Trigger Warning for Implied SA/Non-con* This chapter has several sexual themes and references in it, nothing graphic, more sexualized items and situations than anything overtly sexual. That being said, there are several inferences to events currently hidden behind Sam's wall so tread lightly if that bothers you. There will be a brief summary next chapter which highlights what happened if anyone would prefer to skip this chapter with that trigger warning.
Trigger Warning for Mental Health* There is a very brief mention of Stockholm Syndrome, literally just one line, but this chapter does have an undercurrent theme of Sam's not great mental health at this point (thanks to the wall and his trauma with being held captive). Several themes of anxiety and PTSD are explored in Sam's behavior, if not outright spoken or discussed, so figured better be safe than sorry with this warning!
Chapter Text
Four hours and twenty minutes. Give or take. That's how long Sam has been in this creepy, mad-scientist-Esque lab, sitting alone on the cold floor. Minus a few minutes after Cas and his angels had disappeared, where Sam had been too frozen, too shocked to do anything except sit where the angels had put him and try to process what was going on, Sam has been counting the minutes, using a technique his dad had taught him. In situations like this, where you are at the disadvantage, where you are restrained, or trapped, the last thing you can afford to do is panic. To spiral. So, to keep yourself grounded, do something that keeps your mind occupied, that grounds you to the moment and doesn't take away your focus from whatever situation you are in, since at any moment an opportunity can crop up for an escape, or a way to fight back, but that also is challenging enough to engage your mind and keep your fight-or-flight instincts from engaging. Struggling, wasting energy, anything really outside of rigid discipline can get you killed, Dad always said. Keep your mind sharp, and focused, and it will be more ready to seize an opportunity when it comes. Dad used to count time to, he was the one who taught Sam. Dean, on the other hand, sang every song he knew on repeat silently, starting over if he got even the slightest lyric wrong. Sam had tried that once to but found that tracking time let him see more patterns, figure out where he was, when it was, how much time has past since he was taken, or trapped, or left, whatever the situation called for. He found it let him gather more information quickly, which usually lead to him getting either himself, Dean or both of them out of whatever trouble they had gotten into. He was hoping it would do the same now. While he counted, Sam gave the room a more comprehensive sweep, only to come to the same conclusion he reached upon arriving- the room was uselessly bare of anything that could help him. Besides the empty tables, there is nothing on the floor besides dirt. No nails, no trash, no splinters, nothing he could use to get out of his cuffs. After confirming his lack of resources, Sam tested his restraints. There was about a foot of length of chain connecting his ankles to the wall, and a little bit more than that connecting his wrists, but not enough to do anything except stand up. Trying to take even a single step in any direction caused the cuffs to tighten, almost trip his feet up, and pull his arms uncomfortably even further behind him. After establishing his lack of range of motion, Sam studied the cuffs themselves. To his horror, he recognized the kind from some adult videos he had seen, and some wildly over-graphic conversations with Dean after his brother had had a few too many whisky's. The kind meant to not hurt but still ensure absolute restraint. Each leather cuff was buckled tightly around each wrist and ankle individually, the cuffs on Sam's left ankle, and, judging by feel alone, left wrist each having a chain forged around a D-shaped link that connects to a lock on the right ankle and wrist cuffs. And, if these are the restraints Sam is thinking they might be, the locks would have been customized to a unique key. Lock-picking would be useless, even if he had something to pick the lock with. And Sam is simultaneously pissed at Dean and his knack for completely oversharing his sexual exploits, and grateful for it in this exact moment, for knowing that. Knowing that the only way these cuffs are coming off is with the key means Sam won't have to expend precious time or energy trying to get out of them. Of course, it also means he is totally screwed, but so what? He's been in worse situations before, and he knows without even a shadow of a doubt that Bobby and Dean will be on their way to find him. Dean will tear up the entire country if he has to, in order to find Sam. So, all Sam has to do is wait until either his big brother gets here or until he has an opening to make a move. Shifting around, Sam traced the chains connected him to the wall, surprised to find they aren't linked to the chains connecting his hands and feet, but the ones to his wrists are attached to another D-link on his right hand cuff, and the ones to his ankles are attached to his left foot cuff. Filing that information away for later, Sam sat back, leaning his head against the wall, and resumed his counting, while subtly testing each link individually, checking for any signs of weakness he can exploit, exhaling a frustrated, disappointed sigh when he can't find any. From what he can tell, the chains appear to be brand freaking new. Well, at least Castiel was courteous enough to get him his own set of restraints, Sam thinks bitterly. When he reaches roughly five hours since Cas vanished, Sam is starting to stiffen up, his body growing sore from the awkward positions and cold from the floor and the wall. Carefully, and slowly, Sam gets to his feet, stretching out his limbs as much as he can, rolling his neck and his shoulders to ease some of the tension from the muscles.
