Fic: Stars Fading (Supernatural, Sam/Castiel)
Title: Stars Fading
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Author: emerald_embers
Beta: scarletsherlock
Written for: fannishliss
Spoilers: Up to and including 6x07
Rating: PG13 for sexual references and mild bad language.
Word count: 2133
Summary: Finding time to spare for the Winchesters is a struggle for Castiel, but every struggle has its rewards.
The first week after his soul is restored, Sam doesn't speak.
Castiel leaves his recovery to Dean at first, knows Dean is emotionally clumsy but protective enough to take good care of his brother. He has no time of his own to spare, not with Raphael having chosen death over submission - Castiel was not created to rule, and his ascent to power has left many of his siblings furious. He is no politician, has never seen God's true face, and isn't even particularly high ranking; he is a Principality, will always be a Principality regardless of his strength and abilities. He is no Seraph, no Throne - he isn't even of the second Sphere - and the calm in Heaven is tenuous at best. He has only the greater numbers of his kin and the dubious honour of having killed Raphael to thank for there being any peace whatsoever.
When Sam starts screaming and Dean begs for him to shut up, Castiel knows the prayer for what it is, even if he is never named. They are a dangerous distraction, his Winchesters, but they stopped the apocalypse, stopped something written, despite having been manipulated into starting it before they were even born.
He owes them for that, and it's why he creates a barrier between Sam and his brother, quiets any sound that passes Sam's lips, but does not stop him screaming.
Sam needs to scream, so Castiel lets him.
Summer passes as he watches them from a distance, comforted somewhat as Dean settles into a lifestyle of next to no hunting relatively easily - courtesy of his time with Lisa he's had practise, and the fact they stay on the road means his particular form of claustrophobia never has a chance to take hold.
Sam remains changed, Lucifer's anger and loneliness a scar burnt into his soul, and Castiel sees the moments Dean doesn't, sees Sam lose himself for hours watching the activity in a park, sees Sam flinch at the slightest touch from a stranger only to hold the touched hand or arm close to himself afterwards as if he had never been touched before. He knows why Dean sometimes finds him holding a cup of coffee long after it has gone cold, just smelling it. Why he reads all his books from cover to cover and guards his laptop as if it is the only reason his heart still beats.
You don't notice breath until someone tries to take it from you.
Autumn passes, and Sam starts to take certain things for granted again - clean clothes, running water - but Thanksgiving is a strange occasion. Dean only ever celebrates it as an excuse to eat more than normal, but Sam insists on renting a movie and buying microwavable equivalents of the trappings for a traditional turkey dinner.
Sam sits next to Dean for the first half of the movie, stiff-backed as he eats his dinner, slumps against him for the second half.
Dean flicks through the TV channels after the movie finishes, stops at a horror movie marathon and in the silence between them and the fake screams on the television completely misses Sam falling asleep against his shoulder.
Dean notices when his shirt gets damp with drool, rolls his eyes before shrugging so Sam slides down, head landing in Dean's lap with enough weight to make him wince.
He doesn't move, though, just brushes Sam's hair out of his eyes before leaving him to sleep, returning his own attention to the screen until he passes out.
Dean is a far cry from the human who begged for silence a fortnight into Sam's true return, who drunkenly demanded Castiel 'fix' Sam before sobbing that he couldn't do it himself. Sam's slow, gradual healing has a similar effect on Dean, and it only feels right to Castiel that Dean should have been Sam's first source of help.
Sam still screams sometimes, though he has the presence of mind now to leave the motel room when he does.
Winter's settling in hard when Castiel first returns to Earth while Sam is present; he's appeared to Dean, certainly, but did not wish to reopen any wounds by forcing Sam to be in the same space as an angel. It's cold and Sam is shivering, flannel pants and vest doing little to protect him against the weather.
Castiel doesn't ask him to step inside and doesn't warm the air for him; Sam has had enough of miracles and orders.
"I know you're there, Cas," Sam says, and Castiel takes physical form beside him. It makes sense that he can see more now than he used to - Sam bore Lucifer, fought him. You can't go through an experience like that unchanged. "Why are you here?"
Castiel wants to touch Sam's shoulder, bring some warmth to the bared flesh, but keeps his hand tight at his side. "I'm here because I care," he admits. "About you and your brother."
