Supernatural Fanfic: All That Is
Title: All That Is
Characters: Cas/Sam
Word Count: 4,866
Warnings: references to torture
Possible Spoilers: Up to 6.22; AU from that point on
Summary: There are some things Castiel would forever wish could change. Sam is not one of them.
A/N: This is actually kinda old, but I never posted it here for some reason. Hopefully someone here can enjoy it!
---
It’s been three days since Sam’s been brought to the hospital. Three days since they found him in that abandoned warehouse, chained up like an animal, bloody and bruised, whimpering under their gentle touches. Three days since Castiel lifted him and carried him as if he were made of air, and placed him in the Impala so Dean and Bobby could drive him to the relative safety of the hospital. According to Dean, he’s already undergone two surgeries, and was only recently taken off the oxygen mask. He doesn’t sleep unless drugged, and even then the nightmares leave him thrashing. He asks for Castiel, both awake and asleep.
Castiel should’ve been there. He knows this. Sam needed him. But Castiel needed Sam to be safe. And that meant making sure the angels - Sam once prayed to them, prayed to all of them, Creation - never laid hands on him again. Just because he’s losing his powers doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know how to kill efficiently. In this case, efficiently meaning slowly. Very, very slowly. It wasn’t just a message for them; it was a message for Heaven. To all his brothers and sisters he’s severed himself from. Castiel made his choice long ago. No demon, human or angel will ever touch Sam without feeling his wrath. And if making the grace of his former companions bleed out of their hosts bit by bit is all that gets that message across? Then so be it.
That intimidating fierceness that’s been seeping through every inch of his grace, however, dies down when he stands outside Sam’s room. Sam, more than any human he’s ever seen, always looks so breakable. It’s ironic, considering that for a human, Sam has more mass and height than most of them. But now, his sheets of skin look like they’re barely holding together, shimmered with bruises and wounds and even more breakable bandages. A human’s soul may be eternal and unbreakable, but a body? Can snap and whither as easily as a leaf on a tree. And nothing scares Castiel more than the thought of Sam’s heartbeat stopping because he wasn’t there to save it.
The worst of his physical wounds are hidden by his hospital garb, and his mental ones by the veiling smirk on his face. He’s hooked up to machines that Castiel can’t begin to understand. All he does know is that it’s his fading powers that cause Sam his continuing suffering. The human could be fully healed by now if he had his old angel status.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Sam finally croaks out, and Castiel gives him something that could possibly count as a smile.
“You sound like your brother.”
“Nah, I’d be screaming at all the doctors if I wanted to sound like him.” Castiel can see him straining to appear jovial, but the cuts on his face and the tiredness in his eyes make it difficult.
A few seconds pass, Sam shifts a bit on his bed. Dean and Bobby left them alone so they can talk, but neither of them are opening up the conversation. Sometimes the silence between them can be comfortable, easy - but now it just feels strained. Something their relationship should never be.
“Um,” Sam finally tries his tone a few notches lower that it usually would be. “I, uh…haven’t seen you around…”
Castiel looks confused for a second, trying to piece together what he’s trying to imply. By the time he figures it out, Sam looks resigned to whatever decision he thinks Castiel has made, but the shaking in his voice gives away his despondency.
“It’s okay, I g-get it-”
“Sam, no,” Castiel says, finally walking over to the man’s bedside, completely aghast that Sam would think that he’d abandon him, that he would ever want such a thing. “That’s not it at all, Sam. I wanted to be here, with you, but I had to make sure that those - those evil sons of bitches wouldn’t touch you again.” Venom leeks into his voice at the mention of his brothers, but his touch his no less gentle for it when he reaches out and cups Sam’s cheek. Sam looks down and bites his lip, but before Castiel can continue, he lifts his bandaged hand and places it on top of Castiel’s.
“Now who’s sounding like my brother?” This time, the quip doesn’t sound nearly as forced, as something inside the angel untangles when a bit of light comes back into Sam’s eyes.
Castiel playfully rolls his eyes (a habit he’s picked up that is completely Sam’s fault) before kissing him softly on the lips, careful not to aggravate his facial cuts. He feels mildly satisfied when Sam doesn’t flinch away - ever since his memories of Hell came back, Sam isn’t always a hundred percent comfortable with even the people he loves most touching him - but instead smiles a little bit more.