"Hello Sam." Sam jumps as a soft fluttering sound and a gentle breeze against his skin announces Castiel's return and he steps back automatically, his arms twitching as his instinct to raise his hands in defense clashes with the restraining leather.
"Cas." Sam says warily. The angel frowns at him, and has the grace to look uncomfortable, even a little guilty as his eyes track the awkward movement of Sam's arms.
"I trust those aren't too uncomfortable? I wanted something that wouldn't cut into your skin, or chafe it too much, so not rope or chains or zip ties. The man at the store said these were meant for pleasure, not pain, and they should be comfortable enough for extended periods of time." Cas says softly. Sam feels heat rushing to his cheeks as Cas confirms what Sam thought. What the hell has Sam done to warrant being chained up in BDSM restraints in an angel's dungeon? For a moment, Sam thinks he is having a Dean moment, confusing reality with porn again, and a slightly hysterical laugh bubbles its way out of Sam's mouth. Sam would argue that his utter unwillingness to be here should have negated that thought instantly, since at least any legal porn involved willing participants, but then again wasn't there entire sub-industries of porn that dealt with non-consensual involvement? Another laugh, even more hysterical and bordering on a sob, leaves Sam again and he has to struggle hard against a dark pull on his thoughts, tugging him towards that wall in his mind. A wall that is suddenly demanding attention, like an itch. A wave of powerful DeJa'Vu washes over Sam, this entire situation feeling horrifyingly familiar, even though he can't place from where, or why. And he is terrified to ever find out. Cas must read the rising panic on Sam's face, because he frowns, concern flashing across his expression, and he steps forward. "Sam?" Sam shakes his head, trying hard to get control back. To focus, as five hours' worth of stress and fear threatens to break free and consume him entirely. Taking a deep breath, clenching his hands tightly into fists, Sam forces himself to stay in the present, to ground himself and to ignore that tantalizing pull to scratch his wall. Cas steps even closer, hesitation all over his face. "Sam, are you alright?"
"Not particularly." Sam says bluntly. "I don't do well tied up Cas." Understanding lights up in the angel's face and he frowns apologetically.
"Right. I am sorry about that. It won't be permanent, I promise, but until your accommodations are ready, Crowley insisted." Cas says softly.
"Accommodations?" Sam asks warily.
"You are my friend, Sam, did you really think I was going to leave you chained to the wall for days on end?" Cas asks, a hint of hurt in his voice. But that pain only makes Sam's anger flare up. How dare Cas get his feelings hurt, when he is the reason they are in this mess?
"I don't know Cas, I didn't think you would kidnap me in the first place, so I have no idea what to think." Sam says harshly. Cas grimaces.
"I didn't want to do this. It was a last resort." Cas says firmly. "I need to defeat Raphael, and I can't risk you or your brother or Bobby getting hurt in the cross fire."
"We've dealt with archangels before, Cas." Sam reminds him.
