spn fic: "Sam's Many Deaths vs. His Guardian Angel" (Sassy, PG)
title: "Sam's Many Deaths vs. His Guardian Angel"
author: fannishliss
warnings: none
rating: pg
pairing: Sassy friendship
spoilers: specifically, 2.21-22, 5.16; 5.13, 4.21-22; 5.16 again; 6.1; 6.11-12.
length: 3300 words
author's notes: this is my Second Try for a pinch hit Sassy gift exchange for ratherastory . Hope you enjoy! This time I was a little bit better about hitting the prompts: 1. When Sam Winchester crawls out of hell, the first thing he does is make sure his brother is safe. Then he goes to the one person left who will take him in. 2. Sam watches over Cas at the end of "The Song Remains the Same." (...post-5.13 and Cas is recovering from being in a coma and coughing up blood)
Summary: One way or another, Castiel and Sam always find each other when Sam comes back from the beyond.
Sam’s Many Deaths vs. His Guardian Angel
1. Sam is stabbed at Cold Oak
Sam likes his pizza with tons of vegetables and extra cheese. He loves to see how long he can stretch out a string of mozzarella before slurping it back into his mouth with gusto. Dean would laugh and try to outdo him, but right now Sam’s not thinking about Dean.
The big golden retriever watches Sam intently, his big brown eyes trained on the hot strings of mozzarella. Sam laughs in mingled delight and dismay as the dog darts forward, his long tongue swiping at the pizza and licking him wetly on the chin.
“Bones, no! Yuck. Oh, no, Bonesy. I guess you’re gonna have to eat this one, but I don’t really think dogs and pizza are meant for each other.”
The happy dog chomps down the pizza and licks Sam’s hand, making sure to get every trace of grease.
“You’re an awesome dog, Bones. Yes you are!” Sam chuckles and ruffles the dog’s ears and shakes his face, and the dog pants cheerfully back at him.
A knock sounds softly at the door.
“Crap!” Sam curses between his clenched teeth. No one is supposed to know he’s here. Whoever it is, it can only mean trouble. The door is locked, so he just grabs the dog and hopes for the best. “Sh, Bonesy, be still.”
The door swings slowly open, and Sam’s eyes go wide. Busted.
A blue-eyed man in a trench coat stands looking somberly at Sam.
“Sam Winchester, I apologize for the interruption, but it’s time for you to go now.”
“Go?” Sam asks. He tries to play dumb, but he’s known all along that his little bid for freedom couldn’t last forever. The man must be one of John’s Hunter friends, but he’s a lot less skeevy than usual.
“Your brother has made a deal -- the cogs are set in motion. You are to return to Earth.”
“Earth?” Sam asks in confusion, but as he sits caught by the blue-eyed gaze, memory flashes through Sam-- a deserted town, his brother running toward him as he falls to his knees, already numb, his own name filled up with Dean’s anguish.
“You’re a vital part of the plan, Sam. May you go in peace,” the man says, and touches Sam gently on the forehead.
2. Sam is run through in 1978
Castiel sits up with a tortured gasp, heaving air into his lungs, which don’t seem to function they way they should. Sam leaps forward to help him, steadying his torso with his massive hands as he gently helps him lean back against the headboard, propping him up with pillows and patting him here and there, his brow furrowed in concern.
“How do you feel, Cas?” Sam asks.
Castiel tastes something awful in his mouth. “Bad. I need to spit.”
“Dean would be making Dogma jokes right now,” Sam says, holding up the trash can from beside the bed.
Weakly, Castiel empties the blood from his mouth and Sam hands him a glass of water to help him get rid of the nasty metallic taste. It doesn’t work. He drinks the water anyway and tries to thank Sam with his eyes as he swallows.
“Dogma is no joke. Humans and their tendency to codify faith into law -- it never ceases to amaze me how eager you are to damn one another.”
Sam sits back, his eyebrows raised. He attempts a response. “I guess, people want to know what the rules are and what not to do.”
“You’ve never appreciated being given rules,” Castiel points out.
Sam lowers his eyes. “Heh. You got that right. I kind of suck at rules.”
“I also suck at rules,” Castiel admits, “or I wouldn’t be fighting against all of Heaven.”
Sam looks up, sympathy in his eyes. “Team Free Will,” he says.
