“My Dreams Under Your Feet” - Part Two
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: “My Dreams Under Your Feet”
Part two of the story only!
Pairing: Mention of past Sam/Ruby. Mention of/implication that Lucifer is attempting to “woo” Sam. Can most easily be read as preslash Dean/Castiel.
Rating: Uhm, probably a borderline PG-13-ish, maybe (?)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Supernatural, more’s the pity (seeing as how they belong to Kripke and to the show’s writers)! What I do have is an extremely contrary muse that refuses to shut up and leave me alone . . .
Summary: Just when Sam Winchester thinks he’s finally getting used to having an angel of the Lord visiting in his dreams, he finds himself actually sharing a room with the angel while he’s carrying on a conversation with Sam’s brother . . . and if that weren’t strange and awkward enough, there’s also the fact that Dean seems to think they can just go back to being like they were, before Lucifer’s rising (even though that obviously didn’t work for them. Hence, the freakin’ Apocalypse!), and that he still doesn’t trust Sam to even know what’s best for him . . .
Warning: Apparently, I am writing an on-going series of linked stories, (mostly) in response to the individual episodes of season five. This particular story is meant to function both as a kind of sequel to the previous four stories I’ve written for Supernatural, “What Dreams May Come,” “Unless First We Dream,” “Dreams Are Free,” and “Dreams Shall Never Die,” and as a sort of continuation of and between-the-scenes addition to season five’s fifth episode, “Fallen Idol.” Given how this seems to be working out so far, while some specifics this story will likely be Jossed as soon as next Thursday and the sixth episode (“I Believe the Children Are Our Future”) roll around, the series itself will adapt and continue with a response to that episode. I have no idea how long this series will last, at the moment, but I’m getting the feeling it may run the entire length of the season, if not longer!
Author’s Notes: Please see the notes posted with the first half of the story!
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“My Dreams Under Your Feet”
That startles Sam, and he’s pushed himself over and struggled up onto his elbows, a protest on his lips, before it occurs to him to worry that Castiel may not have actually been using his angel-mojo to send Dean into a warded deep sleep. By the time he’s finished blinking the tiredness out of his eyes, Castiel’s already standing next to his bed, doing that trick where he somehow manages to loom, even though his human form isn’t really all that tall for a guy (especially when compared to Sam). “Wha’ - ?”
A faint line appears in the angel’s forehead, but his voice is less foreboding than it is chiding when he speaks. “I have been told it isn’t polite to listen to others’ conversations, Sam.”
Sam half shrugs and half scowls, eyes falling to the tangle of sheets around his waist. “I was worried. He was in there a long time. I wasn’t expecting you to be here. And, well . . . ” Sam sighs, scrubs a hand through messy damp hair, and then awkwardly adds, “I worry about you and him. I wanted to make sure you were both going to be alright, given the topic of conversation.”
Castiel’s face softens, that almost curve of a smile returning. “I believe the conversation went well - far better than I had dared to hope it would. Do you not agree?”
Sam gives him a little lopsided smile in response, even though his head still hurts (and he feels more than a little bewildered) from the whole darn conversation, and agrees, “Yeah. It went well. Really well. I’m proud of you. You did good. You got him to believe you and more.”
Castiel doesn’t smile, but his eyes crinkle as though he were grinning, and he looks so delighted that Sam finds his own smile automatically widening a little in response. “I am quite pleased. I did not think he would agree to even contemplate learning the symbols. Knowing that there is a cure to the demonic virus must have lifted his spirits immensely. I am glad to have been able to do that, for him.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad that there’s a cure for that, too. That plague? That’s some nasty shit, Cas. Zachariah’s even more of a sadist then I thought, putting something like that into whatever the hell it was he did to Dean. I really think I’m going to have to hurt him, for that.”
Castiel’s bright face dims slightly, eyes hardening, but his voice is still surprisingly light when he says, “I am glad that you are glad and sorry that I must agree with you on the subject of my unworthy brother, who has become as a rabid dog with his obsession with war. It grieves me that he has fallen so far and taken so many with him. But all is not yet lost. There is still time to save some of my brethren and to return the Hosts of Heaven to the side of righteousness. There is still time to save the Earth and to stop the Apocalypse, stop Lucifer. You must believe that, Sam. There is still time. There is still hope. We will find God, and we will find another way to defeat Lucifer. I have faith that we will.”
