A Gift For Demeter 1/2
Title: A Gift For Demeter
Summary: In which Dean was not killed by Lucifer in the showdown of 2014. In which Dean got his hands on an archangel blade. In which Lucifer is dead and Sam is, miraculously, still living. In which Sam tries his best to grow plants in the dried-up earth.
Word Count: 7772
Notes: Written for ohsam's Celebrating Sam 2017, based on the prompt 'pomegranate'. Set during the end-verse.
In many cultures and religions, the pomegranate is a symbol of fertility, life and rebirth.
In Ancient Greek mythology, the pomegranate is an important part of the story of Persephone and her marriage to Hades, the god of the Underworld. Persephone was kidnapped by Hades and taken to the underworld to be his wife. Demeter, the goddess of fertility, was Persephone’s mother and when she thought her daughter was lost, she went into mourning and all things on earth ceased to grow. Zeus demanded Hades release Persephone, but Hades tricked her into eating six pomegranate seeds. Eating something from the Underworld means you cannot leave. Because she ate six seeds, she was to remain with Hades for six months of the year, spending the rest with her mother. The months she spent with her mother (spring and summer) meant crops flourished and the earth was full of life, and her time spent in the Underworld (autumn and winter) meant the earth was cold and lifeless. People would offer pomegranates to Demeter in prayer for fertile land.
It's a quiet morning and, naturally, everyone is on edge. Quiet doesn't come by so often anymore. Quiet usually means a storm is on its way, or a band of Croats. Dean's jaw is wired tighter than usual, his constantly furrowed brow is dipped lower than ever. He marches around camp with his fingers on the hilt of his gun, barking orders at anyone and everyone, including the children.
Cas sits on the porch of his cabin and flicks his thumb across his lighter, watching the flame dance for a second before disappearing. He wishes he could use his lighter to actually light something, but he's out of anything good to smoke, including cigarettes. He's contemplating a risky run alone into town for them but he knows Dean would beat his ass if he tried.
His hands are getting restless, there's a tight and impatient feeling sitting in his gut and he wonders if he's desperate enough to steal from their medical supply again. He sits on that thought for a moment, brushing the pad of his index finger over the soft, flickering flame of his lighter.
"You just gonna sit there while the rest of us keep this place running?" Dean barks. He's standing at the bottom of the steps to Cas' cabin, looking less than pleased, with a machete in his hand. Anyone else in the camp would be scared out of their panties, Cas just laughs at him.
"That was the plan," he says.
Dean's mouth twitches and Cas knows he's trying not to smile. Dean trudges up the steps and hands over the machete, handle first.
"We need more fire wood," he says. It's an order, plain and simple. Even Cas can't say no.
"As you wish, fearless leader," he answers with a small bow. He takes the blade and shoves his lighter back in his pocket. Dean turns to leave but Cas catches his shoulder. He's as surprised as Dean is. The two of them don't talk very often anymore, Dean's too busy keeping everyone alive and Cas is too busy feeling like shit.
"Yeah?" Dean says.
"Uh." Cas quickly lets go. "If you're making a supply run any time soon and see a pack of cigarettes…"
Dean nods. "Sure. Why not? Only if I see any."
And then he's gone, marching across camp to yell at someone else. Cas takes the steps one at a time, swinging the blade in his hand. He feels queasy, but that's nothing new, and his head aches, eyes burning in the sunlight. Once, thousands of years ago, he visited the sun. Basked in the beauty of it, listened to its stories, felt the comforting warmth of it. Now, with his human soul, it hurts his eyes and burns his skin. He sweats, dampness sticking his hair to his forehead. He reaches up and tugs on a dark strand. He needs a haircut.
There's a wire fence running along the perimeter of the camp with a few men and women guarding it at all hours, even in the blistering heat or the pouring rain - not that there's been much rain in a long while since the sun seems to have made it her personal mission to dry them all out.
Ever since Lucifer fizzled out of existence and the demons went bat-shit, Dean decided they were all moving south for the winter. Blistering heat and dried up riverbeds have to be better than freezing to death in the north, that's what Cas keeps telling himself. Judging by the sleepless look in Dean's eyes, he's questioning his choice.
Cas grabs a wheelbarrow from beside the pig pen. The animals are all slumped on their sides in the shade, huffing into the dirt and stinking up the place. Cas watches them swat at flies with their curled tails for a moment before he hauls the cart up and pushes it towards the gate.
"Dean wants fire wood," Cas says. It's the password. 'Dean says…' and you get whatever you want. Cas doesn't know the name of the kid at the gate but he's seen him around plenty of times. He used to be a wiry little thing, all elbows and knees, but he's sprouted up over the past few months and Dean has promoted him from dinner duty to guard duty - meanwhile, Cas has been demoted to collecting firewood. The kid wears his pride like a badge, standing up straight with his chest puffed out, an easy smile on his face as he lets Cas by. He reminds Cas a little of Dean from a long time ago.
