009

11:13 am

Sam Winchester came awake in a way he never did. Slowly. Leisurely. One relaxed sense at a time.

Coming awake so…. casually… when you were a Hunter was stupid, bordering on suicidal. You needed to wake up immediately, all senses at the fore, ready to defend yourself from all comers.

Sam could count on one hand the number of circumstances he'd felt safe enough to wake up slow, at least since he'd known what lurked in the dark.

After they'd escaped from John, when they first came to live at Bobby's.

Lying in Cloud's big, soft bed above her San Francisco Curio Shop, surrounded by an almost impenetrable haze of magic (and lust).

Holding Jessica while he slept, stupidly believing that all the evil was behind him.

On the exceedingly, and deliberately, rare occasions when their motel room only had one bed and no other viable sleep options after a hunt, and he'd been able to fall asleep feeling his big brother beside him, warm and solid and breathing, an impervious wall of Safety between him and the whole wicked world. It was like being a monster-ignorant child again, no matter how old he'd gotten.

But it was a good decade since he'd felt completely safe in his room at Bobby's. That safety had died when the cloud things — the Angels, he now knew — had first come looking for him.

Five years since he'd slept wrapped in Cloud's magic, realizing, even then, that it was a fleeting safety, a temporary interlude.

Four since he'd lost his sweet, innocent Jess.

And even though he still occasionally had to share a bed with his big brother, the nightmares since Jess's death, since Cold Oak, since Dean's deal was made and came due… Well, even sleeping back to back with the Big Brother who had always protected him could no longer make him — either of them — feel safe.

But this —- whatever this was — was… Safe. In a way Sam hadn't felt in years.

He had no idea why, but he'd take it, embrace the calmness, the simplicity, the fucking peace of letting himself come back to himself. So. Very. Slow.

The first thing he was aware of was sound. Breath, close by, ghosting in his ears in a steady rhythm, occasionally interspersed with the sound of… He didn't even know what. It reminded him, weirdly, of waking up in Palo Alto, but in a way that didn't immediately send him into an Oh, god, Jess, not Jess spiral.

His mind settled more fully back into his body and he felt a pressure, a weight on him, pressing him down into something that gave, but not too much; pushing his right side against something cool and solid. He was pinned, completely, but the usual instinctual panic that immobility engendered was just… absent. He felt two strong arms wrapping around him, crossed behind his back, one hand at the base of his neck, the other in his hair, both moving slowly, almost rhythmically, and with such gentleness that he couldn't have panicked if he'd wanted to.

Above the arms, just across the tops of his shoulders, wrapping all the way around to rest against his chin, two thin, stick-like… somethings… held what had to be some sort of blanket around him, cocooning him in an indescribable warmth, tickling him lightly with an impossible softness.

He nuzzled the softness gently with a deep sigh, inhaled…

And froze.

That scent, evocative of wide open spaces and violent storms.

Only one thing smelled like that.

One being.

"C-Castiel?" he whispered, surprised at the breathless awe in his own voice.

"Sam," the deep voice insinuated itself into his ear. "You are awake."

Slowly, still (weirdly) in no hurry, he let his eyes flutter open and it all came together.

They were in the Panic Room, lying on the mattress he'd pulled with his TK from the cot. He was lying on his back, his side pressed to the iron wall.

And Castiel was on top of him.

Castiel.

Was.

ON TOP of him.

Those strong, thick arms cradled him, warm hands lightly caressing. He couldn't see the stick-things, but if he squinted, just right, and pulled his gaze away from the blue-blue eyes that were so close, he could just barely see a smudge of darkness wrapped around him, could still feel that softness. The weird Palo Alto sound suddenly made sense — it was the same sound he'd heard for one amazing spring when a pair of enterprising California Towhees built a nest right outside the window he'd set his bed beside. It was the sound of…

"Castiel, are those your wings?" he breathed.

The angel's too-blue eyes (so, so close, they almost filled his entire field of vision) widened. "You… Sam, you should not see those."

"Oh," Sam frowned, and lowered his eyes, then — when the wing-shadow filled his gaze again — closed them. "I, I'm sorry. I won't look."

