In the Darkness, Bind Them
Artist: loracine
Characters & Pairing(s): Sam/Castiel
Rating: M
Word Count: 5291
Warnings: Violence, very brief mention of non-con.
Summary: Sam feels guilty for so much, Lucifer is free, Amara is terrorizing the earth, Castiel is locked away as the vessel for the angel who destroyed Sam's life, and it is time to do something about it, even if that means using a weapon that will change everything for him, forever.
Author's Note: This was a lot of fun to write. Thank you so much to my awesome artist. She gave me lots of great ideas and I really enjoyed working with her! Please go give her some love at her art post.
The silence in the aftermath was deafening. Sam leaned against the wall, breathless, a debilitating ache spreading out from his sternum and he looked at his brother. Dean looked like he had been punched in the gut, helpless eyes seeking out his brother and looking for proof of life and beneath that, nothing but fresh grief.
“What?" Dean began before trailing off. “What the fuck? Why?” he dropped slowly to the floor beside Sam and pulled his shirt up, running practiced hands over familiar ribs.
“I’m fine.” Sam stopped him. “I mean, I’ll be fine. He touched my soul but Cas…” Sam choked off a sob. “Cas stopped him before he could do any real damage.”
“What the hell was he thinking?” Dean growled. “I don't care how bad things get, we do NOT just say yes to Lucifer!”
“He thought he was helping,” Sam tried to sit up but slumped against the pillar again as his abused abs protested.
“Shit, stay still. I'll help you when you're ready. Just...stay here for a minute.” Dean stood and ran from the room for a minute before coming back with an unopened bag of peanut M&M's.
Sam stared at them as Dean tore open the bag with his teeth and poured some into a cupped hand. “Is this some kind of Harry Potter thing? Lucifer is not a Dementor.”
“Just eat the damn chocolate already, Sammy,” Dean held his handful right in front of Sam's face.
Sam grabbed a couple and tossed them in his open mouth. To his surprise, it worked, the sweetness of the chocolate and the crunch of the peanut instantly grounding him in the here and now.
“Do you think you can move?” Dean asked softly after Sam had eaten another handful.
Sam thought for a minute and then nodded. He allowed Dean to do all the work of getting him to his feet and didn't fight when Dean guided him to his bedroom. He wrapped himself around his spare pillow, imagining that he could still smell Cas from when the angel had been living in his space. He barely noticed as Dean slipped their old hot water bottle in next to his stomach. But he sighed and relaxed as the heat further grounded him and his battered soul finally stretched out back to where it belonged. He heard Dean settle into the rickety wooden chair at his desk and finally let himself fall into sleep.
A pulse of pain and Sam knew. This wasn’t a dream.
He saw carnage, so much death and blood. There was wailing in the streets and Sam watched in horror as darkness rose and swallowed up the dead and living alike.
And then Lucifer was there, whispering in Sam’s ear, body hard and uncomfortably close, something Sam didn’t want to think about poking him in the hip. “It will only get worse. Have you forgotten I was there when she was locked away? Do you know how many worlds I watched her destroy before Father dear said, ‘that’s enough?’”
Sam was finally able to pull out of his frozen terror and he turned and pushed Lucifer away. “Get your hands off me,” he spat.
“So rude, Sammy,” Lucifer chuckled. “If that tongue wasn’t so talented, I would have destroyed it long ago, just burnt it out of your mouth and scattered the atoms across a thousand worlds. But alas, I like what I can make it do.”
Sam felt a wave of nausea and fought to keep it from overwhelming him.
“You prefer me to Auntie Amara though, don’t you?” Lucifer pouted.
“The apocalypse or complete annihilation? So hard to choose,” Sam snarked.
And Lucifer was there, right in his face, gripping his chin with bruising fingers. “You have chosen. Don’t forget that, Samuel Winchester, that you came to me for MY help and that you are the reason I walk this earth. You are the reason your little puppy can’t come when he’s called. Whatever happens next is all your fault. So you better figure out how to get rid of my aunt, and fast. Or it will be your fault when the world starts burning.”
Sam shot upright in bed and was running down the hall to the bathroom before he could even consciously plan to. He threw himself to his knees before the toilet and promptly lost everything in his stomach.