"Thanks," Sam replies, and though the word is empty, Castiel knows Sam means it nonetheless. "Cas -"
Sam falls silent and Castiel doesn't push him, watches Sam clench his fists around the barrier between the porch and the tarmac beneath it, watches him grit his teeth as he tries to stay quiet.
Castiel steps forward and closes a hand over Sam's, creates a bubble around them to stop any sound escaping, and nods.
In the pit, Sam had no mouth.
"I can hear you," Castiel says. "No one else will."
When Sam exhausts himself, has screamed and laughed and sobbed until there isn't a breath left in him, Castiel takes off his coat and reaches to drape it over Sam's shoulders, finds himself drawn into a hug.
He would protest, but Sam is all too breakable, and he supposes their shared warmth serves the same purpose as the coat.
Sam says nothing when Castiel returns the embrace, but the gesture has a familiarity to it Castiel recognises quickly.
"Don't ever change."
He tightens his hold.
"When -" Sam begins, his voice uneven, throat still sore and swollen. "When you set Michael on fire, I -"
Castiel shakes his head. "That was Lucifer. Not you."
"He killed you. He killed Bobby, and I just - I couldn't fight hard enough -"
Castiel pulls back and looks up at Sam, unable to hide his irritation at Sam's self-blame. "You overcame Lucifer for your brother. That was more than anyone has been asked to do for millennia. That you overcame him at all was -" Castiel hesitates, because for all the help God has given him, he is still uneasy as to how much help truly was from his Father. "- Incredible."
"You really forgive me?"
"It wasn't you, but if you insist -" He has to stretch a little to do it and move a hand up to tilt Sam's head down, but it's easy to press a kiss to Sam's forehead. "I forgive you." He adjusts the coat on Sam's shoulders and leaves it there; his human trappings serve no purpose in Heaven and he can return for them whenever he wishes.
Sam looks lost when Castiel leaves, but it isn't a look tainted by despair. It's the best he can do with the time he has, all things considered he still has to attend to his followers and try to placate those standing against him.
Sam doesn't scream as often. It's improvement enough for now.
Castiel watches Sam catch a cold, Dean nursing him through it with practised ease, watches Dean catch it in turn and laugh at Sam being forced to care for him, and finds the burden on his own shoulders easing in sync with Dean's. Sam's slow recovery is equally comforting, a tale of endurance any angel can admire, especially the loyalists to whom Lucifer's name is dirt.
He knows full well his love for them is above and beyond the call of duty to say the least, but it earns little comment from his kin. If anything, it provokes amusement.
As much as their amusement is irritating, it's also humanising, and Castiel has long learned that a touch of humanity can be a good thing.
It's a week before Christmas is celebrated when Castiel finds the time to meet up with both Winchesters. Dean is already a happy drunk on cheap beer - Christmas shopping "fucking rocks", apparently - and Sam enamoured with the motel's decision to leave a battered but functional Atari in their room. Castiel is challenged to a game, Dean crying laughing when Castiel's on-screen character keeps driving into the abyss surrounding the racing track - it's hard to find any meaning in flat colours on a flat screen - and then left to watch Dean attempt to show Castiel how the game is played by professionals.
After three losses to Sam, the third time proving unlucky despite Dean's claims, Dean goes to bed without brushing his teeth. Sam leaves him to it, says Dean deserves to have a gross morning after drinking that much, before playing the game on his own. Watching his hands on the console controller is unintentionally interesting, and Castiel averts his eyes. "Where is my coat?"
"Back seat of the Impala," Sam says, not taking his eyes off the screen, and Castiel heads outside with a twitch of his wings, opening the car and picking the coat up.
He's actually slightly startled when he turns and finds Sam leaning against the balcony of their second floor room. "Wherefore art thou Castiel?" Sam says, and Castiel raises his eyebrows, recognising the reference but not understanding its purpose here. There's an awkward silence for a moment, before Sam asks, "Aren't you meant to be fighting a civil war?"
"I won," Castiel replies, realising he probably ought to have told the Winchesters that several months ago. "Though maintaining the peace is difficult."
Sam links his fingers and shrugs his shoulders, still leaning. The balcony can take his weight; even if it couldn't, Castiel would make sure to strengthen it with a thought. "Cas, Dean's gone to bed."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No, no, I just - figured you wanted to. Picking up your coat and all. Dean's your favourite, right?"