“What does that mean?” Castiel asks.
Sam gestures between the two of them. “Dean called us that -- Team Free Will: an ex-blood junkie, a dropout with six bucks to his name, and you.”
“I can’t say I am glad to be on this team, Sam,” Castiel began, but as Sam’s eyes fill with hurt and remorse, Castiel hurries on. “I mean to say, it shouldn’t be a team consisting only of the three of us. We are in the right. We should be numerous. It’s hard for me to understand how the Host can persist in their folly.”
“Well, if they weren’t able to make mistakes, then their choices wouldn’t mean much,” Sam says. “Or at least that’s what they taught us in Philosophy.” Sam stands, and goes into the bathroom. Castiel hears the sound of running water.
“Their choices are destructive. My Father should stop them.”
Sam reaches out to Castiel with a warm washcloth. “Here, you’ve got a little...” Gently, he dabs at the crusted blood around Castiel’s mouth. Castiel allows himself to appreciate the comfort he is deriving from Sam’s tenderness.
“Why don’t you hold my own choices against me?” Castiel says, his eyes closed. He feels torn someplace deep in his grace. He feels weak, stupid, of no help, and unable to help himself.
“We all make mistakes, Cas,” Sam says softly. “All we can do is try to learn from it and do better, try to make amends.”
“If I hadn’t let you out of the panic room, you would not have killed Lilith. The Apocalypse is as much my fault as anyone’s.”
Castiel feels Sam sit back. There, the horrible secret is out, and now Sam will hate him, and so will Dean, and he will be left truly alone.
“Did you change the message Dean sent me?” Sam asks, evenly, but Castiel can hear his heart pounding, the pulses of this world, its rages and joys, echoing in the sound.
“Message? I don’t know what you mean,” Castiel says.
“Dean left a voicemail for me while he was in the Green Room --- but some asshole changed it to make it seem like Dean hated me, like he was gonna Hunt me. That was the last straw -- not you letting me out. If you hadn’t done it, some other of Zack’s tools would have.”
“It wasn’t me. So you don’t hate me now?” Castiel says.
“No, Cas. But, do you still think I’m an abomination, or whatever?”
Castiel grimaces, ashamed. “I must appear to you as stupid as a child. I regret the things I’ve said to you, the ways I’ve contributed to your manipulation. I only aspire to be your friend, Sam.”
Sam coughs, shakes his head a little. He clears his throat.
“Team free will it is then, okay?” he says.
“Okay,” Castiel says. He closes his eyes. His grace isn’t repairing itself as it should. He’s been gravely depleted by the journey into the past, by reaching out to cradle Sam’s soul as it tried to flee when Anna ran his body through. He’d held Sam there, keeping him from death, until Michael healed him, and he’d somehow clung to Sam, riding Michael’s power through time and landing with the brothers back in their present. He won’t be able to do such things on his own power again for some time.
He feels Sam pull a blanket over him. The warmth feels good. Bit by bit, Castiel’s Angelic nature is bleeding out. He even feels his vessel begin to hunger, but he tries to ignore it. At this rate, it won’t be long till he has nothing left.
3. Sam is shot by Walt
Castiel sits crosslegged on a ragged and faded mat on the floor of a cold stone cell, a cell so secret, so deep, that even the memory of the men and women who had blessed and hallowed it has been lost. Deep in a cavern on a high, remote mountain, Castiel hides himself, surrounded by the echoes of prayers directed toward a name of God that is no longer spoken. He concentrates, the brow of his vessel furrowed in concentration as he reaches out with all the powers he has left, to make contact with Sam and Dean on the other side of the wall.
It’s like peering through a tiny window of frosted glass into a big room crowded with moving figures. He gets a glimpse of Dean’s familiar soul, shining strong despite the pieces missing, and Sam’s, streaked here and there with the demon stain, but still so bright. The brothers are so alike in so many ways, both fit vessels for archangels to be sure, but neither deserving that cruel fate.
Castiel peers through the veil and tries to eavesdrop as though he were pressing a glass to a door, like in one of the teen sleuth stories Jimmy used to read with Claire. Castiel feels his wrath mount as Zachariah and the others pick and choose among Sam’s memories to make Dean think that Sam has always longed to get away from his brother-- when Castiel can clearly feel the anguish of Sam’s soul, longing to reconnect with Dean, to reassure him he had only wanted to learn who he might become out from under the sheltering aegis of his brother’s care.