"Yes, and last time you did, you died and went to Hell." Cas says bluntly. Sam flinches, stepping back and Cas' face and voice soften. "I am sorry. I know this must be… stressful, for you. I know you don't understand what I am doing, and this must feel like a betrayal of your trust. But please, Sam, please, try to understand. I have to do this. I am trying to save you, to spare you from something much worse. I need you to trust me." Sam reads Cas' expression, frowning as he sees the desperation there, the concern, the… fear. There isn't any of the cold, hard, righteousness of the Cas who took him from Bobby's living room, or any of the desperate justification of his forced confession from that ring of holy fire.
"Cas, man, what is going on? You have to give me something, please." Sam asks, wanting desperately to believe his friend, to be able to trust in him again. There is something terrifyingly familiar in the way Cas is acting and speaking, and then it clicks. Watching and listening to Cas, he is reminded forcefully of the way he had pleaded with Dean to trust him, to follow him, when he was setting out to kill Lilith. Cas opens his mouth, hopefully to answer Sam, and explain what is happening, but before he can speak, the metal door at the top of the stairs squeals open.
"Samantha! How nice of you to drop by." A familiar, cruel voice rings out and Sam stiffens immediately, masking his emotions behind a blank, neutral expression even as he grits his teeth, and a look of resigned annoyance crosses over Cas' face.
"It's Sam." Both Sam and Cas spit out at the same time, and Sam blinks in surprise, looking at Cas. Cas gives him a slight nod, turning to watch Crowley as he walks down the stairs, chuckling at the angel's and the hunter's reactions. Sam shifts warily, tugging again on his cuffs, hating the feeling of having them behind his back, leaving him wide open and vulnerable around the King of Hell. Crowley crosses the room, a smug smirk on his pompous face, and Sam watches him coolly, understanding all to clearly Dean's normal desire to punch something. Crowley's nose, uncomfortably close to a defenseless Sam, is just begging to be broken by Sam's fist. Though, maybe if he gets closer, Sam can always headbutt him, still get that satisfying crunch.
"Comfy?" Crowley asks, grinning as though he can read Sam's thoughts and pausing just outside of Sam's reach, his eyes flashing to the restraints.
"Oh yeah." Sam replies sarcastically. "Super comfortable. It's the freaking Ritz in here." Crowley's eyes flash and Sam cries out in pain as a sharp, burning sensation flares in his chest, like fire spreading across his ribs. The intensity of the sudden agony drives Sam to his knees, hard enough that he is definitely going to have bruises on his knee caps later, and he bows forward, as far as the cuffs on his wrists will allow, grunting and, for a brief second, Sam is grateful for Cas' thoughtfulness with the soft leather restraints. With rope, or metal, the sudden movement more than likely would caused either option to cut into his skin, bruising or even shredding his wrists in the process.
"Crowley." Cas snarls, and the burning sensation disappears as suddenly as it came on. Sam pants, breathing heavily as his body tries to adjust to whiplash of the immediate absence of pain. "I told you not to lay a finger on him." Sam looks up slowly, glaring at Crowley and glancing at Cas to see his friend standing in front of Sam, looking every bit the powerful angel he is. Sam knows, if he was in front of Cas, he would see his eyes flaring with the bright blueness of his grace. Crowley, for his part, doesn't look the least bit intimidated. Instead, if possible, his smirk grows even smugger. His face, more punch-able.
"And I didn't." Crowley points out, pulling his hands from his jacket pockets and waving them. "I didn't touch him at all. Completely hands free."
"You know what I mean." Cas says angrily. Crowley rolls his eyes and smirks down at Sam. "Always so literal this one." Crowley nods at Cas. "No concept of nuance at all." Sam spits at Crowley's feet, in answer. He raises an eyebrow.
"Keep your pet on a tighter leash, Feathers, or he might find himself getting muzzled." Crowley threatens, his voice light and jovial, but with an undercurrent of force that leaves Sam in no doubt that he is more than willing to carry out the threat.