One arm pulled out from behind him and a hand gently tipped his chin up.

"Sam."

He hummed, softly, acknowledging his name, but keeping his eyes closed.

"Open your eyes," the angel commanded and Sam could no more refuse than he could have flown.

Castiel had pulled back, just slightly, so Sam could see (more or less) his entire face, not just those overwhelmingly blue eyes.

The angel was smiling, a soft, half-there Mona Lisa kind of smile. "There is nothing to apologize for, Sam. When I said you shouldn't, I meant that it is unexpected that you would be able to see them, not that it is not permitted."

"Oh," Sam breathed and smiled, letting his eyes slide down to the wings again. "Good," he nodded. "They're beautiful, Castiel," he said and gently rubbed his cheek against the blur. Castiel shuddered slightly, and when Sam did it again (they were just so soft) earning a sharp exhale that Sam just knew was absolutely not an indication of any kind of discomfort.

He swallowed his smile, and raised his eyes slowly to meet the angel's.

Castiel blinked, once, holding his eyes closed a fraction of a second too long, and when they reopened the wings had faded away.

Dammit.

"Aw," Sam whined and couldn't make himself feel embarrassed, even when Castiel chuckled lightly.

"They do not belong in this plane of existence, gohed dodsih," Castiel smirked — actually smirked — at him. "I only had them here for extra protection, but they are not needed right now."

"There's those words again," Sam frowned. "What are they, Castiel? I mean, I know it's some kind of, of title, or something, but what does it mean?"

Castiel's free hand brushed the hair away from Sam's brow, tucking it behind his ear. "Gohed Dodsih? It's not a title, more a… what you would call a 'nickname'," the angel explained, adorably doing the finger quotes. "Actually, it's something one of my oldest brothers used to call me, when I was just a fledgling. I, too, had a habit of arguing many points, when I was young."

"Young," Sam repeated. "How young was Arguing Castiel? Five, Six? 12? 20?"

"Mmm," Castiel hummed. "Equivalent to nine or ten, I should think, in terms of development. Perhaps slightly older. Say, three, perhaps four hundred years old."

"Three or four…." Sam goggled. "How old are you?!" he blurted. "I'm sorry!" he immediately backtracked. "That was… that was so rude."

Castiel smiled widely, showing the pink of his gums. "But not unexpected from a gohed dodsih," he assured. "And I do not mind. I helped my eldest brothers create the Stars, Sam," he said serenely, and smiled wider when Sam's eyes blew wide and his jaw went slightly slack. "I didn't help much," he clarified, not wanting to overstate his role. "Just helped Gabriel with deciding where to place some of them, that's all. He said I had a good sense of space. And style," he added, proudly.

"Gabriel," Sam repeated, swallowing and consciously closing his mouth. "The Archangel Gabriel?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded and something in his face seemed suddenly… sad. "It was he who called me gohed dodsih," Castiel confided. "Because I often argued during lessons."

Sam nodded. "What does it mean?" he asked again.

Castiel's eyes nearly glowed with what Sam was pretty sure was mirth when he answered. "Everlasting Vexation," he confessed and his face lit up when Sam laughed out loud, closing those multi-colored eyes and throwing his head back.

"Okay!" Sam grinned, nodded, meeting the angel's gaze again. "Okay. Fair. Please don't tell Dean," he practically giggled. "Another nickname I'd never get rid of."

"I shall not," Castiel agreed. "It will be… our secret."

Sam smiled, and those divots flashed out at Castiel again.

The angel frowned and gently ran a finger over the Hunter's cheek. "Does it hurt?" he wondered, concerned for his charge.

"Does… what hurt?" Sam frowned and the divots disappeared.

"Your face," Castiel said, slowly. "When you smile, it… caves in. Here," he explained, tracing the route the marks would travel. "And here," he added, touching the other side. "There are divots in your face."

"Div…" A smile — complete with divots — flashed at him. "They're called 'dimples'," Sam corrected, "not divots. And no, they don't hurt. They're just… genetic anomalies, I guess. Dean says I get them from our Dad. Although," Sam admitted and for a moment he looked so sad, Castiel's chest hurt, "I don't remember ever having seen him smile enough for me to know."