He finally managed to get his stomach under control, flushed the evidence of his sickness away and stood to wash his face. He looked at his haggard face and saw a shadow on his chin, bruises from Lucifer’s tight grip and he was vomiting again, this time bringing up nothing but strings of bile.
He barely registered Dean’s arrival but suddenly his brother was there, hand warm on the back of his neck.
“Get it out, brother,” Dean whispered roughly.
Sam roughly wiped away the tears in his eyes and looked his brother in the eye, and through voice rough and broken, said, “we need to find the answers, take them both down.
Sam found the answer after a sleepless night. At first he could barely believe it. He had seemingly been jumping back and forth between the same three sources for what felt like days. But there it was after all, another hand of God, a weapon and, with any luck, one he could wield.
“Dean,” he spoke, voice gruff from exhaustion. Dean didn't stir. He just sat there, feet propped up on the table, chair tipped back, open book lying on his chest. Sam sighed and shoved at Dean's feet. Dean windmilled for a moment before shooting upright, looking around for the attack.
“I take it you found something?” Dean growled once he realized there was no threat that needed to be eliminated.
Sam ruled his eyes at his brother and started reading. “Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”
“Isn't that a metaphorical suit of armor? It sounds metaphorical,” Dean scowled, still out of sorts from his rude awakening.
“That's what I thought too. But no, it actually did exist. And it's here already, in the bunker. We just have to find it.”
“How do you use it?” Dean asks. “Because the other ones resulted in death by God’s glory. This face is too pretty to melt.”
“This one was made to be wielded by a human. But the human has to forge a connection with it. It says the connection must be forged with blood and soul. Which, if I understand correctly, needs to be something that nearly killed either one of us. Also, it can’t be you.”
“What? Why the hell not?” Dean exploded.
“It’s the sword of fucking TRUTH, Dean. You can’t lie while you’re wielding it. Not tell me something, do you really want to kill Amara?”
“Of course I do!”
“And if you stood in front of her right now with a knife in your hand and you knew with 100% certainty that she would not survive the blow, would you still strike?”
Dean opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. “No,” he sighed.
“Besides, it is the same sword that Gadreel used outside the Garden of Eden. Maybe it will recognize the shape of his grace inside me and be more willing to accept me.”
“Is the damn thing sentient?”
“Well no, at least I don’t think so. But we need to make sure we have the best chance possible. I told you that I would do whatever I needed to do, whatever you couldn’t. So let me do this. Trust me.”
“I do. You know I do,” Dean sighed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about any of this.”
“When are you ever?” Sam mumbled under his breath. He smiled innocently when Dean glared at him.
“For what it’s worth, I do have an idea about the blood and soul thing. Gimme a minute.” Dean stood and left the room, returning shortly with a folded napkin. He unfolded it to reveal a deformed bullet.
“Is that?...” Sam started.
“Yeah, it is,” Dean said. “It’s the bullet I dug out of your side on that werewolf job.”
“I can’t believe you kept that,” Sam said.
“I told you I was going to. And besides, it’s going to come in handy now.”
Sam bitchfaced at his brother but agreed. “Let me just check and make sure there isn’t anything else we need before I start looking for this thing.” He said, looking down at the page and reading to the end. He flipped to the last page and swore.
“What?” Dean asked.
“It won’t work without an angel’s grace. And I have to form a bond with one of them.”
“Shit,” Dean said. “Who can we even call now that Cas is AWOL?”
A bolt of fear ran through Sam from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “Don’t say it,” he whispered.
“Sorry man, but you and I both know that no angels are just about to hop on down here and give us a hand. They hate us, remember?”
“But we can’t ask...him.”
“I don’t think we have any other choice.”
“Fuck!” Sam said vehemently. “I guess we’re calling Lucifer.”
·
Sam didn’t think he would ever get used to looking into the eyes of his friend and seeing his abuser looking back at him. It was such a familiar blue, always a colour that meant safety. But not anymore. Sam shivered as all the bone-chilling cold of the cage came rushing over him in a wave.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Lucifer chuckled. “This must be so much fun for you. Did you think this would happen? That your “no” would mean his “yes?” His vessel can hardly contain me. It would be so much better to be inside of you.”