"You won't hurt him, we need him to keep Dean and Bobby Singer in line." Castiel says firmly. Forcefully. "Besides, you are the one who wanted him here. Don't be surprised that he has an issue with it." Sam's brow furrows at that revelation. So Cas took him on Crowley's orders? He smooths out his expression again before either angel or demon can notice, not wanting to speculate in front of them until he knows more.
"Wanting him here doesn't mean I will tolerate insolence." Crowley says. "He's a useful hostage, to a point. I've been more than lenient on my compromises, but I have more demons than you have angels, Cas, and you can't be here all week to protect him, so I suggest keeping him in line." Cas grinds his teeth together as Crowley steps around him to get a better look at Sam. Refusing to remain on his knees in front of a douchebag like Crowley, Sam scrambles quickly and uncomfortably to his feet, towering over the demon. "As for you Moose, I suggest you follow Feather's lead here. That way we can all get home in one piece, no harm done." Sam glares down spitefully at Crowley, who meets his gaze evenly, a wicked grin on his face, as if daring Sam to lash out at him again. Sam opens his mouth to tell Crowley exactly where he can stick his suggestion.
"What do you want, Crowley?" Cas snaps impatiently, cutting Sam off before he can start to speak as if he knew what Sam was about to say. "I know you didn't just come here to threaten Sam." Looking slightly disappointed, Crowley turns to Cas.
"No, but why waste a perfectly golden opportunity? Winchester's are so rarely vulnerable, it would be a crime not to take advantage." Crowley gloats.
"Crowley." Cas snarls impatiently, and Sam can almost feel the grace and power radiating off of Cas. Even Crowley loses a hint of his smugness, wariness creeping into the demon's expression.
"Fine, fine. Spoil sport." Crowley sighs dramatically. "I wanted to tell you two things. First, we found her." Cas' expression changes instantly, losing the angry, impatient edge and becoming calm, focused and determined, but also strangely… detached. Sam recognizes it instantly, he has seen it on the faces of hunters for his entire life. The look of someone about to embark on a particularly hard, or painful job that nevertheless has to be done. He has seen it on Dean's face more times than he can count, especially when the case they are on involves children of some kind. Young monsters, ghosts of kids, that sort of thing. Sam is pretty sure he wore the same expression when he had had to kill Madison.
"Where is she?" Cas asks sharply, a resigned practicality to his voice that makes Sam nervous. This is more like the Cas that took Sam from Bobby's.
"Basement." Crowley answers. "Balthazar and Arelle are giving her a cold start for us." Cold start… something about that phrase hits at Sam. He feels like he has heard Crowley say it before, he just can't remember where or when. Which means it was most likely while he was soulless. Sam shifts uncomfortably again, redirecting his thoughts quickly away from that dangerous direction, and back to the angel and demon in front of him. Cas is nodding calmly. "The second thing is, your pet's kennel is ready."
"Not a pet." Sam says angrily. Crowley dismisses him with a wave of his hand.
"Thank you. I will meet you down there once I have gotten Sam settled in." Cas says shortly. "Excellent. Keep in mind my condition, I will be checking in to ensure it is in place." Crowley says, snapping his fingers and disappearing into nothing. Cas sighs, relaxing slightly now that they are the only two in the room. Sam looks at him immediately.
"What the hell was he talking about, Cas?" Sam demands. Cas frowns, moving towards Sam and Sam forces himself not to flinch, or move away. Cas wants Sam to trust him, and maybe if he shows Cas that he isn't afraid of him, or, honestly, at least pretends that he isn't, Cas might open up to him. Cas crouches to the ground, detaching his wrists and ankles from the wall, although keeping them bound together. There is a light sound of clinking chains as they drop to the floor and Cas stands again, looking exhausted, and sad, and, again, guilty. By now, Sam is convinced that Cas isn't doing this maliciously. The angel isn't a good enough actor to be pretending that what he is doing to Sam is bothering him, this is all genuine regret. Sam is confident about that. So he softens his voice and tries a less aggressive approach. "Please, Cas. I'm kind of freaking out here. Talk to me." Cas studies Sam for a moment, before nodding.