"They are very nice."

Another smile, this one lacking the div… dimples, but no less welcome. "Thanks."

For a moment, they just lay in silence, warm and safe. Together.

"Castiel?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Wh… W-Why, why are you on top of me?" he wondered.

"Oh." Slowly, Castiel rolled to the side, off the boy. Sam shifted to his side, so they were facing each other, but no longer touching.

If Sam missed the weight, and the comfort he'd gotten from it, he'd never admit it, even to himself.

"You would not let me chain you," Castiel explained. "And I could not hold onto you very much longer, could not prevent the Demon Blood from throwing you around the room. Hurting you. You would not let me possess you. But you had pulled the mattress over, and it occurred to me that, while the Demon Blood could pull you from my grip, it could not actually move me. So, if I used myself to pin you between the mattress and the wall…"

"Even if it threw me," Sam nodded, "I couldn't go anywhere. And lying that close to the wall, there'd be no real momentum, even if it shoved me that way."

Castiel nodded. "I put my arms, and my wings, around you, as a… I think you would call it a 'shock absorber'," he added and Sam was really coming to love the finger quotes thing.

Sam smiled at him (full-on dimples). "That's brilliant!" he laughed.

Castiel smiled back. "Heaven does count me as one of its greatest strategists," he admitted, somewhere between proud and bashful.

"Thank you, Castiel. I think you saved my life."

"I did swear to protect you."

"You did," Sam agreed. "I really don't know how I'll pay you back, Castiel," he admitted. "First you save Dean, then me… I really do owe you everything."

Castiel shook his head. "You owe me nothing. I still owe you a great deal for the knowledge you gave me," he reminded. "And I already told you: I prefer a world with you in it."

"Mmm," the boy hummed softly and looked away.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" He still wouldn't look at him.

Castiel gently slipped his hand beneath the Hunter's chin and tipped his head up to look him in the eye. "Are you unwell? Is the pain, the… I believe you called it boiling… is it back?

"No! No, I, I'm fine. I just… Tired I guess. Little sore. Still," he shuddered, "yeah, it's a still a little… hot… in my veins. But… I'm less sure it's gonna kill me, now," he laughed, then grew slowly serious. "Castiel," he said softly, "how am I alive?" He chuckled. "I seem to be asking that a lot lately."

"You have nearly died a lot, lately," Castiel reminded, "it's fitting to ask how. But, in answer to your question — I believe that your healing had a great deal to do with it. I also added my Grace, using that to heal you, also. And you…" he shook his head.

"I… what, Castiel?"

"There have been several times in the last few hours that… I was certain you would perish. Your breathing would slow, your heart rate. More than once, you convulsed so violently it was all I could do to prevent you from cracking your skull open on the floor or the wall."

"Yikes."

"But I… I found a way," the angel shrugged. "Each time you seemed about to die, I… I simply asked you not to. Not to do that to Dean. To Bobby. That you were needed, here." He shrugged again, and reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from Sam's forehead. "That Dean and Bobby need you. That I… do, indeed, prefer a world with you in it."

"Castiel…."

"Your brother had told me, when I said I would stay with you, that you are very verbal, Sam Winchester. That you respond to being spoken to. So I… did that. It worked. I'm very pleased about that," he admitted.

Sam smiled, softly, a little wetly. "Thank you," he said, simply. "No matter what you say, Castiel… I do owe you. Everything."

Castiel nodded, solemnly. "I believe you have already pledged yourself to my well-being, Sam. As I have pledged myself to yours and Dean's. I think we are… even."

Sam's smile widened, his dimples showing. "Maybe we are." A shudder rippled through him and he arched back, reaching a hand out to the angel, who took it without hesitation. "Castiel…"

"I know," Castiel assured him and rolled on top of the boy again, wrapping his arms and wings once more around him. "The Demon Blood's effects are not entirely gone, Sam, I am sorry."

"How much… how often has this been happening?"

"I've been trying to find a logic to it, a rhythm of some sort, a schedule, but I have failed. It can be minutes or hours between episodes."