“Shut up,” Sam snarled. “Cas can make his own decisions. And since we don’t have him, we need your help.”
“I’ve been waiting for this day! Sammy Winchester, crawling back to me, begging for my help. Is it my birthday?” Lucifer cackled gleefully.
“Let’s just try to keep this as professional as possible. Help us defeat Amara. We won’t penalize you for your little vacation and then you can get out of my friend and back into your cage,” Sam said coldly.
“Spoilsport,” Lucifer pouted. “What do you need from me?”
“We found a weapon. The Sword of the Spirit? In order to wield it, we need…”
“Yes, I know, a soul bonded with grace. And you decided to bond with me?” Lucifer broke into laughter
“Lucifer,” Sam gritted out. “You’re the only angel we’ve got right now.
“And who’s going to do the bonding? It has to be you. Dean won’t have the conviction. I know what you’re thinking. Dean will march up to that bitch and roll over and show his belly and she’ll walk right over him. Well fine. I’m not busy unless we find another weapon. Let’s give it a shot.”
“Right now?” Sam pales.
“Well duh. Do you have the weapon in hand?”
Sam shakes his head.
“Will there be work needed to find and/or retrieve it?”
“Of course. These things usually aren’t just lying around for anyone to pick up and use. It’s in the bunker but the Men of Letters were notoriously bad at archiving, probably to make it more difficult for unauthorized persons to access dangerous weapons. The important information was passed down by word of mouth but Abbadon put a stop to the flow of information.” Sam snarked.
“Well then, why waste all that effort and energy if you can’t get it up for me? Bonds gotta work both ways, Sammy. No point in finding a weapon that cannot be wielded.”
Sam sighed and wished he hadn’t been so adamant that he meet Lucifer alone. “Fine. But only long enough to test that the bond works. I don’t want you to stick around in my head for any longer than necessary.”
Lucifer held up Cas’ right hand. “Scout’s Honour,” he leered.
“I have the stuff for the ritual in the library,” Sam cleared his throat.
“Ritual,” Lucifer scoffed. “The hell makes you think we need one? I’m the fucking angel of light. Just give me your hand.”
Sam gulped and hesitantly held his left hand out to Lucifer as if to shake.
Lucifer sighed loudly and gripped Sam’s hand firmly. Sam yelped as he felt his bones grind together.
“Don’t know my own strength,” Lucifer winked. Then he opened his alien blue eyes wide and stared into Sam’s very soul. Sam desperately help on and tried his best not to shrink away. Lucifer’s chill spread up his arm and into his shoulder and then it crushed his chest like a vice. His mouth opened as he soundlessly gasped for air and then it happened, a concussive blast knocked him and Lucifer to opposite sides of the room. Sam gasped for air as he lay on the floor, desperately trying to hold onto consciousness.
Lucifer recovered much quicker and came to stand over Sam’s body. “I knew this would happen. We used to have a special bond, you know. The bond between angel and vessel is pure and beautiful, nearly impossible to break. I mean, 180 years in a cage inflicting constant torture can do it, break it, scar it so another can never form. You have to TRUST the angel in order to form the bond. You can tell me you’ll trust me because you have no choice but I can feel your soul shrinking away from me at this moment. You can’t logic your way out of this one. I’ve had my hands all over that soul. It will always remember my touch and flee. You were lucky. The next time you might not survive this. So good luck! Call me when you find another solution.” And Lucifer turned to disappear.
Later, Sam is not sure why he did it, but he stretched his hand toward the fleeing angel and his mind somehow connected with the tiny part of Cas that was awake. Lucifer turned with a look of horror on his face as Sam focussed, remembered the feeling of the beginning of the bond, before it had gone wrong, and tried to pull in that tiny glimpse of Cas that he could sense through Lucifer’s foul taint.
“You should not be able to do this,” Lucifer shouted hoarsely.
“Never stopped me before,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth as pain exploded behind his eyeballs and blood slowly dripped from his nose.
“Cas,” Sam shouted and he held tighter to the grace he knew and trusted and he pulled it to the fore.
And suddenly Castiel the angel was looking back at him. “Sam?” he whispered.