As he sits immured behind ancient prayers and old stone steeped in devotion, Castiel tries to monitor the events in Heaven, and he hears with cautious hope when Joshua tells the brothers God knows of the situation. He hasn’t caught the entire conversation, but he has to have faith that God has things in hand.
Standing, he lifts his wings and takes to the ether. He will guard the Winchesters’ bodies until their souls are restored. Maybe, he can even help them process all that has happened to them in Heaven. Though it was designed to be a realm of peace, Castiel is beginning to see how humans could find it cold and cruel.
4. Sam’s body returns from Hell
When Sam Winchester crawls out of hell, the first thing he does is make sure his brother is safe. He is tireless, driven; distance and obstacles mean nothing to him. It’s not that far from Lawrence, Kansas, to Cicero, Indiana, and it doesn’t take Sam long to get there. He has to make sure Dean is safe, that someone is taking care of him, that Dean isn’t going to try something stupid, or worse, that he won’t tie his own bootlaces into a noose and step off the nearest convenient ledge.
The streetlight sizzles and pops overhead as Sam assesses Dean’s condition. He looks grim, and he’s got way too much whiskey in that glass, but Lisa’s taking care of him. Ben’s getting bigger, but his skin is still baby-soft, the unspoiled look of a thing his brother will live to protect. Sam is satisfied. He turns and walks away.
Sam doesn’t tire, he doesn’t sleep, but he still needs someplace to pass the night. He cruises alongs the quiet streets in his stolen car till he comes across a really nice house, too nice for whoever the bank has forced out of it. He parks under a tree two blocks away and makes his way quietly in through the back door. The place is even furnished. Like Goldilocks he tries the beds in several bedrooms till he finds one that is firm and even. The smell of the room is quiet. At least the clothes are gone from the closets and bureaus. He closes his eyes, relaxes his body. His mind whirs on, considering his options, who he should contact, who he should avoid. He could hole up at Bobby’s, even if the old man is dead.
In the next few days, Sam gets a better car, a hemi Charger with power to spare and lots of room in the trunk. Sam ambushes the owner, a small time drug lord, kills him and takes the car. It’s a clean kill and the man deserved it. Sam likes the car. It has an amazing sound system, and Sam can listen to whatever music he likes. He drives to South Dakota in silence, just letting the car eat the road.
Sam is surprised to find that Bobby is alive. He lets the old man embrace him, after the usual rigamarole. He picks up new IDs and new matching credit cards. He warns Bobby not to tell Dean he’s alive, and Bobby reluctantly agrees. Dean is out, he should stay out. Bobby tells him Castiel is also alive, powered up again and fighting a war in Heaven.
Sam needs to know about this war. Will it involve him again -- or Dean? Castiel should tell him more.
Sam doesn’t sleep anymore, but prayer for him is almost like falling asleep. He empties his mind of everything but one word: Castiel. Castiel.
Sam feels a buzzing like static run across the surface of his body, lifting the tiny hairs. His eyes fly open. Castiel is standing there, glaring. He looks harried, a smear of blood on his knuckles. He must have been fighting, must have flown to Sam from the midst of battle.
“You are not Sam,” he pants.
“What? Yes, I am,” Sam says. “I dragged myself out of Hell, somehow, and here I am.”
“No,” Castiel says harshly, his chin coming up in stubbornness. “I don’t know what you are, but if you were Sam, I would feel it. I would recognize Sam’s soul anywhere. You are not Sam. Whatever you are, don’t call me again or you’ll regret it.”
With a flap, Castiel is gone, and Sam is left baffled. Why hadn’t Castiel recognized him? He thought that Castiel would always be his friend. He must have thought wrong. Still, he finds himself praying, late at night, when his restless mind wanders. He reaches out for respite, calling the name of his friend, but he gets no answer.