It's nice getting out of the camp, away from everyone. People still bother Cas, even confuse him sometimes, being one of them now doesn't change that. Here in the forest, things make more sense. He's seen great oaks like this grow from seed to what they are now, he knew their language, he's felt the life of them pulsing vibrant and green into the earth. Now, the forest is quiet. He hears nothing. The ground is hard and dry, dust kicks up in his wake. The highest reach of the trees is bare, leaves curling up and dropping down to die ahead of their time. High above, birds soar northward.
There are times he wishes he could shed this human skin. He misses his wings. He misses the freedom of flight. Being stuck on two legs is like being chained in place.
He finds the fallen trunk of a small tree after about a half an hour of wandering, it's dried out and bare, never had a chance to grow high enough or dig its roots deep enough. He pulls out the machete and gets to work hacking away at the branches. By the time he's done, his hands are blistered and the wheelbarrow is half full. Dean is probably expecting him to fill it. What's left of this tree trunk is too thick for him to break on his own with his trembling hands, and Cas keeps moving deeper into the trees. It's darker here where the sun can't reach, a blessed relief from the constant heat.
He wanders off the trail a bit, and the wheelbarrow shudders along over the roots of trees that have webbed out across the forest floor. He finds another fallen tree and hacks away at the branches, filling the wheelbarrow to the brim. He gets to his feet, joints clicking, and glances around. He's not familiar with this part of the forest, and he wonders if he's gotten himself lost. He doesn't remember how long he'd been walking, or why he came in this direction. There's something niggling at the back of his mind, like there's something he should be noticing but isn't.
A sound cuts through the trees and Cas freezes. He grips the machete tighter and listens. Someone is laughing. He follows the sound, the wheelbarrow left behind. He recognises the laugh, one he hasn't heard in a long time and one he didn't think he'd hear again. He finds Sam on his knees, up to his elbows in dirt.
Sam looks up and sees Cas, smiling like he'd expected him to be there, the bandage over his left eye crinkles as his face shifts with another joyous laugh. He points enthusiastically into a small cluster of rocks and Cas joins him on the ground. There's a little green sapling, bright and healthy, sprouting up from the parched soil.
"Would you look at that," Cas mutters, glancing around. He breaks into a grin. "Must mean there's water somewhere near here. Good job."
Sam ducks his head and wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, still smiling. Cas hasn't seen Sam smile in years, the last time must have been well before he said yes to Lucifer. It's a wonderful thing to see. He pats Sam on the shoulder.
"This could mean something. We should tell Dean."
Sam's smile drops and he looks away, the tips of his fingers reaching up to touch the bandage over his eye. He stops himself before he can get dirt all over the fabric.
Mentioning Dean to Sam is almost as difficult as mentioning Sam to Dean. The two of them mostly ignore each other - well, Dean ignores Sam and Sam just doesn't speak much anyway. He keeps to himself, would probably disappear altogether if he could, if Cas and some of the others would let him. Cas thinks Dean wouldn't mind if Sam disappeared, and that's probably the most tragic thing to happen since the world ended.
"I've got some firewood I need to take back to camp," Cas changes the subject. "You coming?"
Sam doesn't answer, but he gets to his feet when Cas does and he trails after him like a lost puppy back the way he came. The wheelbarrow is still sitting where he left it, Cas hefts the weight and steers it unsteadily, retracing its tracks in the dry forest floor.
"How did you get out here, anyway?" Cas asks. "You sweettalk the kid on watch into letting you through?"
Sam smiles as if to say ha ha very funny.
Cas sighs. "You can't wander off on your own, Sam. You know that."
Sam's lips pinch together, throat working. "Not a ch-child," he mumbles. Sam, ever since he was rid of Lucifer, has only managed to utter a few words each day. It takes him some effort to get them out. He's a slow talker when he does, in fact, talk. Sam, who used to recite Latin backwards, now slurs and stutters and mixes his words up. Five years stuffed inside an archangel will do that to a person. But he's on his feet and, honestly, Sam is lucky things aren't worse than they are.
"I know you're not a child," Cas says. "But it's dangerous out here. You can't wander around without a weapon, at least."
Sam doesn't say anything. Of course.
"Look. Next time you want to get out of camp, talk to me first."
Cas stops. No sound of footsteps crunching the forest floor. There's a feeling like static across his skin and his stomach drops even before he even turns around.
"Oh, fuck."
Sam is a couple of meters behind, sprawled out on the ground, limbs twitching like he's being electrocuted. Cas dumps the wheelbarrow and dashes back. Sam's elbow whacks painfully against a thick tree root, a sharp crack resounds through the forest. There isn't much Cas can do to move him, so he shucks his jackets and balls it up, using it to pillow Sam's head.
"This is why you can't go anywhere on your own," Cas grunts, pinning Sam's flailing arm to his side to keep it from hitting the hard edge of the root again. Sam's mouth is wide open, neck muscles straining, then his teeth suddenly clench together with a spray of spittle. The saliva that runs down the corner of his mouth is tinged pink.
"Are you done yet?" Cas asks. Sam continues to seize.