"Well, you heard that it was Crowley's idea to hold one of you hostage. It was." Cas admits. "I argued against it at first, but I also knew you and your brother would keep trying to stop us, keep putting yourselves in unnecessary danger if I didn't do something. Given what we saw you do the last time Dean was missing, how far you were willing to go against Lilith, we thought it would be more effective to take you instead of your brother. Dean seems slightly more… amenable to our request, than you would have been, both of us agreed on that much. Where we differed was on how to treat you once we had you here." Sam looks at Cas, unsure if he should feel impressed, concerned, disgusted, insulted or complemented. Maybe a mixture of all of the above. Before Sam has a chance to decide, Cas continues. "Crowley wanted to put you in the basement."
"Of course he did. Sounds like him." Sam mutters. Cas grimaces sympathetically.
"He has cages down there, to contain… things. He wanted to keep you in one of them. I put my foot down. I told him in unequivocal terms that you were never setting foot in another cage again, not if I had anything to say about it. And that if he tried to put you in one, I would burn him alive." Sam glances at Cas, studying the angel's suddenly fiercely protective expression. He is unsure what exactly to feel about that, but he can't help a little bit of relief, and even gratitude from appearing. Cas may be way, way out of line with this entire scheme, but at least he doesn't seem to be hanging Sam out to dry. Small blessings. Swallowing nervously, Sam realizes Cas is waiting for a response.
"Uh… thanks, Cas." He says quietly, unsure of what else to say. Cas nods, although he looks unhappy, as if Sam said the wrong thing. Sam glances back at the wall eh was previously chained to. "So, erm… this… room, was just like… a holding cell, right? Until the er, other accommodations were ready?" Cas nods, his face smoothing out, and he reaches out a hand, gripping Sam's arm. With a flutter of wings, Sam blinks hard, and he is standing in a small room that, from what Sam can tell, used to be an office. The floor is carpeted, with wide windows looking out over what appears to be an empty, abandoned parking lot. The sun is nearly fully set, black, cloudy sky darkening everything except a sliver of orange-pinkish horizon. Plain grey walls surround Sam, with a simple overhead lamp filling the small space with artificial light, glinting off of what Sam can now see are iron bars covering the window, newly installed if Sam had to guess. He shuffles awkwardly in his ankle cuffs, close enough to the window to see the binding sigils carved into the bars. He definitely is not getting out through the window. Sam's eyes automatically search out the next viable exit, spotting a heavy metal door where he is guessing the old, simple wooden one would have been, also carved with binding magic. And he thought he was screwed before.
"There is no way to escape." Cas mutters quietly, watching Sam's every move, and the habitual way the hunter looks for escape routes. He doesn't fault Sam, he is simply acting on instinct. But Sam has always been the more reasonable Winchester, so Cas is hoping the sooner he realizes that he is confined here, the sooner Sam will accept it and the less danger he will put himself in. All Sam needs to do is trust in Cas, and he will be fine. Sam, meanwhile, only nods at Cas' words, his mind racing a million miles an hour as he turns to take in the rest of the office-turned-prison-cell. There is a door in the corner that leads to a private bathroom, for which Sam is grateful. It is a small one, only a sink, mirror and toilet, but it is better than nothing, and Sam can see that it has been stocked with soap, toilet paper, a tooth brush, tooth paste and a brush. Inside the main room, cleared of all the office furniture Sam imagines it used to hold, is a twin sized bed, neatly made with sheets, a thick blanket that actually looks big enough to cover Sam, and two decent looking pillows. There is a table with a single chair by the window that holds a few fictional books that Sam realizes, with a pang, are copies of books he has discussed with Cas. Books he had suggested Cas read. There is also a deck of cards that Sam is pretty sure used to be in his duffle bag, a set he has carried for years, for him and Dean to play poker or War or Euchre with at whatever run-down motel of the week they were staying at. Resting on the bed, also looking like they were stolen from his duffle bag, are his sweat pants and a light grey long-sleeved shirt he uses as pajamas, two sets of jeans, two black t-shirts, two of his flannel shirts and socks and underwear, all looking freshly washed and dried, and folded with care. The entire room looks freshly cleaned, with warm air pumping into it through vents, so while small, it is actually relatively comfortable looking. Cas clears his throat, and Sam glances back at him. "The uh… the window opens, if it gets a little too hot in here. We can also adjust the thermostat to make the room cooler. Food and drinks will be brought to you three times a day, and your laundry will be done every other day. Crowley insisted on having one demon guard at the door, and below the window at all times, but do not worry. I have also posted angels to watch the demons and ensure they do not abuse the situation. All of them have been strictly warned against harming you in any way. Esther and Ion will also get you anything you need, within reason."