Sam’s heart twists a little, because after the whole thing with Lucifer showing up in his dreams and impersonating Jessica? Yeah, he’s not so sure that he has the same unwavering faith in the idea that there’s a way out of this (painfully literally) damned mess anymore, even though he desperately wants to, even though he’s steeled himself to embracing the task of defeating Lucifer, even though he is painfully aware that he has promised Castiel that they will succeed at this task and is more than willing to give anything (everything) to ensure that this promise will be kept and sometimes believes that if he can just hold on long enough and do something right for a change and help Dean and Castiel figure out that they’ve, well, pretty much mostly already become Dean-and-Castiel for a reason that they’ll actually manage to pull it off and win this thing. So his smile slips and twists a little bit out of true, even though he can practically feel the waves of faith and hope and that muted but powerful semi-subliminal and semi-tangible love-love-love-love-love pouring out of Castiel, washing up against him like waves against a beach (or a particularly stubborn boulder in the way of the beach, maybe). “We’ll fight until our last breaths and beyond, if we have to, to stop Lucifer,” he acknowledges. “We will, Cas. We’ll fight until we win, ’cause no one else is gonna.”
The angel’s blue eyes soften, sadness creeping in around the corners of them. “You are a good man, Sam. A righteous man. Much like your brother. Please, hold tight to hope.”
“I’m trying. I promise I am. I won’t let go.”
“Good.” Castiel gives him one of those small slivers of smiles - the ones that make him go slightly wonky and soft and floaty and good around the edges, that make him feel like the world really is a good place and angels are imbued with the divine and everything is going to be alright because God has to still be out there somewhere if He’s smiling on Dean like this, by giving him a treasure as precious and as bright and beautiful and strong and good and full of grace (and Grace, what it means to truly be an angel, what all angels should hope to be like) as Cas - and inclines his head, almost as if in prayer. “That is good, little brother. I am heartened to hear that. I would hear more, but you need your rest. You should sleep while you can. This . . . is not going to be easy for you. Or Dean.”
Sam’s lips quirk as he thinks to himself, Understatement of the year, that. Possibly the decade. Maybe even the century. “I know. But we’ll do it. Like Dean said, we’ll fix this. One way or another. Eventually. But yeah, you’re right. Sleep would be good. Can you - ?”
“Yes.”
It takes him a few beats to place the quality in Castiel’s voice for what it is: compassion. Part of him - the part of him that’s entirely too much like his father, and his brother - wants to kick up a fuss and spit in the face of such kindness. The rest of him just relaxes back against the bed, relief flooding his body as part of that feeling of crushing foreboding and threatening hopelessness and the seemingly ever-present threat of despair lighten, lift away, dissipate under the brightness that is the angel. His eyes are wet and shining and he knows Dean would laugh and call him a girl, but he just can’t find it in him to care, anymore, as he whispers, “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, little brother.” Castiel steps a little closer, hand extended, two fingers raised in a familiar sign of approaching benediction. “Sleep, Sam. Sleep deeply, sleep safely, and without dreams.”
He has an instant, when fingertips brush with aching gentleness against his forehead, to think of his brother - to think of when he was still young enough for Dean to tuck him into bed every night, small hands comforting and warm and reassuring as he folded covers and blankets around his little brother and silently professed devotion and love with every motion, even while his mouth spoke only of sleeping and pleasant dreams - before, smiling, he slides down into the waiting darkness.
He is neither relaxed nor smiling nor reassured when next he sees Castiel, though.
He is dreaming; he is wound so tightly that his whole body aches with it, muscles all vibrating with tension (like a crossbow with the tension cranked far too high, pulled so tight that any motion threatens breaking); he is desperate with fear and sick with frustrated fury and all but choking on the ashen taste of disappointment; and he could gladly, gladly beat an enemy to death - preferably Zachariah, though he’d take just about anyone (and would really, really take his time if someone would bring Ruby back for a more . . . suitable death) - with his bare hands.
The motel room is familiar but not quite right for the place he and his brother are actually staying. He paces in the small space between and around the two rumpled beds with undisguised agitation, hands alternating between clenching tightly at his sides, pummeling the one into the other, and scrubbing up across his face and back through his hair. He’s so distracted - so upset - that he’s not even aware of the fact that he’s waiting for someone to show until he hears the voice, quietly saying, “Sam. Is it anything I can help with?”