Sam was already on a good road to recovery before this happened. Castiel knows that Sam will never completely be alright after remembering Hell due to his broken wall (which was completely his fault in the first place, the angel never fails to remind himself), but they were hunting together, Sam was laughing a little bit more, and Dean didn’t constantly look like he wanted to punch down doors. Despite the bumps that were sure to come, things were okay.
And then this happened. There’s no telling if Sam will get a decent night’s sleep without drugs now, or if he’ll hallucinate more often, shy away from human contact, all because Castiel didn’t protect him. The last thing Sam needed was another load on his shoulders, he’s given enough, and Castiel couldn’t even spare him from that -
“Thinking too loudly again,” Sam chided before grabbing his collar and pulling him forward for another kiss.
Castiel half-heartedly grumbles when he pulls away -“there is no resonance to silent thoughts, Sam” - but he can’t really keep his affection out of his voice. Sam has that ability to virtually drag the bitterness out of the angel, whether he likes It or not. He could blame it on the kisses, but in actuality it has more to do with making Sam happy, no matter the cost.
Sam scoots over on the bed, tugging on Castiel’s coat. “Read to me?” he says, picking up a book on the table next to him. It’s such a simple, almost childish question, and it makes Castiel’s grace shine a bit brighter. How on Earth did Dean not give in to his younger brother’s every will when he was a child? Naturally, Castiel complies, seating himself carefully between Sam and the edge of the bed, leaving them both squished for room, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. In contrast, he settles in more comfortably with his angel by his side.
Castiel picks up the book and Sam leans his head on the angel’s shoulder, a grace of a smile on his lips. Invisibly, Castiel takes one of his wings to enfold his beloved in, an extra shield against the world. Sam may not see or feel it, but as the feathers touch his cheek, Sam finally closes his eyes. Castiel is sure that he’ll be asleep by the third page, at the very least. His wings have a tendency of making him “melt like butter”, or so Sam says. He can’t guarantee that he won’t have nightmares, but if he does, Castiel will be here. Whether warrior angel or gentle comforter, he will always be what Sam needs him to be.
He presses a long kiss into Sam’s fine-threaded hair, and begins.
“The cosmos is all that is or ever was or ever will be…”
Characters: Cas/Sam
Word Count: 4,866
Warnings: references to torture
Possible Spoilers: Up to 6.22; AU from that point on
Summary: There are some things Castiel would forever wish could change. Sam is not one of them.
A/N: This is actually kinda old, but I never posted it here for some reason. Hopefully someone here can enjoy it!
---
It’s been three days since Sam’s been brought to the hospital. Three days since they found him in that abandoned warehouse, chained up like an animal, bloody and bruised, whimpering under their gentle touches. Three days since Castiel lifted him and carried him as if he were made of air, and placed him in the Impala so Dean and Bobby could drive him to the relative safety of the hospital. According to Dean, he’s already undergone two surgeries, and was only recently taken off the oxygen mask. He doesn’t sleep unless drugged, and even then the nightmares leave him thrashing. He asks for Castiel, both awake and asleep.
Castiel should’ve been there. He knows this. Sam needed him. But Castiel needed Sam to be safe. And that meant making sure the angels - Sam once prayed to them, prayed to all of them, Creation - never laid hands on him again. Just because he’s losing his powers doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know how to kill efficiently. In this case, efficiently meaning slowly. Very, very slowly. It wasn’t just a message for them; it was a message for Heaven. To all his brothers and sisters he’s severed himself from. Castiel made his choice long ago. No demon, human or angel will ever touch Sam without feeling his wrath. And if making the grace of his former companions bleed out of their hosts bit by bit is all that gets that message across? Then so be it.
That intimidating fierceness that’s been seeping through every inch of his grace, however, dies down when he stands outside Sam’s room. Sam, more than any human he’s ever seen, always looks so breakable. It’s ironic, considering that for a human, Sam has more mass and height than most of them. But now, his sheets of skin look like they’re barely holding together, shimmered with bruises and wounds and even more breakable bandages. A human’s soul may be eternal and unbreakable, but a body? Can snap and whither as easily as a leaf on a tree. And nothing scares Castiel more than the thought of Sam’s heartbeat stopping because he wasn’t there to save it.
