Untitled
No title. Not a real story. R for suggestive content. Sam/Cas. Really just putting this here so I don't lose it, but you guys can read it if you want.
Sam wakes to the gentle pressure of Castiel’s weight settling on the mattress beside him. “Mmm - Cas?”
“Sam.”
Dean’s hasn’t given up on trying to teach Cas about human customs like not barging into someone’s room while they’re sleeping, but Cas has clearly either forgotten that lesson or else he remembers and that’s why he’s choosing Sam to disturb tonight. Either way, Sam realizes as he sits up, he’s not really bothered by it. The guy’s not human, after all. “What’s wrong?”
Cas runs a palm across his face. “I can’t sleep.”
“Why not?” Sam sits up a little and paws at his eyes.
“I don’t know how.”
“You don’t know how to sleep?” Sam frowns. “I’ve seen you sleep.”
“But I don’t know how to do it.” He rocks back and forth just slightly, arms wrapped around his stomach, shoulders hunched, and Sam’s staggered by a visceral muscle memory of this exact posture. He sat like this, hopeless and self-loathing, for four months.
“Cas…you just need to re-relax…” Sam’s voice breaks on a yawn. “Your body knows what to do, just relax.”
“I was reckless, I disobeyed,” Cas whispers, “I thought I could save us but I was wrong, I didn’t change anything…” The lamplight catches on a tear as it slides toward his chin.
And if that isn’t a fucking kick in the stomach. Sam Winchester, harbinger of the apocalypse. Makes angels weep.
Sam drags himself fully upright and eases his own arms around Cas, grips the angel’s wrists and gently tugs them free. “’S okay, Cas. Lie down.”
Cas allows himself to be pulled down without hesitation, and Sam keeps one arm around his friend’s waist and brings the other to cup his forehead. “Close your eyes. Think of something peaceful.”
“Why?”
Sam swallows a chuckle. “It’ll help you relax.”
“You do this?”
“Sure, sometimes. When I’m upset and I can’t relax enough to fall asleep.” (Every goddamn night since Ilchester, there has to be peace somewhere.)
“What do you think of?”
The answer comes effortlessly. “Riding in the car with Dean.” The motor, loud and familiar and soothing; rock ballads on the stereo, and Sam’s big brother, strong and capable and in charge, keeping their tiny world in order. No demons, no monsters. Safe to sleep. Sam sighs at the thought and snuggles deeper into the covers, instinctively pulling Cas closer to him. “What about you?”
Cas is quiet for so long Sam starts to think maybe he’s asleep, that it worked. “The garden,” he says, finally.
Sam frowns. “Not Dean’s garden? The one in Pontiac?”
“I was there today. The tomatoes are ripe.”
“I haven’t been there since we planted it. I don’t think Dean has ether.” He knows Dean hasn’t, in fact, because they discussed it and agreed that visiting the site of that particular grave was too morbid to be seriously considered.. “Do you - do you go back often?”
“Someone has to grow the tomatoes,” Cas says, as if it’s obvious and conclusive.
Sam shrugs. There’s a part of him that wants Dean’s gravesite to be a devastation, but it’s a part that didn’t speak up when Cas suggested a garden. It’s a part that comes second to Dean’s need to plant and cover over the horror of what he went through in hell and coax something new from the ground. Ripe tomatoes would make Dean smile. Sam just feels like throwing up.
“Are you upset?”
“Not tonight,” Sam says. It’s almost true, if you squint. “Not right now.”
A pregnant pause. “Am I upset?”
Sam’s heart twists so hard he gasps a little. “You don’t know?”
“I can’t sleep.” He’s out-and-out shaking.