"Within reason… so I guess that includes the key to these?" Sam asks, spinning and waving his hands as best as he can.
"Right." Cas says, and he walks forward. Sam freezes in surprise, having been entirely joking. He didn't expect to be freed from the cuffs until either Cas let him go or Dean arrived. And yet, Cas crouches down, releasing first the chain between his ankles, and then the chain between his wrists, so while the leather cuffs themselves remain, he can at least move his arms and legs freely. Sam rolls his shoulders, stretching out his arms in front of him before starting too see if he can move the cuffs a little bit, to rub at the skin under the leather. As he brings the cuffs close to his face, however, the thin chain dangle from one wrist, he sees they are still tightly buckled into place, not moving even an inch, and the buckles themselves have miniature combo locks, meaning without the code, they aren't coming off anytime soon, as his new space is as bereft of anything even remotely helpful for escaping angels and demons as the empty lab was. Lowering his wrists again, Sam looks back at Cas.
"Thanks." He says, much more gratefully this time. Cas nods, a tiny, shy smile on his face before it is wiped away, his eyes darkening with what Sam easily recognizes as self-loathing. "I uh… I am guessing this is where you tell me what Crowley's condition was."
"I am sorry about this Sam. I fought strenuously against the idea as a whole, but Crowley was only willing to budge so far. I managed to negotiate him down to this." Cas explains sheepishly, moving to the bed and pulling out another, longer, length of chain from under the blanket. One end is bound to the foot of the bed, and while this one is easily long enough to cover most of the room, definitely enough to get to the bathroom, Sam can tell at once it won't reach the heavily secured door and is also forcefully reminded of a leash. Shivering, with the ghosts of memories hidden behind the wall tugging at his consciousness, Sam forces down the bile starting to rise in his throat. Cas frowns as he watches the disgust and fear roll over his friend's face. "Crowley wanted a collar, and chains for both your legs. I talked him down to one chain for one leg, and your hands will be bound whenever a demon or an angel enters the room. I am sorry. I did the best I could." The best you could would have been not kidnapping me and defecting from Crowley as soon as you heard he was targeting Dean and me in the first place, Sam thinks, but there is less anger in him now and more frustration, because he is starting to see what Cas is doing. Maybe it was all the chaos of this year, his soullessness and amnesia and the alphas and monsters going out of control that distracted him before, but now Sam can see the signs. Cas is making the exact same mistakes Sam made with Ruby. Doing what he thinks is for the greater good, trusting a demon, betraying and hurting his friends and family, while desperately trying to protect them, to keep them safe and fighting for them with everything he has. Empathy for Cas is replacing all the hurt, and the pain that he had initially felt, because he gets it. Maybe better than anyone else on the planet. And, at the same time, Sam suddenly has a swell of guilt for putting Dean in the same position Cas is putting Sam. Sam has always hated himself for what he did to Dean, but now more than ever he realizes exactly why Dean felt the way he did. Why he acted the way he did, responded the way he did. But Sam doesn't have the luxury of emulating Dean. Of letting his anger and his terror fuel him, of letting Cas' decisions push him away, or make him hold on too tight, to the point where Cas feels like Sam is trying to control him, or boss him around. That hadn't worked when Dean had done it, and it nearly destroyed the world. If Sam was going to help Cas, and get through to him, Cas needs to feel like Sam trusts him. That Sam isn't doubting him or mistrusting him when he tells Cas this Purgatory plan is insane, but that Sam is fighting with Cas to find the best course of action. Working as a team, as equals, not one dictating all the plans without any regard for the other. After all, trust goes both ways, so how can Sam ask Cas to trust in him, if Sam doesn't establish that he trusts Cas first? Taking a deep breath, Sam gives Cas a small, sad smile, forcing himself to relax.