He whirls to see the angel - familiar messy windswept hair and loosely knotted, slightly crooked tie, compact body made to seem somehow bigger through a combination of sheer power and rumpled trench coat - for once not standing behind him but instead sitting on the foot of the second bed, the one nearest the door, the one Dean always takes (unless Sam insists otherwise for some reason), so he can put himself between Sam and anything or anyone who might try to come through that door.
The laugh that burbles up from within him at the offer is so bitter he nearly chokes on it, and it has a ragged, jagged edge as it overflows from his mouth out into the room. Desultorily - though his voice is soon rising with frustrated anger - he replies, “I don’t know, Cas. I don’t know that anyone can help. I don’t know what fuck I’m supposed to do. Why am I even here? He obviously doesn’t want me here! Nothing’s changed! He still treats me like an idiot child - like I’m some kid too young to know any better about anything and too much of a moron to be trusted to make any decisions! And he obviously doesn’t trust me as far as he could throw me! He won’t talk to me about anything! How the fuck am I supposed to warn him about Lucifer or talk to him about that prick Zachariah or anything when he refuses to talk to me? Half the time it’s like he’s pretending none of this crap has even happened, and half the time he’s off talking to Bobby behind my back about how unstable and untrustworthy I am!”
“Sam - ”
“I don’t know what to do! We’re out here chasing about freakin’ ghosts when it’s the End of freakin’ Days? What the hell, Cas? Is he that scared of me? Is he that worried I’m gonna freak out and start hunting up demons to drain of their blood? What the fuck? Why did he even tell me to come, if he’s not even willing to try? I want to fix this, but - ”
“Sam. Please. I know you are upset, but - ”
“Upset? Upset! For God’s sake, Cas, he has us out here hunting a goddamned ghost that might not even be real while Lucifer’s out there doing God only know what and - !”
“Samuel. You cannot imagine that this is easy for Dean. He is trying, very hard, to do the right thing for the both of you, as well as the right thing for this world. Please try to keep in mind that the vision Zachariah showed Dean very likely was of a future where you had consented to becoming Lucifer’s vessel, half the world or more was ravaged by the demonic plague created by Croatoan, Dean had resorted to torture to get answers from the captured possessed, and I was no longer myself. You and agreed previously that this is most likely to be what happened. Think, for a moment, on what that would mean, to your brother. And think too, if you will, on what he has suffered, since being returned to Earth.”
Castiel’s voice is hard - harder than he can ever remember it being, even in the hospital with Bobby, when he spoke so furiously of all that he had given and lost and done, for Dean, only to have Dean fail to stop Sam from breaking that final Seal and letting Lucifer out - but Sam’s a little bit too angry to heed the warning. He tries to protest, angrily insisting, “He’s not the only one who’s suffered because of this! I - ”
The angel is off the bed and standing in front of him between one heartbeat and the next, his hands rigidly jammed into his pockets (as though hiding them, thus, is the only way to keep himself from reaching out and hurting Sam), glaring up at him with an expression so affronted and disappointed and blatantly protective of his brother that Sam flinches backwards and nearly swallows his own tongue, in his haste to shut up and backpedal from what he’s been saying.
“You suffered, yes, but whatever you have been through, Sam, it is nothing compared to what your brother has been through. Dean surrendered his soul to Hell, to save your life, and returned, after spending decades in one of the lowest levels of Perdition, to find that you had broken your promise to no longer using your powers and were traveling the country with that demon, Ruby. Ruby turned you, Sam, and you let her. You had good intentions, yes, I know, but the fact remains that you turned your back on your brother - you injured Bobby Singer, in order to escape, and then you injured your brother, too, when he came after you - and chose to go with her, with a demon, instead of trusting your family to help you. You broke the last Seal necessary to release Lucifer from his prison, when you used your powers to kill Lilith, and then you pulled away and left your brother again, when events conspired to show you how vulnerable you might still be to the potential for evil within you. In the face of so many mistakes, can you truly blame him, for having difficulty trusting you and your stability, your reliability? Can you even truly blame him, for resorting to picturing you as the little brother he must protect at all costs, as you are still too young and inexperienced to be able to do so properly yourself, so that he can work with you again?”