Sam turns his friend in his arms so they’re face to face. Cas’s eyes are wide with fear and doubt and confusion and a few things Sam can’t identify and one very surprising thing he can, and none of this is at home on the face of the usually stoic angel. Sam feels a sudden ache that has nothing to do with his heart. “Cas…”
Cas sinks his fingers into Sam’s hips and rests his forehead on Sam’s chest. “Three days now. I close my eyes and my mind won’t turn off. I know I’ve done this before, but I can’t remember how, and it gets harder every day - I just want to rest, Sam, I need to sleep…”
Sam ghosts his fingertips over the angel’s back and feels the anxious flutter of wings beneath the skin, suddenly very awake. Cas’s body is so responsive. Sam trails a finger down his spine and feels the shudder that starts in his shoulders and ripples downward, and fuck, that shouldn’t be so hot, he shouldn’t be thinking this stuff, not now, not while Cas is foggy with sleep deprivation and profound sadness.
This is not a human in his arms. Normal rules don’t apply.
Then again, maybe they do.
Maybe Sam just doesn’t care.
“Cas,” he breathes, strung-out hungry, and slides his hands lower.
***
“Awesome,” Castiel breathes.
It’s a word Sam hears a dozen times each day from his brother, sometimes dry and tired, sometimes heady and self-satisfied, always imbued with Dean’s confident swagger. But now, from Cas, it sounds like something he’s never heard before. It’s reverent. Cas is literally awed.
Sam rolls toward Cas and tucks into his neck, suddenly feeling very exposed. “’S okay?”
“God, yes.” He sounds so taken apart, vulnerable, human. “Sam.”
He says “Sam” the same way he says “God.” It’s too much. Too much love. Too much grace. After Ilchester, Lilith, everything, it’s too much to take. Sam chokes on a sob, and Cas’s other arm slips around him, holding him close.
“Yes,” Cas murmurs, running his hands up and down Sam’s back, easing away tension and self-loathing and shame until Sam’s crying openly. “You are worthy.” His lips find Sam’s forehead and it feels like a benediction.
Sam rests on the gentle rise and fall of Cas’s chest, this visceral lullaby.
The paralyzing horror and guilt, that’s still there, somewhere just beyond reach, but tonight Sam can close his eyes and turn his back on it, and as Castiel’s breathing settles into a deep rhythm, Sam permits himself a smile.
Sam wakes to the gentle pressure of Castiel’s weight settling on the mattress beside him. “Mmm - Cas?”
“Sam.”
Dean’s hasn’t given up on trying to teach Cas about human customs like not barging into someone’s room while they’re sleeping, but Cas has clearly either forgotten that lesson or else he remembers and that’s why he’s choosing Sam to disturb tonight. Either way, Sam realizes as he sits up, he’s not really bothered by it. The guy’s not human, after all. “What’s wrong?”
Cas runs a palm across his face. “I can’t sleep.”
“Why not?” Sam sits up a little and paws at his eyes.
“I don’t know how.”
“You don’t know how to sleep?” Sam frowns. “I’ve seen you sleep.”
“But I don’t know how to do it.” He rocks back and forth just slightly, arms wrapped around his stomach, shoulders hunched, and Sam’s staggered by a visceral muscle memory of this exact posture. He sat like this, hopeless and self-loathing, for four months.
“Cas…you just need to re-relax…” Sam’s voice breaks on a yawn. “Your body knows what to do, just relax.”
“I was reckless, I disobeyed,” Cas whispers, “I thought I could save us but I was wrong, I didn’t change anything…” The lamplight catches on a tear as it slides toward his chin.
And if that isn’t a fucking kick in the stomach. Sam Winchester, harbinger of the apocalypse. Makes angels weep.
Sam drags himself fully upright and eases his own arms around Cas, grips the angel’s wrists and gently tugs them free. “’S okay, Cas. Lie down.”
Cas allows himself to be pulled down without hesitation, and Sam keeps one arm around his friend’s waist and brings the other to cup his forehead. “Close your eyes. Think of something peaceful.”
“Why?”
Sam swallows a chuckle. “It’ll help you relax.”
“You do this?”
“Sure, sometimes. When I’m upset and I can’t relax enough to fall asleep.” (Every goddamn night since Ilchester, there has to be peace somewhere.)