A minute or so later the jerking turns to twitching and it slowly lessens until Sam is limper than a dead fish. His good eye is half open and glazed over, the bandage on his other eye has jostled out of place and Cas can see scarring etching out from underneath. Because he's curious, and an asshole, Cas peels the patch back and stares at the hole in Sam's face.
He wasn't there when it happened, but he did arrive in time for the aftermath. Dean had been breathing so hard Cas thought he might pass out, and on the ground at his feet was Sam, all dressed in white, a gaping wound where his left eye used to be, tunnelling straight to the back of his head. He was dead, then he wasn't.
Cas has an inkling who's responsible. His father has never been there, not when Lucifer was freed, not when the end of the world began, but he was happy to resurrect Sam Winchester. Apparently, the poor fuck hadn't suffered enough. Cas thinks things might have been easier for Sam if he had just died. He'd deserved to finally rest after everything, but God had other plans.
Sam is still breathing when the seizure is over and Cas sags with relief. He pulls the bandage back over the empty socket and watches Sam's good eye blink its way open, slow and lazy.
Cas pats his cheek. "Are you going to get on your feet, Sam?"
Sam closes his eye again, which might mean no thanks I'd rather sleep here. Well, tough. Cas jostles him, probably a little rougher than necessary, but it rouses Sam enough to get him sitting up. Sam tries to get his feet under him, but his legs are boneless and he falls back on his ass, trying his best to keep his eye open.
The wheelbarrow is still sitting where Cas left it. He tips all the chopped wood out onto the forest floor and steers it back around to Sam.
"Come on," Cas grunts, pulling Sam up by his underarms. Sam's knees shake and strain, but together they manage to get him in the wheelbarrow. Sam is skin and bones, but he still weighs a ton, and his damn endless legs make sure his feet scrape the ground.
Sam is out again, good eye shut and showing no signs of opening again, head flopped back and jostling with every bump along the forest floor. Cas drags him backwards all the way back to camp. Once he's inside the gate he hopes he can get Sam to the med cabin without Dean noticing, but not much slips under Dean's radar around here.
"What the hell happened?" he barks, striding over from where he and Risa were arguing by the chicken coop.
Cas pauses and sets the wheelbarrow down. Sam doesn't even stir. Dean stops about a foot away from them and stares at Sam, Cas thinks he might see something akin to concern on his face but it's quickly replaces with the furrowing of his brow.
"He had a fit," Cas says, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his sleeve. His back is sore and his feet feel like they're going to fall off. He's been human for a while now, but he's still not used to aches and pains.
"What happened to collecting wood?" Dean asks. He's not looking at Sam anymore, is deliberately trying not to.
Cas shrugs. "Dumped it so I could get Sam back here," he says. Dean's jaw clenches so Cas quickly adds, "I'll go back and get it later."
"You'd better," Dean warns, voice hard enough to scare anyone who isn't Cas. Cas gives him a quick salute and takes the handles of the cart again, steering Sam down to the med cabin. Dean trails along beside him but makes no move to help. By the time the reach the cabin, and the stairs leading up to it, Dean has no choice to lend a hand.
Annie, a girl who was once a trainee veterinarian, occupies the cabin. She's sitting with her feet up and clipping her nails when they enter. She gives a double take, the sight of the three of them has her bouncing to her feet. She ushers them behind a curtain where there's a cot sitting empty. The three of them settle Sam onto it and Annie gets to work.
"Smacked his elbow?" she asks, examining the array of bruises that are already blooming there.
"Hard," Cas says. "Heard a crack."
"Hm," Annie sits back and taps her chin thoughtfully. Dean is quiet, and when Cas turns around he isn't there anymore. He doesn't have to go far, finds him brooding on the porch. He decides it's wise not to prod at an angry snake - or a pissed off Dean - and paces around the cabin instead. He can hear Annie's puzzled ums and ahs on behind the curtain.
The medicine cabinet is open. There's not much - they'll need to make a run soon - but he can see an orange bottle with morphine printed on the front. He's holding it, next thing he knows, pushing down and twisting the cap.
"Don't," Dean says quietly, hand clapping down on his shoulder.
Reluctantly, Cas puts it back. "Only one," he grumbles. "Just one, then I'm done."
"Spoken like a true junkie."
Cas turns around, shaking Dean's hand off his shoulder. "You smell of alcohol."
Dean smiles grimly. "It's been a weird day."
"Oh, did you also carry someone through the woods in a wheelbarrow?" Cas asks, eyebrow raised. Dean's smile brightens and he even musters a laugh. Two Winchesters laughing in one day. Odd.
"No, nothing like that," Dean says. He scratches the back of his head and clears his throat. "Risa's pregnant."
Cas blinks at him. "Risa's pregnant?"
Dean grabs his shoulder and pulls him onto the porch. More than likely, Annie didn't hear. She's probably the most oblivious person Cas has ever met in thousands of years of existence.
"She told me this morning," Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.
"Fuck, Dean," Cas sighs. "This is the dumbest thing you've ever done."