Quietly (feeling a little kid being torn a new one by his dad for something he more than deserves to be reamed out for, for once), he admits, “No. No, I can’t. But Cas, I need him to - ”
“He is trying, Sam,” Castiel only insists, some of the disappointment and anger leaving his eyes, but the protectiveness still blazing as bright as watchfires against the night. “If you want him to be able to see you in some other way and still trust you enough to work with you, then you must be the one to give him a reason to do so. Dean has taken care of you for essentially his whole life, Sam. Your father trusted him to be the one to take care of you, and he has grown thinking of himself primarily as your protector and caregiver. It is . . . difficult for him to think of you as his equal, rather than as someone he should be taking care of, when you have given him so little reason, of late, to consider as an equal in this battle. If you need for him to do so - and Sam, I do understand why you need that. I think it would be best for you both, if Dean could stop thinking of you so much as his little brother, to be protected at all costs, and if you could stop thinking of Dean so much as your big brother, to be vied with and measured against, as if your father were still here and had a right to pass judgment on the worth and worthiness of you both, and if you could both start to see each other more as adults and allies working together to stop the Apocalypse and send Lucifer back to his prison - then you need to tell him so and give him reason to accommodate your wish.”
Less stridently, Sam attempts to point out, “But he’s so stubborn about - !”
Castiel sighs, quietly, shoulders relaxing almost to the point of slumping, as he gently interrupts. “Sam. I do not believe you understand how difficult it would be for him to see you as an adult, even if the events of the past few years had not transpired as they have. He is the one who essentially raised you. From the moment he carried you out of that burning house, you have been his responsibility, and he has never truly relinquished that. He is as much parent as he is brother, whether you realize it or not. You must take that into consideration, before you judge him for his behavior towards you.”
“I’m twenty-six, not a six-year-old! He’s only four years older than I am!”
Castiel shakes his head. “That does not matter. He is older. You were a baby, when your mother was killed. He is the one who has, by and large, taken care of you, since then. And he still takes care of you. You have permitted him to do so for so long - including most of the five years that have passed since you rejoined him on the hunt, since Azazel killed Jessica Moore - that he does not understand why you seem to resent him so for attempting to do the same, now. You must tell him that you are only striving to be his equal so that you can be of the most possible help during this battle, so that you can be an independent adult worthy of being his ally, or he will not understand that you are not simply trying to leave him again. You know, surely, that your brother has abandonment issues,” he adds, the inflection of his voice making it not so much question as a pointed reminder, eyes narrowed as though to warn Sam not to be foolish.
Sam immediately deflates, anger leaving him in a rush and shame flooding back in to replace it. “I know. That’s - a lot of that’s my fault. I wasn’t thinking of him, when I left for Stanford. I just - I wanted so much to get out of the life, to have a chance at a normal life, and the school was offering me a way out on a silver platter, and I - I - I was selfish,” he admits, voice cracking. “I shouldn’t’ve done it. I shouldn’t’ve left him there alone with Dad. I should’ve known better. You can’t stop being who you are, just because you’re angry at your family and fate for not giving you more of a choice. Bad things happen and it’s nobody’s fault but the evil things that cause them. Dad did the best he knew how to do. And I can’t - I don’t dare fault him for what he did. Hell, I did pretty much the same thing, after Azazel killed Jess. It’d be disingenuous of me to say he’s a monster, for having done that to us when we were too small to make the decision for ourselves, when I know I would’ve done the same thing, in his place.”
“So you understand?” Castiel asks, voice gentling some, gaining a note of hopefulness.
“I - yeah. I get it. I’ll - I’ll figure out a way to talk to him about it. Even if I have to just blurt it all out and keep repeating myself until he has to listen to me.”
“Good. That is very good, Sam. Thank you for understanding,” Castiel tells him, voice fervent with gratitude and relief.
Sam shrugs, scratching his head so he won’t have to look at those too big blue eyes, and mutters, “Least I can do. You’re right, you know. I don’t know what Hell’s like. And I don’t want to know, either. And I’m pretty sure that I only still have that option because of Dean.”
“Sam, you are a - ”
“ - good man, yeah, I know you think that. But right now I’m afraid I’m kinda stuck on the selfish idiot who’s trying to be good but still fails a lotend of the spectrum,” Sam interrupts to explain, lips thinning as he swallows back another bitter laugh.