"It's okay Cas." Sam assures him. Cas hesitates, frowning and Sam can tell he threw the angel off. Cas was probably expecting rage, resistance, maybe even hate from Sam. Sam smiles wryly. "It's not like it's the first time you locked me down." Cas frowns even more deeply, his brow furrowing.
"This isn't like the demon blood, Sam." He says quickly, as if trying to reassure Sam. "I swear, this was entirely Crowley's idea."
"I know." Sam comforts him, and how freaking unreal is that, that Sam is having to comfort his captor, who is about to leash him like an animal? Briefly, Sam wonders how quickly can Stockholm Syndrome set in, before he shakes the thought from his head. This isn't that. Sam is trying to help a friend stuck in a dark, terrifying place, who probably feels completely alone and isolated, while carrying the fate of the world, possibly literally, on his shoulders. The least Sam can do, and the first step in rebuilding the broken trust between them, is offer as little resistance to things outside of Cas' control as possible. "It's okay, Cas. Really. I was just making a joke."
"Oh." Cas' face relaxes, relief in his eyes. "I am glad to see you can be so cavalier about that now. Laughter means you are healing." With no resistance from Sam, Cas crouches and attaches the end of the length of chain to Sam's left ankle cuff, locking it into place before standing back up. "I er, got you some entertainment, so you won't be too bored, hopefully." Cas nods at the pile of books. Sam glances at them, then at Cas, hesitation and fear returning to him as he hears the implication in his voice.
"You are leaving?' Sam asks softly. Cas nods reluctantly.
"Only for a little while. Crowley needs me down in the basement, and I would rather go to him than have him come back here. You have my word, I will do my best to keep him as far from you as possible." Cas promises. Sam nods, biting his lip nervously. Cas may be the reason he is here, and he is still frustrated with the angel, but at least Sam does feel safe with Cas there. Safer, at least. But being alone, chained to a bed in a magically sealed room, surrounded by demons and angels who all hate him for what he did to Lucifer and Michael… Sam wants to ask Cas to stay. Better yet, he wants Dean. Even if Dean was just as trapped in here as Sam is, he would feel safer having Dean with him. And while Cas has gone out of his way to prove Sam isn't in danger from him, and how he has already fought to protect Sam and keep him relatively comfortable, it isn't the same as Dean's solid, comforting presence, his wise-ass remarks, and his ability to get Sam out of seemingly impossible situations. After all, Sam had learned decades ago that when it came to protecting Sam, Dean was an unstoppable force of nature. Hell, Dean had gotten Sam out of the freaking Cage, he could get him out of a simple room. But Dean isn't here, and Cas is leaving, so Sam needs to suck it up, push down his fear and anxiety, and deal with the cards he had been dealt. His poker face must not have been as solid as he thought, though, because Cas smiles reassuringly at him and rests a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I promise Sam, I will be back soon. And then we will talk. I owe you that much." With a soft flutter of wings, Cas disappears from Sam's new prison. Almost instantly, panic rises in Sam, threatening to take hold and he staggers over to the bed, slowly sinking into the surprisingly comfortable mattress. Sam hugs himself tightly, glancing once more around the room as he fights back against the urge to break down into hysterics. Moving until he is sitting fully on the bed, his back against the wall and his legs curled up in front of him, held to his chest by his long arms, Sam does the only thing he can think of to keep himself in control. He starts counting the minutes once more.