"Not like I did it on purpose," Dean snaps, defensive. He's staring at Cas like he used to, back when Cas had the juice to actually make a difference. Cas can't do anything, he's about as useful as a lightbulb without electricity. He can't keep Dean and Risa's baby safe.
Dean still looks panicked so Cas tries to come up with something that might sound comforting.
"Babies are… cute. And the human population is low so you're are contributing saving the species."
Dean glares at him. "This kid doesn't stand a chance in this crap-hole of a world. You seriously think anyone should be raising a baby? Especially me. I'm not cut out to be a dad."
"I don't think that's true," Cas says honestly. "If anyone could protect this child, it's you. And Risa, that woman's a force to be reckoned with."
Dean snorts. "Sure. Thanks for the help," he says, not sounding all that grateful.
He turns away and marches down the steps, heading across camp where Risa is waiting for him with her arms folded over her chest. Cas can hear shouting in the next moment and decides to head back inside.
"No broken bones," Annie tells him, "but I did bandage his elbow anyway. And I cleaned some scrapes here and there. He bit his tongue, it's nasty but it'll heal. He'll sleep for a while, and he'll be sore when he wakes up, but he'll be okay."
"Thanks," Cas says. Annie goes back to whatever it was she was doing earlier and Cas slips behind the curtain. He plonks into the wooden chair by the bed. His hands are shaking and the one thing that will make it stop, he can't have. No one told him how much it hurt to be human, even just the little things. He'll have to find where Dean stashes his liquor.
A couple of hours later, Sam finally stirs. He spends a good few minutes staring at nothing, still blank-eyed and pale, then his eye focuses and finds its way to Cas, brow furrowing in a question.
"Another fit," Cas answers. "I had to haul your gigantic ass all the way back in the wheelbarrow. Left all the firewood behind. Remember I was saying you can't go wandering off on your own?"
Sam looks away, fingers clenching and unclenching the blanket draped over him. His eye is wet and he swallows, trying to keep any tears from falling. Another side-effect of archangel possession and having a knife shoved through his face; Sam gets emotional. He cries a lot about all sorts of things, big and small. Guilt, one of Cas' least favourite feelings, is worming its way into his gut and making him feel queasy.
"Sorry," he says, and Sam finally looks at him again. "I wasn't - I'm not mad at you. I'm worried, okay? Don't wander off on your own like that."
Sam smiles, throat working. "You. T-talk like Dean uuused t-to," he says.
"Guess I picked up some habits from him," Cas says, shrugging. His hands shake a little harder and he pins them between his thighs. Sam watches.
"Can I ask you something?" Cas says. "Addict to addict."
Sam frowns. It's unsure if he'll have a good answer. His memory is patchy at best.
"Do you ever stop wanting it? Does it ever go away?"
Sam looks up, pins him with a red-rimmed eye for a moment. Cas thinks maybe Sam understood, that he remembered his past enough to know what Cas is talking about, but then Sam bursts into tears. He pushes a couple of his fingers into his mouth and probes at his tongue.
"Hurts," he complains, voice muffled by his hand.
Cas sighs. It's difficult to tell with Sam how much he remembers or how well he processes things. Sometimes, like earlier in the forest, he seems a lot like the Sam he was before. And there are times like now, when Sam is barely there, his brain struggling to keep up. It could be the aftereffects of the seizure muddling his mind. Maybe. Cas gently takes Sam's wrist and pulls his hand from his mouth. His fingers are wet and sticky with saliva, and Cas wipes them off on the blanket.
"I know it hurts, but poking at it won't help," he says. "It'll heal, and this time next week you probably won't remember biting your tongue at all."
Sam sniffs and rubs at his wet nose with the back of his hand. The tears are still falling, breaths hitching, but the way his eye drifts aimlessly around the room says that he isn't entirely sure why he's crying. Cas stays with him until he's asleep again.
The sun has set when he leaves the med cabin. The sky is bright with stars, a smattering of dust shining across the black. The camp is difficult to navigate in the dark, but he can see one fire burning a few yards away, it's a small one without the wood Cas left behind. He hears the soft murmur of people chatting, the clink of cups and plates as they feast on something that is probably too little.
He finds Dean sitting on the porch of his cabin, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in hand. Without a word, he pours the liquor and hands a glass over to Cas.
"Where's Risa?" Cas asks.
The corner of Dean's mouth curls up unpleasantly. "She doesn't want to see me right now."
"Ah," Cas says, taking a seat beside Dean on the step. He sips at the whiskey, the first drop down his throat is a relief. "I was thinking about raiding your cabin for this," he admits.
Dean snorts. "Well, as long as you are stealing medicine."
They sit for a long moment, just drinking, before Cas speaks again. "Sam's going to be fine. He's a little hurt, but it's nothing bad."
Dean doesn't say anything.
"You need to forgive him," says Cas.
"I don't need to do anything."
"He needs you. He misses you."
"I can't, Cas," Dean sighs. "At least not right now."
"Why? Is it because he said yes? Is it because he's different now? What is it?"
"Cas," Dean snaps. The conversation is over. Cas gets to his feet, glass in hand, and heads inside for the night, leaving Dean to his thoughts on the front porch.