“You are also trying. That says more of the nature and strength and basic goodness of your character than anything else. Others would not bother to try. Others would have given in at the first sign of pressure or danger. Others would have chosen to run, after what happened to Jessica, and to hide themselves away and pretend as though nothing paranormal or at all out of the ordinary were happening. Others would have given in to Lucifer without even making him try to win consent, first. You are a good man, Samuel Winchester. Believe that, if you believe nothing else. So long as you hold to that and to hope and to your family, it should be enough to see you through the struggles to come,” Castiel promises, voice achingly gentle now.
Sam’s instinct is to lash out, push away, insist that he’s not good and that he doesn’t deserve Castiel’s compassion or forgiveness or understanding, but the angel’s eyes are so big and pleading and earnest that he can’t make himself do or say anything that might bring pain to those eyes. “I - alright. I’ll - I’ll try, Cas. I’ll try, and I’ll do the best I can. I promise I will.”
The angel shocks him by reaching up to pat his shoulder reassuringly, the gesture obviously mimicked from Dean’s earlier action with him. “It is enough. It is more than enough. Have faith. You will see.”
“I’m trying,” he repeats, not bothering to hide his plaintiveness.
The hand on his shoulder tightens the barest bit, at that, the heat of Castiel’s hand seeping through his layers of shirts to spread down into his skin and out through his body, almost as if he were being held in a warm embrace. “I know you are. As does your brother. Talk to him, Sam. It will make things far easier for you both.”
“Alright. I will. I promise. Just - you’ll come again, if it goes wrong, won’t you?”
“I will come. I will always come, Sam. My place is at your brother’s side, and I will do everything in my power to remain there for as long as I am able,” Cas immediately promises.
“Okay. I believe you. I’ll - I’ll do my best,” Sam promises in turn. “And I’ll try to get him to talk to me about whatever made him call me and tell me to come back. I know you talked a little about what Zachariah did, but it’ snot enough. There’s more he needs to talk about, if he’s not going to brood over it endlessly. And I know he promised to ask about the sigils and such. If we’re really talking again, maybe he’ll finally get around to bringing it up. Alright?”
“That would be good. You are still warding your sleep, aren’t you?” Castiel asks, concerned, head tilting sideways to allow him to peer upwards at Sam a little bit more closely.
Sam nods. “Yes. He doesn’t seem to’ve noticed, yet. I’ll bring that up, too, so you won’t have to do it for him every time he goes to sleep, okay?”
“I would appreciate that. It will be safer for you both, if you needn’t rely on me for such safety. The leads I am pursuing are . . . complex,” Castiel explains a little hesitantly.
“’S cool. Better safe than sorry. If the talk goes well, I’ll see about bringing that up, too. I doubt he’ll protest. It freaked the ever-living crap out of him, the first couple times you did the whole walking into his dreams thing. I didn’t know what was going on, at the time, but later, when I found out, in retrospect it was pretty obvious that the idea of somebody being able to do that really bothered him. He’ll probably do it, just so he won’t have to worry about anyone else showing up unexpectedly,” Sam replies reassuringly, giving the angel a small smile.
“That would be best,” is Castiel’s relieved response. “His sleep patterns are so irregular, at times, that I worry I will miss one of his naps and one of my brothers will find him, then.”
“Won’t happen. I’ll see to it. Trust me, okay?”
“I do trust you, Sam. I know you will do everything in your power to protect Dean.”
Sam shrugs, looking away again. “He’s my brother,” he gruffly points out.
“And you care for him a great deal, as he does for you. I know. But it is not always that way, with families. I am glad that it is so, with the two of you.”
Sam blinks at him, startled and incredulous. “Even though he - ?”
Flatly, Castiel insists, “Yes. Love is God’s greatest gift to us. It gladdens me that the bond you share with your brother is so strong. He has you to lean on, in these trying times.”
“He has you too, Cas,” Sam points out, voice gentling, surprised (and amused) when the angel looks down and away (much as Sam’s been doing), as though embarrassed.
The angel’s voice trembles just ever so slightly (reminding Sam just how powerful and how deep Castiel’s emotions seem to run, when his brother is concerned) as he admits, “I am glad that you believe so. I wish to be of service to him. I am trying to help as much as I can.”
“You’re doing a good job, Cas. We wouldn’t’ve made it this far, without you.”