Sam thought he might cry at the relief he felt at hearing the familiar voice in Castiel’s tone and cadence.
“It’s time, Cas. It’s you I need. Not him. You are the only one who can perform this task. It doesn’t matter if Lucifer is stronger. You’re the only angel I trust to stand by my side. I can’t hold him much longer. Please, Castiel. Throw him out!” Sam ended in a shout, blood now pouring like a river over his upper lip.
Castiel closed his eyes for a moment and Sam could see and feel the battle being waged within. Finally there was a shout from Cas, a bright white light, and then Sam’s friend was standing there across the room, empty of all but himself.
And Sam finally let go. The backlash pushed him under. His last sight as he lost consciousness was Cas, reaching down to cradle his head as Dean broke down the door.
Consciousness eluded him for a while. Every time he thought he might be ready to resurface, he remembered the pain of a psychic headache and let blessed unconsciousness pull him back under. But finally, the promise of sleep was not enough to keep him down and he opened his eyes to see two rough and weary faces at his bedside.
They both immediately relaxed into relief as soon as they noticed Sam’s eyes were open.
“How long?” Sam rasped.
Dean slid a practiced hand under Sam’s head and shoved a cup and a straw in his face. Sam sighed as cool water soothed his dry throat.
“Approximately 36 hours. Forcing an angelic bond is usually outside the realm of human ability. That you managed to bond with me while I was suppressed by Lucifer is nothing short of a miracle. It also speaks well of our ability to maintain a bond while wielding a weapon such as the sword of the spirit.” Cas spoke gravely.
“You think it will work?” Sam asked.
“I do. If you have sufficient time to regain your strength first. Dean and I will search for the weapon. You should remain here and sleep.” A look very like tenderness flitted across the angel’s face. You were right to pull me out, Sam. Lucifer was not the answer. I am grateful for your persistence.”
“Yeah, of course,” Sam smiled.
Dean stood with a quick brush of Sam’s hair and he clapped Castiel on the shoulder. “Well, enough feelings. I think it is time to get started. Sam, go back to sleep. Castiel, you get the creepy dungeon store room. Kill any rats you find.”
“I certainly do not intend to murder any of God’s innocent creatures, Dean,” Castiel frowned.
“I don’t care what you do, kill ‘em, mojo ‘em so they don’t come back into the bunker. Just keep them away from me. Damn rats with their beady little eyes and their greasy, stinky bodies and their stupid, snack-eating ways.”
“I have ensured that the rats are not carrying any dangerous diseases. That is the reason that people do not wish to have them in their homes. Clean rats make excellent pets,” Castiel replied.
Sam drifted back to sleep as the sounds of Cas and Dean bickering faded down the hallway.
When Sam awoke, he felt much better. He yawned, stretched, and walked barefoot down the hallway to the war room. Cas sat there at the table, looking contemplatively at a grey stone, about the size of the palm of his hand. It didn’t look like much but Sam could feel its power from across the room.
At his entrance, Cas turned and gathered it gently in his palm. He held it out to Sam and Sam looked closer, detecting a faint light that he hadn’t seen from across the room.
“I thought it would look more like...well, you know, a sword?” Sam said softly as he gazed at the softly glowing stone in Castiel’s palm.
“It’s more of a metaphor,” Cas said. “Sword of the spirit, so it’s spiritual, not physical. When we wield it, you are the sword.”
Sam felt like he was going to be sick. “Like the Michael sword? So I’m your vessel? You have to possess me?”
“No, of course not, Sam, I would never do that to you. Dean would not have wielded the Michael sword, he would have been the Michael sword. Michael would have been using him. I will not be the one in control. You will be. The grace is only to allow you to use the weapon without burning up. Neither of us have the strength to use it alone. True spirit involves both the grace and the soul.”
“Ok,” Sam sighed, his breath catching in his throat. “I do trust you.”
“That is good, because there is one more thing. When we create the bond for real, we will be sharing consciousness with each other. We will be seeing each other’s thoughts, memories, and desires. The bond you created with me before was small and incomplete. We will not be able to hold ourselves back from the next one.”
“That is a little bit terrifying actually. What if there are things I don’t want you to see?” Sam couldn’t look the angel in the eye.