Sam jerked beneath him and Castiel tightened his arms and wings further, pressing the Winchester firmly into the mattress, against the wall.

"Hold on, Sam."

"How… how many times?" he gasped.

"There have been 23 such incidents, thus far. Including this one."

"Jesus."

"Relax, gohed dodsih. I have you."

Sam nodded and grabbed onto the reconstructed trenchcoat with both fists. "Hurts," he gasped and buried his face against the angel's neck.

"I know. I know it does."

"I can't… This is…"

"Shh," Castiel soothed, and worked one arm out from under his charge to press two fingers against Sam's forehead. "Rest, Sam. Just rest, now. I am here."

The Boy went limp in his arms, even as the Blood inside him continued to fight to damage, to kill him.

"I am here. I will protect you.

Always."

====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN===SPN===

Bobby Singer's House

Kitchen

November 5, 2009

12:18 pm

"Hello, Dean."

Dean yelped in surprise, dropping the bacon he was flipping from his tongs, sending sparks of the hot grease in the pan onto his hand.

"Dammit, Cas!" he growled, shoving his hand under the faucet and turning it on. "Don't sneak up on a guy when he's got hot grease goin'!"

"I apologize." Castiel stepped up beside him, and lay a hand over the burns. The pain disappeared and Dean nodded his thanks, turning off the faucet.

"How…"

"Your brother is sleeping," Castiel provided, before the sentence could be completed. "Most of the Demon Blood he was dosed with is out of his system."

"Oh, thank god," Dean sagged against the counter.

"However," Castiel continued, "the process is… draining to him. I fear he is becoming dehydrated, and we have used all the water in the Panic Room. I have come for more."

"Oh," Dean frowned. "Oh, yeah. Sure." He crossed to the back door and leaned out, shouting, "BOBBY! WHERE'S THAT CASE OF WATER WE GOT THE OTHER DAY?"

He turned back to the angel, letting the door bang shut behind him. "So, a little dehydration, that doesn't sound so bad," he said, hopefully.

"Indeed, it could be much…"

"What're you hollerin' about, Dean? Everything all…" Bobby stopped, letting the door slam behind him when he caught sight of the trenchcoated figure. "Castiel? Sam, he's…"

"Resting," Castiel replied. "But I fear he may become dehydrated."

"Yeah, they've gone through all the water we left for him," Dean finished. "I was wondering where the other case was."

"Laundry," Bobby replied, and Dean nodded, heading down the short hall to the laundry room, leaving Bobby alone with the angel. Again.

Someday, I'll figure out how to talk to him, Bobby told himself, and realized that today was not that day.

Dean was back before the unofficial staring contest got too much more awkward, a case of bottled water balanced on his shoulder. He dropped it onto the kitchen table with a loud THUD. "I can carry this down for…" he began eagerly, only to be interrupted.

"That will not be necessary," Castiel assured him, missing the way Dean deflated. "I can easily take it with me."

"How is he, Cas? Really?" Dean pressed.

"He is exhausted," Castiel admitted, "but as I said, we are getting near the end of the detoxification process. In addition to being dehydrated, he reported being hungry, just before he fell asleep. He has not expressed that need before."

"Hungry?" Dean grinned. "Well, I was just making some BLTs and…."

"Sam suggested something called 'crappy cheese peanut butter crackers'," Castiel cut across him, finger quotes at the ready. "I was wondering if you had any."

Bobby grinned and moved to a cardboard box over the refrigerator, pulling down a couple packets of Lance's. "Here," he told the angel, setting a few disconcertingly orange packets on top of the water, along with some more reasonably colored beige packets. "There're some Captain's Wafers there, too," he said proudly. "With the cream cheese fillin'. Sam likes those."

Castiel bent at the waist, inspecting the cracker hoard with a slow tilt of his head. "These do not look… healthy," he said cautiously.

"'Cause they ain't," Bobby shrugged.

"But they're easy on the stomach," Dean added. "I used to give them to Sammy when he was little, 'n' just gettin' over a stomach bug or something. They're kind of a comfort food for him," he admitted and frowned. "Which is… kinda sad, now I think about it. But they're available in pretty much every Gas 'n' Sip in the country, so…"

"I see," Castiel said in that solemn way he had, straightening up to set one hand on the small pile of dubious sustenance.