Castiel can see Sam's expression just as clearly from this distance as he could up close, but he still doesn't understand it entirely. Even so, he puts his coat back in the car and shuts the door. He might struggle with some human quirks, but he isn't an idiot. "I don't want to leave," Castiel says. With Dean, he has arguments because their cross purposes are deliberate - he wants something Dean doesn't, or vice versa. With Sam, they often want the same thing but get confused by wording or body language. He rolls his eyes, frustrated. "What do you want, Sam?"
Sam laughs, acknowledging the ridiculous nature of their situation with humour instead of irritation, gestures for Castiel to come up. Castiel obeys; Sam looks surprised. "Promise you won't hurt me."
"Promises are only -"
"Just - just promise, Cas. Okay?"
Castiel nods, curious as to the cause of Sam's nervousness until the answer comes in Sam's fingers under his chin, tilting it up, and Sam's lips on his own.
Sam looks even more nervous than before when he pulls back from the kiss, and Castiel grabs him by the back of the neck, pulls him into a harder kiss and uses each break to growl out "Why don't", "Humans", "Just as-", "Ask?" before dragging him back inside.
He can't stay the night, too much work to do, but he finds enough time to kiss Sam until he's loose-limbed and lazily aroused on the sofa before he leaves.
He returns on Boxing Day, summons Balthazar to Heaven and leaves him in charge for a few hours to settle the final debt between them, encourages Dean to walk off his hangover, and wakes Sam up by pinching his arm.
"The Hell?" Sam asks, and Castiel pinches him again. "Ow! Cas, what -"
"I'm proving you're not dreaming," Castiel says, as toneless as he can, careful not to show his amusement and reaching to pinch Sam again, finding the arm quickly yanked out of reach.
"Jesus, I get it, I'm not dreaming!" Sam yelps.
"Good," Castiel replies, before leaning forward and kissing him.
This time Sam's already loose-limbed and lazily aroused, not to mention partially undressed, and Castiel doesn't leave until he's taken full advantage.
He overstays his allotted hours in the end. Abusing Balthazar's trust in exchange for a third orgasm shared with Sam and the loss of his virginity is the only abuse his old friend could ever approve of.
Truth be told, it's the sort of thing he'd encourage.
The End
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Author: emerald_embers
Beta: scarletsherlock
Written for: fannishliss
Spoilers: Up to and including 6x07
Rating: PG13 for sexual references and mild bad language.
Word count: 2133
Summary: Finding time to spare for the Winchesters is a struggle for Castiel, but every struggle has its rewards.
The first week after his soul is restored, Sam doesn't speak.
Castiel leaves his recovery to Dean at first, knows Dean is emotionally clumsy but protective enough to take good care of his brother. He has no time of his own to spare, not with Raphael having chosen death over submission - Castiel was not created to rule, and his ascent to power has left many of his siblings furious. He is no politician, has never seen God's true face, and isn't even particularly high ranking; he is a Principality, will always be a Principality regardless of his strength and abilities. He is no Seraph, no Throne - he isn't even of the second Sphere - and the calm in Heaven is tenuous at best. He has only the greater numbers of his kin and the dubious honour of having killed Raphael to thank for there being any peace whatsoever.
When Sam starts screaming and Dean begs for him to shut up, Castiel knows the prayer for what it is, even if he is never named. They are a dangerous distraction, his Winchesters, but they stopped the apocalypse, stopped something written, despite having been manipulated into starting it before they were even born.
He owes them for that, and it's why he creates a barrier between Sam and his brother, quiets any sound that passes Sam's lips, but does not stop him screaming.
Sam needs to scream, so Castiel lets him.
Summer passes as he watches them from a distance, comforted somewhat as Dean settles into a lifestyle of next to no hunting relatively easily - courtesy of his time with Lisa he's had practise, and the fact they stay on the road means his particular form of claustrophobia never has a chance to take hold.
Sam remains changed, Lucifer's anger and loneliness a scar burnt into his soul, and Castiel sees the moments Dean doesn't, sees Sam lose himself for hours watching the activity in a park, sees Sam flinch at the slightest touch from a stranger only to hold the touched hand or arm close to himself afterwards as if he had never been touched before. He knows why Dean sometimes finds him holding a cup of coffee long after it has gone cold, just smelling it. Why he reads all his books from cover to cover and guards his laptop as if it is the only reason his heart still beats.