Part 2
Summary: In which Dean was not killed by Lucifer in the showdown of 2014. In which Dean got his hands on an archangel blade. In which Lucifer is dead and Sam is, miraculously, still living. In which Sam tries his best to grow plants in the dried-up earth.
Word Count: 7772
Notes: Written for ohsam's Celebrating Sam 2017, based on the prompt 'pomegranate'. Set during the end-verse.
In many cultures and religions, the pomegranate is a symbol of fertility, life and rebirth.
In Ancient Greek mythology, the pomegranate is an important part of the story of Persephone and her marriage to Hades, the god of the Underworld. Persephone was kidnapped by Hades and taken to the underworld to be his wife. Demeter, the goddess of fertility, was Persephone’s mother and when she thought her daughter was lost, she went into mourning and all things on earth ceased to grow. Zeus demanded Hades release Persephone, but Hades tricked her into eating six pomegranate seeds. Eating something from the Underworld means you cannot leave. Because she ate six seeds, she was to remain with Hades for six months of the year, spending the rest with her mother. The months she spent with her mother (spring and summer) meant crops flourished and the earth was full of life, and her time spent in the Underworld (autumn and winter) meant the earth was cold and lifeless. People would offer pomegranates to Demeter in prayer for fertile land.
It's a quiet morning and, naturally, everyone is on edge. Quiet doesn't come by so often anymore. Quiet usually means a storm is on its way, or a band of Croats. Dean's jaw is wired tighter than usual, his constantly furrowed brow is dipped lower than ever. He marches around camp with his fingers on the hilt of his gun, barking orders at anyone and everyone, including the children.
Cas sits on the porch of his cabin and flicks his thumb across his lighter, watching the flame dance for a second before disappearing. He wishes he could use his lighter to actually light something, but he's out of anything good to smoke, including cigarettes. He's contemplating a risky run alone into town for them but he knows Dean would beat his ass if he tried.
His hands are getting restless, there's a tight and impatient feeling sitting in his gut and he wonders if he's desperate enough to steal from their medical supply again. He sits on that thought for a moment, brushing the pad of his index finger over the soft, flickering flame of his lighter.
"You just gonna sit there while the rest of us keep this place running?" Dean barks. He's standing at the bottom of the steps to Cas' cabin, looking less than pleased, with a machete in his hand. Anyone else in the camp would be scared out of their panties, Cas just laughs at him.
"That was the plan," he says.
Dean's mouth twitches and Cas knows he's trying not to smile. Dean trudges up the steps and hands over the machete, handle first.
"We need more fire wood," he says. It's an order, plain and simple. Even Cas can't say no.
"As you wish, fearless leader," he answers with a small bow. He takes the blade and shoves his lighter back in his pocket. Dean turns to leave but Cas catches his shoulder. He's as surprised as Dean is. The two of them don't talk very often anymore, Dean's too busy keeping everyone alive and Cas is too busy feeling like shit.
"Yeah?" Dean says.
"Uh." Cas quickly lets go. "If you're making a supply run any time soon and see a pack of cigarettes…"
Dean nods. "Sure. Why not? Only if I see any."
And then he's gone, marching across camp to yell at someone else. Cas takes the steps one at a time, swinging the blade in his hand. He feels queasy, but that's nothing new, and his head aches, eyes burning in the sunlight. Once, thousands of years ago, he visited the sun. Basked in the beauty of it, listened to its stories, felt the comforting warmth of it. Now, with his human soul, it hurts his eyes and burns his skin. He sweats, dampness sticking his hair to his forehead. He reaches up and tugs on a dark strand. He needs a haircut.
There's a wire fence running along the perimeter of the camp with a few men and women guarding it at all hours, even in the blistering heat or the pouring rain - not that there's been much rain in a long while since the sun seems to have made it her personal mission to dry them all out.
Ever since Lucifer fizzled out of existence and the demons went bat-shit, Dean decided they were all moving south for the winter. Blistering heat and dried up riverbeds have to be better than freezing to death in the north, that's what Cas keeps telling himself. Judging by the sleepless look in Dean's eyes, he's questioning his choice.
Cas grabs a wheelbarrow from beside the pig pen. The animals are all slumped on their sides in the shade, huffing into the dirt and stinking up the place. Cas watches them swat at flies with their curled tails for a moment before he hauls the cart up and pushes it towards the gate.
"Dean wants fire wood," Cas says. It's the password. 'Dean says…' and you get whatever you want. Cas doesn't know the name of the kid at the gate but he's seen him around plenty of times. He used to be a wiry little thing, all elbows and knees, but he's sprouted up over the past few months and Dean has promoted him from dinner duty to guard duty - meanwhile, Cas has been demoted to collecting firewood. The kid wears his pride like a badge, standing up straight with his chest puffed out, an easy smile on his face as he lets Cas by. He reminds Cas a little of Dean from a long time ago.