“You should get them out into the open as soon as possible then. If we discuss them before, they will not be so much of a surprise when we do the actual link.”
Sam looked at Cas then. “What if you see something you don’t like? What if there are things about me that you can’t handle?”
“I am stronger than you believe me to be. I know you already, Sam. There is nothing within you that could drive me away.” Cas set the stone back in its box and clasped Sam’s hand instead.
“There are plenty of things that I hide from everyone, even Dean,” Sam whispered.
“We won’t know unless we try.” Cas reached out for Sam’s other hand.
“We’re doing this now?” Sam hesitates before taking Cas’s hand.
“We should be prepared for the battle with Amara. There is no reason to delay.”
And so Sam squeezes tightly and opens his mind and tries to remember the sensation of the bond when he had connected to Cas before. And as he sits there, his consciousness stretches out and entwines with the angel across from him. And he is instantly overwhelmed by a sense of infinite space. He is no longer physical, but he is light and grace and music and everything and everywhere at once. And Castiel is beautiful and awe-inspiring in this form. Sam shrinks into himself as he remembers his own soul. He is afraid to know what Cas sees. Because when he looks down at his body, he can see it all laid bare. Because there is his anger and selfishness. There is the jealousy he feels for everyone who gets to be normal. And there is the dark and sickening lust for the blood of demons and the rush of power it gives him. And deep inside is the fear of losing himself and the disgust he feels for allowing himself to be violated so many time, by Meg, by Lucifer, by Gadreel. And all of it is shot through with the craving for goodness, to be washed clean, to be bathed in grace and lifted above the stench of his own failure.
He can’t look at Castiel anymore, not when everything he is will only taint the beauty of the angel. He can feel the bond beginning to waver and dissolve.
“Sam,” he hears Castiel’s true voice and he wants to weep. “Open your eyes, Sam. See your soul through me.”
Sam opens his eyes and he does cry because he has never seen anything so beautiful. All of the imperfections he saw are still there, but they have been transformed. Each piece lovingly pulled together with gold thread and pure light.
“Do you see, Sam?” Castiel asked. “Do you see how each piece of your history has shaped you and changed you? Look at your compassion for the lonely and grieving, your fierce protection of the innocent, and your unflinching bravery in the face of danger. You, Sam Winchester, are not broken, and you are all the more beautiful because you’ve fought for your wholeness. And that is the man I fight for and aspire to be. That is the man I love.”
Sam turns back to look at the angel once more and suddenly sees things so clearly. Because there, in the very centre of Castiel’s grace, is the thing the angel wanted to hide. There is love, so pure that Sam wants to wrap himself in it like a blanket, but there is also desire, to take, to claim, to be one.
“I…” Sam begins but he doesn’t know what to say.
“I know what you must think of me. That I am no different from my brother, that my lust disgusts you. I only ask that you trust that I will not act on my feelings. I have kept them hidden from you because I cannot ask this of you. I will not force you and if you wish me to leave after we have defeated Amara, I will never contact you again. Do you still trust me enough to form this bond?”
“I do,” Sam whispers. “I can’t say that it isn’t a surprise. I also can’t say that I ever considered that you could feel that way about me. I don’t know what I feel. Cas, you’re beautiful. Your confession may be unexpected but it is not unwelcome. There is not time for this, not right now. But we should explore this after everything is over. I know that I don’t want to lose you.”
Sam is surprised to see Castiel slump in relief. He never expected that Cas saw him as anything more than the younger brother of the righteous man and the abomination, the vessel of the devil. But to find out that Cas viewed him with affection was almost too much. “So we’re doing this then,” he whispered hoarsely. “You trust me enough to see this through.”
“Yes, Sam, I do,” Castiel said sincerely and, just like that, they were back in the bunker looking at each other’s human faces.
After that moment, things happen quickly, almost too quickly. Cas forges the bullet to the sword with a thought. Dean finally stops shielding himself from Amara and, the moment he does, she calls him to come to her. Sam can see the look on his face and knows it is a relief to finally give in to everything that had been eating him up inside.