“What do you think of?”
The answer comes effortlessly. “Riding in the car with Dean.” The motor, loud and familiar and soothing; rock ballads on the stereo, and Sam’s big brother, strong and capable and in charge, keeping their tiny world in order. No demons, no monsters. Safe to sleep. Sam sighs at the thought and snuggles deeper into the covers, instinctively pulling Cas closer to him. “What about you?”
Cas is quiet for so long Sam starts to think maybe he’s asleep, that it worked. “The garden,” he says, finally.
Sam frowns. “Not Dean’s garden? The one in Pontiac?”
“I was there today. The tomatoes are ripe.”
“I haven’t been there since we planted it. I don’t think Dean has ether.” He knows Dean hasn’t, in fact, because they discussed it and agreed that visiting the site of that particular grave was too morbid to be seriously considered.. “Do you - do you go back often?”
“Someone has to grow the tomatoes,” Cas says, as if it’s obvious and conclusive.
Sam shrugs. There’s a part of him that wants Dean’s gravesite to be a devastation, but it’s a part that didn’t speak up when Cas suggested a garden. It’s a part that comes second to Dean’s need to plant and cover over the horror of what he went through in hell and coax something new from the ground. Ripe tomatoes would make Dean smile. Sam just feels like throwing up.
“Are you upset?”
“Not tonight,” Sam says. It’s almost true, if you squint. “Not right now.”
A pregnant pause. “Am I upset?”
Sam’s heart twists so hard he gasps a little. “You don’t know?”
“I can’t sleep.” He’s out-and-out shaking.
Sam turns his friend in his arms so they’re face to face. Cas’s eyes are wide with fear and doubt and confusion and a few things Sam can’t identify and one very surprising thing he can, and none of this is at home on the face of the usually stoic angel. Sam feels a sudden ache that has nothing to do with his heart. “Cas…”
Cas sinks his fingers into Sam’s hips and rests his forehead on Sam’s chest. “Three days now. I close my eyes and my mind won’t turn off. I know I’ve done this before, but I can’t remember how, and it gets harder every day - I just want to rest, Sam, I need to sleep…”
Sam ghosts his fingertips over the angel’s back and feels the anxious flutter of wings beneath the skin, suddenly very awake. Cas’s body is so responsive. Sam trails a finger down his spine and feels the shudder that starts in his shoulders and ripples downward, and fuck, that shouldn’t be so hot, he shouldn’t be thinking this stuff, not now, not while Cas is foggy with sleep deprivation and profound sadness.
This is not a human in his arms. Normal rules don’t apply.
Then again, maybe they do.
Maybe Sam just doesn’t care.
“Cas,” he breathes, strung-out hungry, and slides his hands lower.
***
“Awesome,” Castiel breathes.
It’s a word Sam hears a dozen times each day from his brother, sometimes dry and tired, sometimes heady and self-satisfied, always imbued with Dean’s confident swagger. But now, from Cas, it sounds like something he’s never heard before. It’s reverent. Cas is literally awed.
Sam rolls toward Cas and tucks into his neck, suddenly feeling very exposed. “’S okay?”
“God, yes.” He sounds so taken apart, vulnerable, human. “Sam.”
He says “Sam” the same way he says “God.” It’s too much. Too much love. Too much grace. After Ilchester, Lilith, everything, it’s too much to take. Sam chokes on a sob, and Cas’s other arm slips around him, holding him close.
“Yes,” Cas murmurs, running his hands up and down Sam’s back, easing away tension and self-loathing and shame until Sam’s crying openly. “You are worthy.” His lips find Sam’s forehead and it feels like a benediction.
Sam rests on the gentle rise and fall of Cas’s chest, this visceral lullaby.
The paralyzing horror and guilt, that’s still there, somewhere just beyond reach, but tonight Sam can close his eyes and turn his back on it, and as Castiel’s breathing settles into a deep rhythm, Sam permits himself a smile.