It's nice getting out of the camp, away from everyone. People still bother Cas, even confuse him sometimes, being one of them now doesn't change that. Here in the forest, things make more sense. He's seen great oaks like this grow from seed to what they are now, he knew their language, he's felt the life of them pulsing vibrant and green into the earth. Now, the forest is quiet. He hears nothing. The ground is hard and dry, dust kicks up in his wake. The highest reach of the trees is bare, leaves curling up and dropping down to die ahead of their time. High above, birds soar northward.
There are times he wishes he could shed this human skin. He misses his wings. He misses the freedom of flight. Being stuck on two legs is like being chained in place.
He finds the fallen trunk of a small tree after about a half an hour of wandering, it's dried out and bare, never had a chance to grow high enough or dig its roots deep enough. He pulls out the machete and gets to work hacking away at the branches. By the time he's done, his hands are blistered and the wheelbarrow is half full. Dean is probably expecting him to fill it. What's left of this tree trunk is too thick for him to break on his own with his trembling hands, and Cas keeps moving deeper into the trees. It's darker here where the sun can't reach, a blessed relief from the constant heat.
He wanders off the trail a bit, and the wheelbarrow shudders along over the roots of trees that have webbed out across the forest floor. He finds another fallen tree and hacks away at the branches, filling the wheelbarrow to the brim. He gets to his feet, joints clicking, and glances around. He's not familiar with this part of the forest, and he wonders if he's gotten himself lost. He doesn't remember how long he'd been walking, or why he came in this direction. There's something niggling at the back of his mind, like there's something he should be noticing but isn't.
A sound cuts through the trees and Cas freezes. He grips the machete tighter and listens. Someone is laughing. He follows the sound, the wheelbarrow left behind. He recognises the laugh, one he hasn't heard in a long time and one he didn't think he'd hear again. He finds Sam on his knees, up to his elbows in dirt.
Sam looks up and sees Cas, smiling like he'd expected him to be there, the bandage over his left eye crinkles as his face shifts with another joyous laugh. He points enthusiastically into a small cluster of rocks and Cas joins him on the ground. There's a little green sapling, bright and healthy, sprouting up from the parched soil.
"Would you look at that," Cas mutters, glancing around. He breaks into a grin. "Must mean there's water somewhere near here. Good job."
Sam ducks his head and wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, still smiling. Cas hasn't seen Sam smile in years, the last time must have been well before he said yes to Lucifer. It's a wonderful thing to see. He pats Sam on the shoulder.
"This could mean something. We should tell Dean."
Sam's smile drops and he looks away, the tips of his fingers reaching up to touch the bandage over his eye. He stops himself before he can get dirt all over the fabric.
Mentioning Dean to Sam is almost as difficult as mentioning Sam to Dean. The two of them mostly ignore each other - well, Dean ignores Sam and Sam just doesn't speak much anyway. He keeps to himself, would probably disappear altogether if he could, if Cas and some of the others would let him. Cas thinks Dean wouldn't mind if Sam disappeared, and that's probably the most tragic thing to happen since the world ended.
"I've got some firewood I need to take back to camp," Cas changes the subject. "You coming?"
Sam doesn't answer, but he gets to his feet when Cas does and he trails after him like a lost puppy back the way he came. The wheelbarrow is still sitting where he left it, Cas hefts the weight and steers it unsteadily, retracing its tracks in the dry forest floor.
"How did you get out here, anyway?" Cas asks. "You sweettalk the kid on watch into letting you through?"
Sam smiles as if to say ha ha very funny.
Cas sighs. "You can't wander off on your own, Sam. You know that."
Sam's lips pinch together, throat working. "Not a ch-child," he mumbles. Sam, ever since he was rid of Lucifer, has only managed to utter a few words each day. It takes him some effort to get them out. He's a slow talker when he does, in fact, talk. Sam, who used to recite Latin backwards, now slurs and stutters and mixes his words up. Five years stuffed inside an archangel will do that to a person. But he's on his feet and, honestly, Sam is lucky things aren't worse than they are.
"I know you're not a child," Cas says. "But it's dangerous out here. You can't wander around without a weapon, at least."
Sam doesn't say anything. Of course.
"Look. Next time you want to get out of camp, talk to me first."
Cas stops. No sound of footsteps crunching the forest floor. There's a feeling like static across his skin and his stomach drops even before he even turns around.
"Oh, fuck."
Sam is a couple of meters behind, sprawled out on the ground, limbs twitching like he's being electrocuted. Cas dumps the wheelbarrow and dashes back. Sam's elbow whacks painfully against a thick tree root, a sharp crack resounds through the forest. There isn't much Cas can do to move him, so he shucks his jackets and balls it up, using it to pillow Sam's head.
"This is why you can't go anywhere on your own," Cas grunts, pinning Sam's flailing arm to his side to keep it from hitting the hard edge of the root again. Sam's mouth is wide open, neck muscles straining, then his teeth suddenly clench together with a spray of spittle. The saliva that runs down the corner of his mouth is tinged pink.
"Are you done yet?" Cas asks. Sam continues to seize.