5. Sam’s soul is brought back from Hell
The war is hard on Castiel. He is exhausted; his hands are covered in the blood of his brothers and sisters. He is sure he is in the right, and he fears for the fate of both Heaven and Earth should Raphael prevail, so he knows he can’t stop, he must press on, but he is tired, so tired, even with his Grace being properly renewed every moment by his connection to the Host. The Host is sundered, and likewise, every Grace in Heaven is injured by that wound. They’re all worn down by the discord upsetting the spheres, Raphael included, or Castiel would never have prevailed this long against the archangel.
Castiel is worried by the ramifications of the return of Sam’s soul. He knows better than to suggest that Sam’s soul is better off in the Cage, suffering an eternity of torment -- but he clings to the slightest hope that Michael has some sense of justice, that he would protect the fragile Winchesters from the wrath of Lucifer. Castiel clings to that hope, but he doesn’t really believe it.
When he slips his hand inside the sleeping Sam and feels the writhing, tortured soul stripped bare of its every defense, he lashes out at Dean. What will Dean do if Sam goes mad? Two Winchesters, one wounded and insane, one desperate and terrified, could mean the end of the world all over again, in Castiel’s opinion. Castiel prays for the best, but his prayers are bitter. He no longer believes that God even hears him.
Castiel is at war, but when he hears Sam’s prayer, he comes. He is overjoyed to see Sam alive, awake, and sane. He would have liked to embrace his friend, but for some reason it is awkward. He later finds out that this is because Sam has tricked him into “spilling the beans.” Castiel would be irritated, but in truth, he is only relieved that Sam is well enough for scheming.
He catches Sam alone one evening as Dean has gone out to buy more beer. Dean has been drowning his sorrows again, though Castiel has seen him a lot worse.
Castiel can’t be bothered with knocking. Sam is at his computer, doing what Sam always does. Castiel folds his wings and makes himself known.
Sam jerks in surprise, but his eyes are welcoming. He stands to face the Angel.
“Castiel! Are you all right? What brings you?”
“I am fine, Sam. I only wanted to see ... how you are doing.”
Sam smiles, casting down his eyes. “I’m okay. I gave Dean a pretty bad scare the other day -- flashback I guess, but I came around.”
Castiel steps forward. Sam holds his ground, though Castiel knows he is entering “personal space.”
“I don’t care if it’s awkward. I feel, I must embrace you. I am glad to see you alive.”
Castiel wraps his arms delicately around Sam. Human bodies are so crushable, yet so miraculous. He lets his own vessel’s warmth rise up, lets the surface of Jimmy’s skin delight in the pressure of Sam’s body as they embrace.
Sam stands stiff and awkward, but then his breath flows out of him in a rush. “I’ve been alive for a few days now, Cas. I’m not used to hugging when I haven’t been recently dead.”
“Your many deaths are an outrage, Sam,” Castiel says. Experimenting, he runs one hand up and down Sam’s back. He feels Sam’s hand quiver before he returns the favor. Sam’s hands are large and strong and they feel good as Sam strokes his back. Castiel ponders that human fragility may in fact be a precious gift.
“Dean told me what Death said. Seems like I’m always one kind of abomination or another.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Castiel pulls away. He feels his head tilt to one side as he peers into Sam’s eyes. The soul is centered closer to the solar plexus, yet Sam’s eyes reveal so much. It is a mystery to Castiel. “I’ve been your guardian through too many deaths, Sam. I only wish I could keep you safe from Death’s untimely visitations.”
Sam blinks and his mouth falls open. “Wait. Cas. Are you saying you’re my, um, my guardian Angel? I thought, you and Dean, whatever?”
“Dean and I do share a more profound bond. I entwined my grace with his soul to pull him out of Hell. The soul is a very resilient thing, but Dean’s does bear my mark.”
“Is my soul that resilient, Castiel?” Sam peers into Castiel’s eyes, and Castiel can only tell him the truth.
“Your soul has been gravely injured, Sam, but all souls are resilient. Little by little, it may heal, if left to recover behind the wall. You are an exceptional human being. There is no precedent that I know of...”
Sam laughs and pulls Castiel in again.
“Cas, I’m sorry, man. Dean and I treat you like crap, I know. We’re just jerks, I guess.”
“Perhaps,” Castiel allows, but he’s enjoying the hug, so it’s not very heartfelt.
“Anytime you need a hug, feel free, man. It’s the least I can do,” Sam says.