"Did he say anything?" Dean blurted out. "I mean… Is he… When he…"

"He did tell me to give you each a message," Castiel nodded, and turned first to the elder Hunter. "Bobby, he said to ask if you could please make your chili. He will likely not be able to eat it immediately, but he says it's best if it's allowed to slow cook and then sit for a day or so anyway."

Bobby smiled, pleased. "I can do that. Tell him I'll add to the batch in the freezer."

"I shall," Castiel nodded in acknowledgment, and turned to Dean.

"What?" Dean frowned, when the angel just tilted his head again, and didn't immediately speak.

"Your message from Sam must be delivered carefully," Castiel informed him. "He was very specific about the wording."

"Okay…"

"He said to tell you that he said…" the angel paused, closed his eyes and began to recite, in a deep monotone. "'Don't worry so damn much, I can feel your anxiety through iron. You're going to make yourself sick, you moron, and you'll be friggin' useless when I get back upstairs and need you again.'" The celestial opened his eyes. "He also said I was to call you a jerk, but you should know, Dean, that I do not agree with that assessment."

Bobby coughed into his fist and turned away.

Dean laughed lightly and seemed to relax in a way he hadn't since Sam had first told him to bring him back to Bobby's. "Tell him I said that big brothers get to worry all they like, little brothers got no say in that, and that he should stop being a little bitch, an' get his skinny ass upstairs." He grinned widely at the angel. "Don't have to be exact, Cas, but make sure you get one bit right — stop being a little bitch. Got it?"

Castiel nodded gravely, frowning. "I do not understand human communication," he admitted sadly. "There seems to be a great number of unnecessary insults."

"That ain't human communication," Bobby corrected. "That's Winchester communication. And you get used to it."

"We shall see."

Castiel nodded at them both, then he, the water and the unusual snacks were gone.

====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN===SPN===

Bobby Singer's House

Panic Room

November 5, 2009

7:56 pm

Sam lay, panting, on the mattress, staring at the ceiling far above him, watching the fan in the center slowly spin above the devil's trap in the grating.

"I believe the episodes are getting weaker," Castiel, lying beside him, watching the Hunter, said quietly.

"Don't feel like it," Sam admitted with a groan.

"I understand. From my perspective, it is becoming easier to keep you on the mattress. From your perspective…"

"It just hurts," Sam admitted. "And it's still so hot in here."

Castiel wasn't clear if he meant in the Panic Room — which was, admittedly, at least in the upper 70's, if not low 80's, after another unseasonably warm day — or in his veins, under his own skin. He was about to ask for clarification when the boy spoke again.

"When this is over," Sam began. His voice tired and weak, and the angel had the distinct impression that Sam would have taken any resolution as an acceptable end.

"When your system is free from the Demon Blood and you are well, again," Castiel clarified for him.

"Okay," Sam shrugged. "When it's over, though. What will you do?"

"Me?" Castiel blinked at him and found himself, again, captured by the sunflower eyes of his charge.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I hope you know you're welcome here," he continued, his voice stronger with the conviction of it. "You can stay here, Castiel. I mean. You know. If you wanted."

Castiel smiled, softly. "Thank you, Sam. That is kind of you. But, I shall return to Heaven, once I am convinced that you are well."

"Heaven?" Sam pushed himself up on one elbow.

Castiel did likewise, tilting his head in confusion. The boy seemed almost alarmed. "Of course. I'm an angel. I belong in Heaven"

"But…Castiel," Sam said, reasonably. "With what you know, now. Is that safe for you?"

The angel paused, seemed to consider the question seriously, then shrugged. "Perhaps not," he admitted. "But I do not believe that those in charge of Heaven know what I have discovered, either about the memories they took from me, or the larger problem of the Conspiracy to bring about the Apocalypse."

Sam frowned. "But they could find out, Castiel. Figure out what you know. I just don't think it's safe… for you," he added, grunting slightly as he pushed himself into a seated position against the iron wall.