A minute or so later the jerking turns to twitching and it slowly lessens until Sam is limper than a dead fish. His good eye is half open and glazed over, the bandage on his other eye has jostled out of place and Cas can see scarring etching out from underneath. Because he's curious, and an asshole, Cas peels the patch back and stares at the hole in Sam's face.
He wasn't there when it happened, but he did arrive in time for the aftermath. Dean had been breathing so hard Cas thought he might pass out, and on the ground at his feet was Sam, all dressed in white, a gaping wound where his left eye used to be, tunnelling straight to the back of his head. He was dead, then he wasn't.
Cas has an inkling who's responsible. His father has never been there, not when Lucifer was freed, not when the end of the world began, but he was happy to resurrect Sam Winchester. Apparently, the poor fuck hadn't suffered enough. Cas thinks things might have been easier for Sam if he had just died. He'd deserved to finally rest after everything, but God had other plans.
Sam is still breathing when the seizure is over and Cas sags with relief. He pulls the bandage back over the empty socket and watches Sam's good eye blink its way open, slow and lazy.
Cas pats his cheek. "Are you going to get on your feet, Sam?"
Sam closes his eye again, which might mean no thanks I'd rather sleep here. Well, tough. Cas jostles him, probably a little rougher than necessary, but it rouses Sam enough to get him sitting up. Sam tries to get his feet under him, but his legs are boneless and he falls back on his ass, trying his best to keep his eye open.
The wheelbarrow is still sitting where Cas left it. He tips all the chopped wood out onto the forest floor and steers it back around to Sam.
"Come on," Cas grunts, pulling Sam up by his underarms. Sam's knees shake and strain, but together they manage to get him in the wheelbarrow. Sam is skin and bones, but he still weighs a ton, and his damn endless legs make sure his feet scrape the ground.
Sam is out again, good eye shut and showing no signs of opening again, head flopped back and jostling with every bump along the forest floor. Cas drags him backwards all the way back to camp. Once he's inside the gate he hopes he can get Sam to the med cabin without Dean noticing, but not much slips under Dean's radar around here.
"What the hell happened?" he barks, striding over from where he and Risa were arguing by the chicken coop.
Cas pauses and sets the wheelbarrow down. Sam doesn't even stir. Dean stops about a foot away from them and stares at Sam, Cas thinks he might see something akin to concern on his face but it's quickly replaces with the furrowing of his brow.
"He had a fit," Cas says, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his sleeve. His back is sore and his feet feel like they're going to fall off. He's been human for a while now, but he's still not used to aches and pains.
"What happened to collecting wood?" Dean asks. He's not looking at Sam anymore, is deliberately trying not to.
Cas shrugs. "Dumped it so I could get Sam back here," he says. Dean's jaw clenches so Cas quickly adds, "I'll go back and get it later."
"You'd better," Dean warns, voice hard enough to scare anyone who isn't Cas. Cas gives him a quick salute and takes the handles of the cart again, steering Sam down to the med cabin. Dean trails along beside him but makes no move to help. By the time the reach the cabin, and the stairs leading up to it, Dean has no choice to lend a hand.
Annie, a girl who was once a trainee veterinarian, occupies the cabin. She's sitting with her feet up and clipping her nails when they enter. She gives a double take, the sight of the three of them has her bouncing to her feet. She ushers them behind a curtain where there's a cot sitting empty. The three of them settle Sam onto it and Annie gets to work.
"Smacked his elbow?" she asks, examining the array of bruises that are already blooming there.
"Hard," Cas says. "Heard a crack."
"Hm," Annie sits back and taps her chin thoughtfully. Dean is quiet, and when Cas turns around he isn't there anymore. He doesn't have to go far, finds him brooding on the porch. He decides it's wise not to prod at an angry snake - or a pissed off Dean - and paces around the cabin instead. He can hear Annie's puzzled ums and ahs on behind the curtain.
The medicine cabinet is open. There's not much - they'll need to make a run soon - but he can see an orange bottle with morphine printed on the front. He's holding it, next thing he knows, pushing down and twisting the cap.
"Don't," Dean says quietly, hand clapping down on his shoulder.
Reluctantly, Cas puts it back. "Only one," he grumbles. "Just one, then I'm done."
"Spoken like a true junkie."
Cas turns around, shaking Dean's hand off his shoulder. "You smell of alcohol."
Dean smiles grimly. "It's been a weird day."
"Oh, did you also carry someone through the woods in a wheelbarrow?" Cas asks, eyebrow raised. Dean's smile brightens and he even musters a laugh. Two Winchesters laughing in one day. Odd.
"No, nothing like that," Dean says. He scratches the back of his head and clears his throat. "Risa's pregnant."
Cas blinks at him. "Risa's pregnant?"
Dean grabs his shoulder and pulls him onto the porch. More than likely, Annie didn't hear. She's probably the most oblivious person Cas has ever met in thousands of years of existence.
"She told me this morning," Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.
"Fuck, Dean," Cas sighs. "This is the dumbest thing you've ever done."
"Not like I did it on purpose," Dean snaps, defensive. He's staring at Cas like he used to, back when Cas had the juice to actually make a difference. Cas can't do anything, he's about as useful as a lightbulb without electricity. He can't keep Dean and Risa's baby safe.