Castiel presses his ear to the miraculously beating heart, and prays with whatever faith he still has, for it to keep beating, the soul inside nurtured and healing.
author: fannishliss
warnings: none
rating: pg
pairing: Sassy friendship
spoilers: specifically, 2.21-22, 5.16; 5.13, 4.21-22; 5.16 again; 6.1; 6.11-12.
length: 3300 words
author's notes: this is my Second Try for a pinch hit Sassy gift exchange for ratherastory . Hope you enjoy! This time I was a little bit better about hitting the prompts: 1. When Sam Winchester crawls out of hell, the first thing he does is make sure his brother is safe. Then he goes to the one person left who will take him in. 2. Sam watches over Cas at the end of "The Song Remains the Same." (...post-5.13 and Cas is recovering from being in a coma and coughing up blood)
Summary: One way or another, Castiel and Sam always find each other when Sam comes back from the beyond.
Sam’s Many Deaths vs. His Guardian Angel
1. Sam is stabbed at Cold Oak
Sam likes his pizza with tons of vegetables and extra cheese. He loves to see how long he can stretch out a string of mozzarella before slurping it back into his mouth with gusto. Dean would laugh and try to outdo him, but right now Sam’s not thinking about Dean.
The big golden retriever watches Sam intently, his big brown eyes trained on the hot strings of mozzarella. Sam laughs in mingled delight and dismay as the dog darts forward, his long tongue swiping at the pizza and licking him wetly on the chin.
“Bones, no! Yuck. Oh, no, Bonesy. I guess you’re gonna have to eat this one, but I don’t really think dogs and pizza are meant for each other.”
The happy dog chomps down the pizza and licks Sam’s hand, making sure to get every trace of grease.
“You’re an awesome dog, Bones. Yes you are!” Sam chuckles and ruffles the dog’s ears and shakes his face, and the dog pants cheerfully back at him.
A knock sounds softly at the door.
“Crap!” Sam curses between his clenched teeth. No one is supposed to know he’s here. Whoever it is, it can only mean trouble. The door is locked, so he just grabs the dog and hopes for the best. “Sh, Bonesy, be still.”
The door swings slowly open, and Sam’s eyes go wide. Busted.
A blue-eyed man in a trench coat stands looking somberly at Sam.
“Sam Winchester, I apologize for the interruption, but it’s time for you to go now.”
“Go?” Sam asks. He tries to play dumb, but he’s known all along that his little bid for freedom couldn’t last forever. The man must be one of John’s Hunter friends, but he’s a lot less skeevy than usual.
“Your brother has made a deal -- the cogs are set in motion. You are to return to Earth.”
“Earth?” Sam asks in confusion, but as he sits caught by the blue-eyed gaze, memory flashes through Sam-- a deserted town, his brother running toward him as he falls to his knees, already numb, his own name filled up with Dean’s anguish.
“You’re a vital part of the plan, Sam. May you go in peace,” the man says, and touches Sam gently on the forehead.
2. Sam is run through in 1978
Castiel sits up with a tortured gasp, heaving air into his lungs, which don’t seem to function they way they should. Sam leaps forward to help him, steadying his torso with his massive hands as he gently helps him lean back against the headboard, propping him up with pillows and patting him here and there, his brow furrowed in concern.
“How do you feel, Cas?” Sam asks.
Castiel tastes something awful in his mouth. “Bad. I need to spit.”
“Dean would be making Dogma jokes right now,” Sam says, holding up the trash can from beside the bed.
Weakly, Castiel empties the blood from his mouth and Sam hands him a glass of water to help him get rid of the nasty metallic taste. It doesn’t work. He drinks the water anyway and tries to thank Sam with his eyes as he swallows.
“Dogma is no joke. Humans and their tendency to codify faith into law -- it never ceases to amaze me how eager you are to damn one another.”
Sam sits back, his eyebrows raised. He attempts a response. “I guess, people want to know what the rules are and what not to do.”
“You’ve never appreciated being given rules,” Castiel points out.
Sam lowers his eyes. “Heh. You got that right. I kind of suck at rules.”
“I also suck at rules,” Castiel admits, “or I wouldn’t be fighting against all of Heaven.”
Sam looks up, sympathy in his eyes. “Team Free Will,” he says.
“What does that mean?” Castiel asks.