Castiel shifted to sit beside him, gratified when Sam leaned over, just slightly, so their shoulders touched, the way the angel had observed the brothers sitting. "Perhaps not," he repeated. "But the Conspiracy is a serious matter, Sam. I must find out as much as I can, to aid you and brother in preventing the Apocalypse."

"Yeah, that's good in theory," Sam shrugged, "and I appreciate the thought, Castiel, I do. But if you're found out… What will they do to you?"

"Take my memories again, I suspect," Castiel confirmed Sam's worst fears. "Likely…" He hesitated

"What. Likely, what?"

"I have told you I am one of Heaven's strategists," Castiel reminded him. "If I were part of the Conspiracy, and an angel with… ties… to the Winchester Brothers were to find out what we were doing… If it were me, I would wipe the Angel's memory of the Conspiracy, then re-educate him, and send him back to Earth to keep an eye on the situation. I'd send him back to you," he clarified.

"As a spy," Sam nodded.

"As a spy," Castiel confirmed, calmly. "Strategically, it would be their soundest option."

"Strategically," Sam scoffed.

"Yes."

"Well, then, strategically, it seems like your going back to Heaven is a bad idea!" Sam scoffed.

"I will endeavor to not get 'found out'," Castiel assured, fingers crooking away around the words.

"I know that, Castiel," Sam assured him, his tone sharp with frustration. "Let me ask you something. This 're-education'," he snarled the word (without finger quotes). "We have things like that here, on Earth, too. It usually involves some kind of torture. Heaven any different?"

"No," Castiel admitted, and the mild tone of voice — like he was declining a piece of pie — made Sam grit his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. "It is not a pleasant process. I now know I have been through it several times. But," he continued before the explosion clearly brewing on the boy's face could detonate, "because of you, Sam Winchester, I now know something I never knew before."

"What's that?" Sam snapped.

"It's reversible."

Sam blinked at him. "It… You… What?"

"I have regained all the memories they took away," Castiel explained. "I think again all the things I once thought, things that they sought to suppress." Castiel turned to him, took a hand between both his own. "They can wipe my memories," he admitted. "Re-educate me, send me back to spy on you and your brother, to try to discover what you know, and what you are doing to truly prevent the Apocalypse. But you, you and Dean. You. Can bring me back."

They stared at each other for along time before Sam cleared his throat, gently extracted his hand, and spoke again. "We need a code word or something. So I know if it's still really you."

The angel tilted his head. "They will be in my head, Sam," he pointed out. "They will find any code word we agree upon."

Sam smiled. "We've already agreed on it. You know it already. DON'T!" he hastened to add when the angel appeared to contemplate. "Don't think about it," he continued. "When you come back, you'll know what to do, what to say. Just… promise me you'll come back, Castiel. Promise that you, OUR Castiel — you'll do your best to come back."

"Sam…"

"Just, just promise me."

The celestial frowned. "I will promise, if it is important to you, Sam."

"It is."

"Then I so promise."

The dimples flashed at him. "Good. Good, Castiel. And be careful, man, okay?"

"Why this concern, Sam? I do not understand. I know you believe — incorrectly — that you owe me, but that still does not seem to justify this… insistence of yours that I act with care. I am an ancient celestial warrior, Sam Winchester. It is not my purpose to be 'careful', anymore than it is yours or Deans."

Sam shrugged, and the dimples deepened. "What can I say? I guess I just prefer a world with you in it."

====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN===SPN===

Bobby Singer's House

Living Room

November 5, 2009

10:23 pm

"Hello, Dean."

Dean jerked upright, spilling his beer onto his shirt, like an idiot, a proposal to put a bell around the angel's damn neck dying on his lips.

Bobby stood from his arm chair as Dean rose to his feet, both of them staring, open mouthed.

"It is over," Castiel said, and Dean's knees would have hit the floor if Bobby hadn't grabbed him.

Castiel frowned at the pair, who stared at him with wide, glassy eyes. He looked down at the limp form in his arms, then looked back up at the men he was coming to view as friends.

"No," he added hastily, "I meant, the detoxification is over. Not Sam. Sam is well. He is fine. Exhausted, but fine."

Dean huffed a breath and might've yelled, if not for the angel's next words.