Dean still looks panicked so Cas tries to come up with something that might sound comforting.
"Babies are… cute. And the human population is low so you're are contributing saving the species."
Dean glares at him. "This kid doesn't stand a chance in this crap-hole of a world. You seriously think anyone should be raising a baby? Especially me. I'm not cut out to be a dad."
"I don't think that's true," Cas says honestly. "If anyone could protect this child, it's you. And Risa, that woman's a force to be reckoned with."
Dean snorts. "Sure. Thanks for the help," he says, not sounding all that grateful.
He turns away and marches down the steps, heading across camp where Risa is waiting for him with her arms folded over her chest. Cas can hear shouting in the next moment and decides to head back inside.
"No broken bones," Annie tells him, "but I did bandage his elbow anyway. And I cleaned some scrapes here and there. He bit his tongue, it's nasty but it'll heal. He'll sleep for a while, and he'll be sore when he wakes up, but he'll be okay."
"Thanks," Cas says. Annie goes back to whatever it was she was doing earlier and Cas slips behind the curtain. He plonks into the wooden chair by the bed. His hands are shaking and the one thing that will make it stop, he can't have. No one told him how much it hurt to be human, even just the little things. He'll have to find where Dean stashes his liquor.
A couple of hours later, Sam finally stirs. He spends a good few minutes staring at nothing, still blank-eyed and pale, then his eye focuses and finds its way to Cas, brow furrowing in a question.
"Another fit," Cas answers. "I had to haul your gigantic ass all the way back in the wheelbarrow. Left all the firewood behind. Remember I was saying you can't go wandering off on your own?"
Sam looks away, fingers clenching and unclenching the blanket draped over him. His eye is wet and he swallows, trying to keep any tears from falling. Another side-effect of archangel possession and having a knife shoved through his face; Sam gets emotional. He cries a lot about all sorts of things, big and small. Guilt, one of Cas' least favourite feelings, is worming its way into his gut and making him feel queasy.
"Sorry," he says, and Sam finally looks at him again. "I wasn't - I'm not mad at you. I'm worried, okay? Don't wander off on your own like that."
Sam smiles, throat working. "You. T-talk like Dean uuused t-to," he says.
"Guess I picked up some habits from him," Cas says, shrugging. His hands shake a little harder and he pins them between his thighs. Sam watches.
"Can I ask you something?" Cas says. "Addict to addict."
Sam frowns. It's unsure if he'll have a good answer. His memory is patchy at best.
"Do you ever stop wanting it? Does it ever go away?"
Sam looks up, pins him with a red-rimmed eye for a moment. Cas thinks maybe Sam understood, that he remembered his past enough to know what Cas is talking about, but then Sam bursts into tears. He pushes a couple of his fingers into his mouth and probes at his tongue.
"Hurts," he complains, voice muffled by his hand.
Cas sighs. It's difficult to tell with Sam how much he remembers or how well he processes things. Sometimes, like earlier in the forest, he seems a lot like the Sam he was before. And there are times like now, when Sam is barely there, his brain struggling to keep up. It could be the aftereffects of the seizure muddling his mind. Maybe. Cas gently takes Sam's wrist and pulls his hand from his mouth. His fingers are wet and sticky with saliva, and Cas wipes them off on the blanket.
"I know it hurts, but poking at it won't help," he says. "It'll heal, and this time next week you probably won't remember biting your tongue at all."
Sam sniffs and rubs at his wet nose with the back of his hand. The tears are still falling, breaths hitching, but the way his eye drifts aimlessly around the room says that he isn't entirely sure why he's crying. Cas stays with him until he's asleep again.
The sun has set when he leaves the med cabin. The sky is bright with stars, a smattering of dust shining across the black. The camp is difficult to navigate in the dark, but he can see one fire burning a few yards away, it's a small one without the wood Cas left behind. He hears the soft murmur of people chatting, the clink of cups and plates as they feast on something that is probably too little.
He finds Dean sitting on the porch of his cabin, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in hand. Without a word, he pours the liquor and hands a glass over to Cas.
"Where's Risa?" Cas asks.
The corner of Dean's mouth curls up unpleasantly. "She doesn't want to see me right now."
"Ah," Cas says, taking a seat beside Dean on the step. He sips at the whiskey, the first drop down his throat is a relief. "I was thinking about raiding your cabin for this," he admits.
Dean snorts. "Well, as long as you are stealing medicine."
They sit for a long moment, just drinking, before Cas speaks again. "Sam's going to be fine. He's a little hurt, but it's nothing bad."
Dean doesn't say anything.
"You need to forgive him," says Cas.
"I don't need to do anything."
"He needs you. He misses you."
"I can't, Cas," Dean sighs. "At least not right now."
"Why? Is it because he said yes? Is it because he's different now? What is it?"
"Cas," Dean snaps. The conversation is over. Cas gets to his feet, glass in hand, and heads inside for the night, leaving Dean to his thoughts on the front porch.
Part 2