Sam gestures between the two of them. “Dean called us that -- Team Free Will: an ex-blood junkie, a dropout with six bucks to his name, and you.”
“I can’t say I am glad to be on this team, Sam,” Castiel began, but as Sam’s eyes fill with hurt and remorse, Castiel hurries on. “I mean to say, it shouldn’t be a team consisting only of the three of us. We are in the right. We should be numerous. It’s hard for me to understand how the Host can persist in their folly.”
“Well, if they weren’t able to make mistakes, then their choices wouldn’t mean much,” Sam says. “Or at least that’s what they taught us in Philosophy.” Sam stands, and goes into the bathroom. Castiel hears the sound of running water.
“Their choices are destructive. My Father should stop them.”
Sam reaches out to Castiel with a warm washcloth. “Here, you’ve got a little...” Gently, he dabs at the crusted blood around Castiel’s mouth. Castiel allows himself to appreciate the comfort he is deriving from Sam’s tenderness.
“Why don’t you hold my own choices against me?” Castiel says, his eyes closed. He feels torn someplace deep in his grace. He feels weak, stupid, of no help, and unable to help himself.
“We all make mistakes, Cas,” Sam says softly. “All we can do is try to learn from it and do better, try to make amends.”
“If I hadn’t let you out of the panic room, you would not have killed Lilith. The Apocalypse is as much my fault as anyone’s.”
Castiel feels Sam sit back. There, the horrible secret is out, and now Sam will hate him, and so will Dean, and he will be left truly alone.
“Did you change the message Dean sent me?” Sam asks, evenly, but Castiel can hear his heart pounding, the pulses of this world, its rages and joys, echoing in the sound.
“Message? I don’t know what you mean,” Castiel says.
“Dean left a voicemail for me while he was in the Green Room --- but some asshole changed it to make it seem like Dean hated me, like he was gonna Hunt me. That was the last straw -- not you letting me out. If you hadn’t done it, some other of Zack’s tools would have.”
“It wasn’t me. So you don’t hate me now?” Castiel says.
“No, Cas. But, do you still think I’m an abomination, or whatever?”
Castiel grimaces, ashamed. “I must appear to you as stupid as a child. I regret the things I’ve said to you, the ways I’ve contributed to your manipulation. I only aspire to be your friend, Sam.”
Sam coughs, shakes his head a little. He clears his throat.
“Team free will it is then, okay?” he says.
“Okay,” Castiel says. He closes his eyes. His grace isn’t repairing itself as it should. He’s been gravely depleted by the journey into the past, by reaching out to cradle Sam’s soul as it tried to flee when Anna ran his body through. He’d held Sam there, keeping him from death, until Michael healed him, and he’d somehow clung to Sam, riding Michael’s power through time and landing with the brothers back in their present. He won’t be able to do such things on his own power again for some time.
He feels Sam pull a blanket over him. The warmth feels good. Bit by bit, Castiel’s Angelic nature is bleeding out. He even feels his vessel begin to hunger, but he tries to ignore it. At this rate, it won’t be long till he has nothing left.
3. Sam is shot by Walt
Castiel sits crosslegged on a ragged and faded mat on the floor of a cold stone cell, a cell so secret, so deep, that even the memory of the men and women who had blessed and hallowed it has been lost. Deep in a cavern on a high, remote mountain, Castiel hides himself, surrounded by the echoes of prayers directed toward a name of God that is no longer spoken. He concentrates, the brow of his vessel furrowed in concentration as he reaches out with all the powers he has left, to make contact with Sam and Dean on the other side of the wall.
It’s like peering through a tiny window of frosted glass into a big room crowded with moving figures. He gets a glimpse of Dean’s familiar soul, shining strong despite the pieces missing, and Sam’s, streaked here and there with the demon stain, but still so bright. The brothers are so alike in so many ways, both fit vessels for archangels to be sure, but neither deserving that cruel fate.
Castiel peers through the veil and tries to eavesdrop as though he were pressing a glass to a door, like in one of the teen sleuth stories Jimmy used to read with Claire. Castiel feels his wrath mount as Zachariah and the others pick and choose among Sam’s memories to make Dean think that Sam has always longed to get away from his brother-- when Castiel can clearly feel the anguish of Sam’s soul, longing to reconnect with Dean, to reassure him he had only wanted to learn who he might become out from under the sheltering aegis of his brother’s care.