The worst of his physical wounds are hidden by his hospital garb, and his mental ones by the veiling smirk on his face. He’s hooked up to machines that Castiel can’t begin to understand. All he does know is that it’s his fading powers that cause Sam his continuing suffering. The human could be fully healed by now if he had his old angel status.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Sam finally croaks out, and Castiel gives him something that could possibly count as a smile.
“You sound like your brother.”
“Nah, I’d be screaming at all the doctors if I wanted to sound like him.” Castiel can see him straining to appear jovial, but the cuts on his face and the tiredness in his eyes make it difficult.
A few seconds pass, Sam shifts a bit on his bed. Dean and Bobby left them alone so they can talk, but neither of them are opening up the conversation. Sometimes the silence between them can be comfortable, easy - but now it just feels strained. Something their relationship should never be.
“Um,” Sam finally tries his tone a few notches lower that it usually would be. “I, uh…haven’t seen you around…”
Castiel looks confused for a second, trying to piece together what he’s trying to imply. By the time he figures it out, Sam looks resigned to whatever decision he thinks Castiel has made, but the shaking in his voice gives away his despondency.
“It’s okay, I g-get it-”
“Sam, no,” Castiel says, finally walking over to the man’s bedside, completely aghast that Sam would think that he’d abandon him, that he would ever want such a thing. “That’s not it at all, Sam. I wanted to be here, with you, but I had to make sure that those - those evil sons of bitches wouldn’t touch you again.” Venom leeks into his voice at the mention of his brothers, but his touch his no less gentle for it when he reaches out and cups Sam’s cheek. Sam looks down and bites his lip, but before Castiel can continue, he lifts his bandaged hand and places it on top of Castiel’s.
“Now who’s sounding like my brother?” This time, the quip doesn’t sound nearly as forced, as something inside the angel untangles when a bit of light comes back into Sam’s eyes.
Castiel playfully rolls his eyes (a habit he’s picked up that is completely Sam’s fault) before kissing him softly on the lips, careful not to aggravate his facial cuts. He feels mildly satisfied when Sam doesn’t flinch away - ever since his memories of Hell came back, Sam isn’t always a hundred percent comfortable with even the people he loves most touching him - but instead smiles a little bit more.
Sam was already on a good road to recovery before this happened. Castiel knows that Sam will never completely be alright after remembering Hell due to his broken wall (which was completely his fault in the first place, the angel never fails to remind himself), but they were hunting together, Sam was laughing a little bit more, and Dean didn’t constantly look like he wanted to punch down doors. Despite the bumps that were sure to come, things were okay.
And then this happened. There’s no telling if Sam will get a decent night’s sleep without drugs now, or if he’ll hallucinate more often, shy away from human contact, all because Castiel didn’t protect him. The last thing Sam needed was another load on his shoulders, he’s given enough, and Castiel couldn’t even spare him from that -
“Thinking too loudly again,” Sam chided before grabbing his collar and pulling him forward for another kiss.
Castiel half-heartedly grumbles when he pulls away -“there is no resonance to silent thoughts, Sam” - but he can’t really keep his affection out of his voice. Sam has that ability to virtually drag the bitterness out of the angel, whether he likes It or not. He could blame it on the kisses, but in actuality it has more to do with making Sam happy, no matter the cost.
Sam scoots over on the bed, tugging on Castiel’s coat. “Read to me?” he says, picking up a book on the table next to him. It’s such a simple, almost childish question, and it makes Castiel’s grace shine a bit brighter. How on Earth did Dean not give in to his younger brother’s every will when he was a child? Naturally, Castiel complies, seating himself carefully between Sam and the edge of the bed, leaving them both squished for room, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. In contrast, he settles in more comfortably with his angel by his side.
Castiel picks up the book and Sam leans his head on the angel’s shoulder, a grace of a smile on his lips. Invisibly, Castiel takes one of his wings to enfold his beloved in, an extra shield against the world. Sam may not see or feel it, but as the feathers touch his cheek, Sam finally closes his eyes. Castiel is sure that he’ll be asleep by the third page, at the very least. His wings have a tendency of making him “melt like butter”, or so Sam says. He can’t guarantee that he won’t have nightmares, but if he does, Castiel will be here. Whether warrior angel or gentle comforter, he will always be what Sam needs him to be.
He presses a long kiss into Sam’s fine-threaded hair, and begins.
“The cosmos is all that is or ever was or ever will be…”