You don't notice breath until someone tries to take it from you.
Autumn passes, and Sam starts to take certain things for granted again - clean clothes, running water - but Thanksgiving is a strange occasion. Dean only ever celebrates it as an excuse to eat more than normal, but Sam insists on renting a movie and buying microwavable equivalents of the trappings for a traditional turkey dinner.
Sam sits next to Dean for the first half of the movie, stiff-backed as he eats his dinner, slumps against him for the second half.
Dean flicks through the TV channels after the movie finishes, stops at a horror movie marathon and in the silence between them and the fake screams on the television completely misses Sam falling asleep against his shoulder.
Dean notices when his shirt gets damp with drool, rolls his eyes before shrugging so Sam slides down, head landing in Dean's lap with enough weight to make him wince.
He doesn't move, though, just brushes Sam's hair out of his eyes before leaving him to sleep, returning his own attention to the screen until he passes out.
Dean is a far cry from the human who begged for silence a fortnight into Sam's true return, who drunkenly demanded Castiel 'fix' Sam before sobbing that he couldn't do it himself. Sam's slow, gradual healing has a similar effect on Dean, and it only feels right to Castiel that Dean should have been Sam's first source of help.
Sam still screams sometimes, though he has the presence of mind now to leave the motel room when he does.
Winter's settling in hard when Castiel first returns to Earth while Sam is present; he's appeared to Dean, certainly, but did not wish to reopen any wounds by forcing Sam to be in the same space as an angel. It's cold and Sam is shivering, flannel pants and vest doing little to protect him against the weather.
Castiel doesn't ask him to step inside and doesn't warm the air for him; Sam has had enough of miracles and orders.
"I know you're there, Cas," Sam says, and Castiel takes physical form beside him. It makes sense that he can see more now than he used to - Sam bore Lucifer, fought him. You can't go through an experience like that unchanged. "Why are you here?"
Castiel wants to touch Sam's shoulder, bring some warmth to the bared flesh, but keeps his hand tight at his side. "I'm here because I care," he admits. "About you and your brother."
"Thanks," Sam replies, and though the word is empty, Castiel knows Sam means it nonetheless. "Cas -"
Sam falls silent and Castiel doesn't push him, watches Sam clench his fists around the barrier between the porch and the tarmac beneath it, watches him grit his teeth as he tries to stay quiet.
Castiel steps forward and closes a hand over Sam's, creates a bubble around them to stop any sound escaping, and nods.
In the pit, Sam had no mouth.
"I can hear you," Castiel says. "No one else will."
When Sam exhausts himself, has screamed and laughed and sobbed until there isn't a breath left in him, Castiel takes off his coat and reaches to drape it over Sam's shoulders, finds himself drawn into a hug.
He would protest, but Sam is all too breakable, and he supposes their shared warmth serves the same purpose as the coat.
Sam says nothing when Castiel returns the embrace, but the gesture has a familiarity to it Castiel recognises quickly.
"Don't ever change."
He tightens his hold.
"When -" Sam begins, his voice uneven, throat still sore and swollen. "When you set Michael on fire, I -"
Castiel shakes his head. "That was Lucifer. Not you."
"He killed you. He killed Bobby, and I just - I couldn't fight hard enough -"
Castiel pulls back and looks up at Sam, unable to hide his irritation at Sam's self-blame. "You overcame Lucifer for your brother. That was more than anyone has been asked to do for millennia. That you overcame him at all was -" Castiel hesitates, because for all the help God has given him, he is still uneasy as to how much help truly was from his Father. "- Incredible."
"You really forgive me?"
"It wasn't you, but if you insist -" He has to stretch a little to do it and move a hand up to tilt Sam's head down, but it's easy to press a kiss to Sam's forehead. "I forgive you." He adjusts the coat on Sam's shoulders and leaves it there; his human trappings serve no purpose in Heaven and he can return for them whenever he wishes.
Sam looks lost when Castiel leaves, but it isn't a look tainted by despair. It's the best he can do with the time he has, all things considered he still has to attend to his followers and try to placate those standing against him.
Sam doesn't scream as often. It's improvement enough for now.
Castiel watches Sam catch a cold, Dean nursing him through it with practised ease, watches Dean catch it in turn and laugh at Sam being forced to care for him, and finds the burden on his own shoulders easing in sync with Dean's. Sam's slow recovery is equally comforting, a tale of endurance any angel can admire, especially the loyalists to whom Lucifer's name is dirt.