As he sits immured behind ancient prayers and old stone steeped in devotion, Castiel tries to monitor the events in Heaven, and he hears with cautious hope when Joshua tells the brothers God knows of the situation. He hasn’t caught the entire conversation, but he has to have faith that God has things in hand.
Standing, he lifts his wings and takes to the ether. He will guard the Winchesters’ bodies until their souls are restored. Maybe, he can even help them process all that has happened to them in Heaven. Though it was designed to be a realm of peace, Castiel is beginning to see how humans could find it cold and cruel.
4. Sam’s body returns from Hell
When Sam Winchester crawls out of hell, the first thing he does is make sure his brother is safe. He is tireless, driven; distance and obstacles mean nothing to him. It’s not that far from Lawrence, Kansas, to Cicero, Indiana, and it doesn’t take Sam long to get there. He has to make sure Dean is safe, that someone is taking care of him, that Dean isn’t going to try something stupid, or worse, that he won’t tie his own bootlaces into a noose and step off the nearest convenient ledge.
The streetlight sizzles and pops overhead as Sam assesses Dean’s condition. He looks grim, and he’s got way too much whiskey in that glass, but Lisa’s taking care of him. Ben’s getting bigger, but his skin is still baby-soft, the unspoiled look of a thing his brother will live to protect. Sam is satisfied. He turns and walks away.
Sam doesn’t tire, he doesn’t sleep, but he still needs someplace to pass the night. He cruises alongs the quiet streets in his stolen car till he comes across a really nice house, too nice for whoever the bank has forced out of it. He parks under a tree two blocks away and makes his way quietly in through the back door. The place is even furnished. Like Goldilocks he tries the beds in several bedrooms till he finds one that is firm and even. The smell of the room is quiet. At least the clothes are gone from the closets and bureaus. He closes his eyes, relaxes his body. His mind whirs on, considering his options, who he should contact, who he should avoid. He could hole up at Bobby’s, even if the old man is dead.
In the next few days, Sam gets a better car, a hemi Charger with power to spare and lots of room in the trunk. Sam ambushes the owner, a small time drug lord, kills him and takes the car. It’s a clean kill and the man deserved it. Sam likes the car. It has an amazing sound system, and Sam can listen to whatever music he likes. He drives to South Dakota in silence, just letting the car eat the road.
Sam is surprised to find that Bobby is alive. He lets the old man embrace him, after the usual rigamarole. He picks up new IDs and new matching credit cards. He warns Bobby not to tell Dean he’s alive, and Bobby reluctantly agrees. Dean is out, he should stay out. Bobby tells him Castiel is also alive, powered up again and fighting a war in Heaven.
Sam needs to know about this war. Will it involve him again -- or Dean? Castiel should tell him more.
Sam doesn’t sleep anymore, but prayer for him is almost like falling asleep. He empties his mind of everything but one word: Castiel. Castiel.
Sam feels a buzzing like static run across the surface of his body, lifting the tiny hairs. His eyes fly open. Castiel is standing there, glaring. He looks harried, a smear of blood on his knuckles. He must have been fighting, must have flown to Sam from the midst of battle.
“You are not Sam,” he pants.
“What? Yes, I am,” Sam says. “I dragged myself out of Hell, somehow, and here I am.”
“No,” Castiel says harshly, his chin coming up in stubbornness. “I don’t know what you are, but if you were Sam, I would feel it. I would recognize Sam’s soul anywhere. You are not Sam. Whatever you are, don’t call me again or you’ll regret it.”
With a flap, Castiel is gone, and Sam is left baffled. Why hadn’t Castiel recognized him? He thought that Castiel would always be his friend. He must have thought wrong. Still, he finds himself praying, late at night, when his restless mind wanders. He reaches out for respite, calling the name of his friend, but he gets no answer.
5. Sam’s soul is brought back from Hell
The war is hard on Castiel. He is exhausted; his hands are covered in the blood of his brothers and sisters. He is sure he is in the right, and he fears for the fate of both Heaven and Earth should Raphael prevail, so he knows he can’t stop, he must press on, but he is tired, so tired, even with his Grace being properly renewed every moment by his connection to the Host. The Host is sundered, and likewise, every Grace in Heaven is injured by that wound. They’re all worn down by the discord upsetting the spheres, Raphael included, or Castiel would never have prevailed this long against the archangel.