And then they are there, standing before the woman who has caused so much damage and chaos. And Sam feels sorry for her, he really does. He does not know what he would have become if Dean had locked him away instead of fighting to save him. And so he does not wish to hurt her. But he also knows the damage she has done. And if there is one thing Sam Winchester is determined to do, it is save the world and save his brother. And save his angel.
And so Cas stands behind Sam, bracing him, stone held out in the palm of his hand. And Sam reaches for the stone and their hands clasp around it and Sam can feel the bond, writhing like a live thing, worming its way into every nook and cranny of his battered soul. It feels like warmth and love and coming home and Sam knows that he will never let go of this, let go of Cas, again.
“Now, Sam,” Cas whispers tenderly, intimately.
Light shines forth, bathing Sam’s outstretched arm in flames. It is excruciating but Sam can feel the solid warmth of Cas at his back, holding him steady. The fire is on him and in him. He can taste it on his tongue and feel it in his lungs. He directs the fire at Amara and sees her crouch before him, crying, begging for him to stop, promising to keep to the shadows under the mountains and on the far side of the moon. But he has begun and it is too late for her. He cannot reign the power in, not as it consumes him. But all the while, Cas is there, his love like a pillar, immoveable.
Amara screams and Sam’s vision goes white as the flames reach her and she disintegrates into ash.
And then everything is darkness.
Everything is still darkness when Sam wakes. He calls for Cas and Dean.
“I’m right here, we both are,” Sam hears Dean’s voice from above him.
“Why’re y’ sitting in th’ dark?” Sam slurred.
The silence stretches on and Sam can practically see Dean’s thinking face.
“Sam, the lights are on. Can’t you see them?”
If Sam was less exhausted, he would have panicked. Instead he flops his hand in front of his own face, straining to see anything in the blackness. “Huh,” he says before turning over ad drifting back to sleep.
And when Sam wakes up once more, he remembers that he is broken now, that he will never be the same, that he will live his life in darkness and therefore has no claim on a being made of light. And he weeps for what he has lost.
Dean and Cas both try to speak to him, to tell him that he has not changed, that he is not in any way less than he was before, but he knows that the sword has stolen part of himself and he can not bind an angel to what he has become. Because what is a hunter who can no longer hunt and a Man of Letters who cannot see to research?
He feels his way through the halls at hours when he knows Dean will be sleeping. And Cas will respect his privacy. He eats the bare minimum of food that Dean brings him. He doesn’t speak. And Cas watches him. Sam can feel him, there on the edge of his consciousness, worried. But Sam can’t bring himself to say the words that would alleviate Cas’s guilt.
Dean yells sometimes. Sam likes to pretend he is deaf. He isn’t angry at Amara, or at God for abandoning them to clean up his mess and leaving them weapons that have such grave consequences. He isn’t angry at Cas or Dean or Lucifer or even himself. He just exists. This is his life now.
Sometimes, he wants to reach out. But they would be better off if they left him behind. Dean can still hunt. Cas can have his back. And Sam can slowly fade away. That way no one will mourn him, no one will miss him.
And maybe he would have died that way, alone and wasting away. But one night Castiel comes and sits beside him as he lies on his bed and gazes sightlessly at the dark.
“I gave you space,” Cas began. “I knew you weren’t ready to speak to me. Sam...I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not mad,” Sam’s voice creaks.
“I know. But you’re sad. Isn’t that what you say to grieving widows, to the people left behind in the monster attacks? They lost someone. You’ve lost something. And I cannot heal this. I cannot fix the damage caused by God’s glory. I thought I just needed to regain my strength. But I will never be enough to heal this hurt.” Castiel reaches out and Sam can feel him like a second skin. His hand rests gently on Sam’s shoulder. And suddenly Sam is crying, great gasping sobs. And Sam grieves for what he has lost and what he has become.
Soon, Cas sheds his trench coat and shoes and slips into bed beside Sam, holding him as he cries. Sam’s sobs slow and finally he stops crying. He pushes himself up of Castiel’s chest and looks his angel in the eye. “Thank you,” he said, and softly kisses Castiel, his mouth wet and salty from tears.
And nothing has changed. Sam is blind. Cas is helpless. It is not right. It is not good. But in that moment, it is enough.