He knows full well his love for them is above and beyond the call of duty to say the least, but it earns little comment from his kin. If anything, it provokes amusement.
As much as their amusement is irritating, it's also humanising, and Castiel has long learned that a touch of humanity can be a good thing.
It's a week before Christmas is celebrated when Castiel finds the time to meet up with both Winchesters. Dean is already a happy drunk on cheap beer - Christmas shopping "fucking rocks", apparently - and Sam enamoured with the motel's decision to leave a battered but functional Atari in their room. Castiel is challenged to a game, Dean crying laughing when Castiel's on-screen character keeps driving into the abyss surrounding the racing track - it's hard to find any meaning in flat colours on a flat screen - and then left to watch Dean attempt to show Castiel how the game is played by professionals.
After three losses to Sam, the third time proving unlucky despite Dean's claims, Dean goes to bed without brushing his teeth. Sam leaves him to it, says Dean deserves to have a gross morning after drinking that much, before playing the game on his own. Watching his hands on the console controller is unintentionally interesting, and Castiel averts his eyes. "Where is my coat?"
"Back seat of the Impala," Sam says, not taking his eyes off the screen, and Castiel heads outside with a twitch of his wings, opening the car and picking the coat up.
He's actually slightly startled when he turns and finds Sam leaning against the balcony of their second floor room. "Wherefore art thou Castiel?" Sam says, and Castiel raises his eyebrows, recognising the reference but not understanding its purpose here. There's an awkward silence for a moment, before Sam asks, "Aren't you meant to be fighting a civil war?"
"I won," Castiel replies, realising he probably ought to have told the Winchesters that several months ago. "Though maintaining the peace is difficult."
Sam links his fingers and shrugs his shoulders, still leaning. The balcony can take his weight; even if it couldn't, Castiel would make sure to strengthen it with a thought. "Cas, Dean's gone to bed."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No, no, I just - figured you wanted to. Picking up your coat and all. Dean's your favourite, right?"
Castiel can see Sam's expression just as clearly from this distance as he could up close, but he still doesn't understand it entirely. Even so, he puts his coat back in the car and shuts the door. He might struggle with some human quirks, but he isn't an idiot. "I don't want to leave," Castiel says. With Dean, he has arguments because their cross purposes are deliberate - he wants something Dean doesn't, or vice versa. With Sam, they often want the same thing but get confused by wording or body language. He rolls his eyes, frustrated. "What do you want, Sam?"
Sam laughs, acknowledging the ridiculous nature of their situation with humour instead of irritation, gestures for Castiel to come up. Castiel obeys; Sam looks surprised. "Promise you won't hurt me."
"Promises are only -"
"Just - just promise, Cas. Okay?"
Castiel nods, curious as to the cause of Sam's nervousness until the answer comes in Sam's fingers under his chin, tilting it up, and Sam's lips on his own.
Sam looks even more nervous than before when he pulls back from the kiss, and Castiel grabs him by the back of the neck, pulls him into a harder kiss and uses each break to growl out "Why don't", "Humans", "Just as-", "Ask?" before dragging him back inside.
He can't stay the night, too much work to do, but he finds enough time to kiss Sam until he's loose-limbed and lazily aroused on the sofa before he leaves.
He returns on Boxing Day, summons Balthazar to Heaven and leaves him in charge for a few hours to settle the final debt between them, encourages Dean to walk off his hangover, and wakes Sam up by pinching his arm.
"The Hell?" Sam asks, and Castiel pinches him again. "Ow! Cas, what -"
"I'm proving you're not dreaming," Castiel says, as toneless as he can, careful not to show his amusement and reaching to pinch Sam again, finding the arm quickly yanked out of reach.
"Jesus, I get it, I'm not dreaming!" Sam yelps.
"Good," Castiel replies, before leaning forward and kissing him.
This time Sam's already loose-limbed and lazily aroused, not to mention partially undressed, and Castiel doesn't leave until he's taken full advantage.
He overstays his allotted hours in the end. Abusing Balthazar's trust in exchange for a third orgasm shared with Sam and the loss of his virginity is the only abuse his old friend could ever approve of.
Truth be told, it's the sort of thing he'd encourage.
The End