"Is there somewhere I can put him, where he can sleep?"

"Right!" Dean shook his head, and swept the lore books he'd not been reading when he fell asleep aside, clearing off the couch. "Here…."

"No, Dean," Castiel frowned and gathered the boy in his arms closer to his chest.

The movement caused Sam's head to tilt away from the angel, towards Dean. He hadn't seen his little brother look so… peaceful… even in sleep, in years. YEARS.

"Sam will need to rest for some time," the angel continued, "and he deserves a proper place to sleep."

"Upstairs," Bobby told him. "Second door on the right, the bed further from the door."

"I'll show…" Dean started, but the angel was gone.

By the time Dean and Bobby got to the room the boys still shared, all these years later (Bobby had offered to update the attic to add another bedroom, but there'd been no interest), Castiel was gently pulling the blanket over Sam's now bared chest, smoothing it down like a nervous mother with a colicky infant. He was just brushing the hair away from Sam's forehead when Dean cleared his throat, and the angel quickly stood and moved away.

"Sam will be fine," he repeated, glancing back at the boy one more time. "I…"

"Thanks, Cas," Dean nodded and walked by him to get to his brother, lightly clapping a hand on the angel's shoulder as he passed. "See you," he agreed, and dismissed Castiel, Bobby, the pending Apocalypse and the entire rest of the known Universe as he settled — finally — at his brother's side.

Castiel watched them for a moment, smiling a smile that seemed, to Bobby, to be a little wistful.

"Thank you, Castiel," Bobby repeated and reached out to shake the angel's hand, grabbing hold when the celestial did not immediately offer his own. "I believe you saved our boy's life today. I'm truly grateful. We both are," he grimaced, glancing at Dean, who had pulled the blanket back down to give his brother a quick but thorough visual inspection. "Even if that idjit is too preoccupied to say it proper."

"Of course," Castiel nodded, once. "It was…" The angel paused, frowning. "It was my privilege," he decided. "I shall return to check on him later, but now I must return to Heaven. I may have been missed."

"Come by tomorrow around dinner if you can," Bobby suggested. "You can join us for that chili Sam requested."

Castiel smiled, delighted by the invitation. "I may do that," he agreed… and was gone.

====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN===SPN===

A/N

Heebie-jeebies is a feeling of unease, that something (often something unnatural) has or is about to occur.

In deference to the show, I'm using the name Sam Hain, but I cannot stay silent any longer. It's Samhain, and it's pronounced "sou-en", with "sou" like the word "how". JEEZ, people — ask a damn pagan, for cryin' out loud! It's their holiday!

Dean says "tomato, tomahto", indicating that two things are equal, just from a different perspective. The phrase is part of the first lyrical line of the song "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" by George & Ira Gershwin, as featured in the 1937 film Shall We Dance. The phrase is common enough in America that it does not necessarily mean that Dean has seen, or is a fan of, the film (But he has and he is. Dean is a secret fan of musicals, chick-flicks and animated Disney films. Fight me.)

When Bobby tells Dean it's 'early innings yet', it's a reference to Baseball. "It's early innings" is American for 'it's too soon to tell, anything can happen'.

BLTs are Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwiches. Given Dean's canonical love of (obsession with) bacon, I figure it's a go-to comfort food for him.

Lance Crackers are a brand of snack crackers in the U.S. sold in sleeves. They are about 1 inch square, with a cracker on top, a cracker on bottom and some kind of thin filling in between. Cheese peanut butter crackers are bright orange, vaguely cheese-flavored crackers filled with an unbelievably thin layer of peanut butter that will stick to the roof of your mouth no matter what you do. Captain's Crackers are wheat crackers with a layer of what is claimed to be cream cheese and chives. I have never been inside a gas station convenience store and not seen Lance crackers (or a regional knock-off) on sale. Also, if you don't know what peanut butter or cream cheese are… I can't explain. They can only be experienced.

Chili is an American stew-like food, made with a tomato base, beans, sometimes meat and various degrees of spiciness. It's considered, by many, to be a comfort food.

Virtual high-five to anybody who knows why Bobby coughed after Castiel delivered Sam's message to Dean.