Castiel is worried by the ramifications of the return of Sam’s soul. He knows better than to suggest that Sam’s soul is better off in the Cage, suffering an eternity of torment -- but he clings to the slightest hope that Michael has some sense of justice, that he would protect the fragile Winchesters from the wrath of Lucifer. Castiel clings to that hope, but he doesn’t really believe it.
When he slips his hand inside the sleeping Sam and feels the writhing, tortured soul stripped bare of its every defense, he lashes out at Dean. What will Dean do if Sam goes mad? Two Winchesters, one wounded and insane, one desperate and terrified, could mean the end of the world all over again, in Castiel’s opinion. Castiel prays for the best, but his prayers are bitter. He no longer believes that God even hears him.
Castiel is at war, but when he hears Sam’s prayer, he comes. He is overjoyed to see Sam alive, awake, and sane. He would have liked to embrace his friend, but for some reason it is awkward. He later finds out that this is because Sam has tricked him into “spilling the beans.” Castiel would be irritated, but in truth, he is only relieved that Sam is well enough for scheming.
He catches Sam alone one evening as Dean has gone out to buy more beer. Dean has been drowning his sorrows again, though Castiel has seen him a lot worse.
Castiel can’t be bothered with knocking. Sam is at his computer, doing what Sam always does. Castiel folds his wings and makes himself known.
Sam jerks in surprise, but his eyes are welcoming. He stands to face the Angel.
“Castiel! Are you all right? What brings you?”
“I am fine, Sam. I only wanted to see ... how you are doing.”
Sam smiles, casting down his eyes. “I’m okay. I gave Dean a pretty bad scare the other day -- flashback I guess, but I came around.”
Castiel steps forward. Sam holds his ground, though Castiel knows he is entering “personal space.”
“I don’t care if it’s awkward. I feel, I must embrace you. I am glad to see you alive.”
Castiel wraps his arms delicately around Sam. Human bodies are so crushable, yet so miraculous. He lets his own vessel’s warmth rise up, lets the surface of Jimmy’s skin delight in the pressure of Sam’s body as they embrace.
Sam stands stiff and awkward, but then his breath flows out of him in a rush. “I’ve been alive for a few days now, Cas. I’m not used to hugging when I haven’t been recently dead.”
“Your many deaths are an outrage, Sam,” Castiel says. Experimenting, he runs one hand up and down Sam’s back. He feels Sam’s hand quiver before he returns the favor. Sam’s hands are large and strong and they feel good as Sam strokes his back. Castiel ponders that human fragility may in fact be a precious gift.
“Dean told me what Death said. Seems like I’m always one kind of abomination or another.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Castiel pulls away. He feels his head tilt to one side as he peers into Sam’s eyes. The soul is centered closer to the solar plexus, yet Sam’s eyes reveal so much. It is a mystery to Castiel. “I’ve been your guardian through too many deaths, Sam. I only wish I could keep you safe from Death’s untimely visitations.”
Sam blinks and his mouth falls open. “Wait. Cas. Are you saying you’re my, um, my guardian Angel? I thought, you and Dean, whatever?”
“Dean and I do share a more profound bond. I entwined my grace with his soul to pull him out of Hell. The soul is a very resilient thing, but Dean’s does bear my mark.”
“Is my soul that resilient, Castiel?” Sam peers into Castiel’s eyes, and Castiel can only tell him the truth.
“Your soul has been gravely injured, Sam, but all souls are resilient. Little by little, it may heal, if left to recover behind the wall. You are an exceptional human being. There is no precedent that I know of...”
Sam laughs and pulls Castiel in again.
“Cas, I’m sorry, man. Dean and I treat you like crap, I know. We’re just jerks, I guess.”
“Perhaps,” Castiel allows, but he’s enjoying the hug, so it’s not very heartfelt.
“Anytime you need a hug, feel free, man. It’s the least I can do,” Sam says.
Castiel presses his ear to the miraculously beating heart, and prays with whatever faith he still has, for it to keep beating, the soul inside nurtured and healing.