If Castiel were a human, Sam’s certain he would’ve blushed. “It gladdens my heart to be of service to you both. I will do all that I can. If you will do so, as well, then together I believe we can help your brother see this through to the end.”
Sam nods. “I know you do. And I’m glad of that. I promise I won’t stop trying. Just don’t you give up either, okay? No matter what happens, Cas. You keep searching for God until you find Him. And we’ll do everything we can to help you. Alright?”
“That is more than alright. It is, quite possibly, a small miracle. Thank you, Sam.”
Sam’s lips quirk. “Probably a pretty big miracle, all things considered. If we can just get your brothers to stop screwing around with us, maybe we’ll even be able to put it to good use.”
“I have faith that we will,” Castiel instantly affirms, head bowing low.
Sam lets his smile deepen, shaking his head a little at the angel, fondly. “I know. Pity all of the angels can’t be as good or as loyal as you. Things never would’ve gotten this bad, if only they had half the faith you do.”
This time, Castiel does blush. “I am not perfect, Sam. I have limitations. And I have made mistakes that have cost us all dearly.”
“But you were coerced into nearly all of them. And you’re actually trying to help, unlike those other asses. That’s more than enough for me. And it’s more than enough for Dean, too.”
Hesitantly, as though afraid of the answer he might receive, Castiel begins to ask, “Do you think your brother has begun to forgive me for - ?”
Sam almost laughs, before he sees the anxious expression in the angel’s eyes. “Dude. He’s forgiven me for breaking the Devil out of Hell. I think he’s probably forgiven you for being brainwashed and possibly tortured by those assholes into going along with them, given that you helped him when no one else would and got yourself killed for your troubles and all. Don’t worry about it, okay? Really. It’s alright. He wouldn’t be helping you now if he didn’t trust you enough to like you, and he wouldn’t trust you at all if he hadn’t already forgiven you for being a dick, after Zachariah dragged you off to Bible bootcamp or whatever it was. I know him well enough to know that, at least. Okay? Trust me on this one. He’s already forgiven you.”
Sam gets another one of those blinding bright slivers of smiles, for that, and the feeling of euphoria it brings wipes away the rest of the tension and tiredness and stress weighing him down. He’s smiling back, unabashedly, when Castiel tells him, “Thank you for that, Sam. Of course I will believe you. You know your brother well.”
Sam laughs a little. “Well enough for this, anyway.”
Castiel inclines his head. “Yes.”
“Glad to be of help. You help me so much, it’s only fair I should try to help you, too.”
Castiel looks slightly uncomfortable, at that declaration, but he inclines his head graciously enough. “As you say. Would you like . . . ?”
“Yes, please. If it’s not too much of a bother. I always sleep better, when you do,” Sam admits, ducking his head in a mixture of shyness and sadness. “Nightmares don’t seem to care if my sleep’s warded against intruders or not.”
“I understand. It grieves me that my brothers have caused you such pain and worry.”
Sam shrugs, sighing. “’S not your fault. And you’re trying helping us. That means a lot, Cas. Not many people can ever be bothered to help. It’s good of you to do this. Wherever God is, I’m sure He must know that.”
Castiel bows his head, eyes averted. “As you say, Sam.”
“I’m serious about that,” Sam insists, a little perplexed by the angel’s discomfort with the subject. “I’ll tell Him myself, if I have to. And I know Dean would, too, if it came down to that. We’re not afraid to speak the truth. And you’re a good guy. You don’t deserve all this crap.”
“I . . . try to be good, as you say. I have faith that my Father would support my decision to help you and your brother. The path the two of you choose to walk now is far more righteous than that of my brethren. And I will not deny that Dean has come to mean far more to me than a charge entrusted to my care, my guidance and protection. I am trying to do only what I know feels right to me. But I know that I have been weak and misled in the past. I know that I have done wrong. And I know that I may yet do wrong again, without the voice of my Father to guide me. Yet, I am, as you say, trying. And I will continue to do so for as long as I am able to,” Castiel promises, eyes flickering back to Sam’s face at the last, determination in them like a fire.
“That’s all we can ask. It’s more than we can ask, really. You’re kinda a miracle yourself, in the midst of all this crap. You know that, right?” Sam asks, peering closely at the angel.
Again, Castiel colors ever so slightly, clearly embarrassed. “I am only doing what I must, to be true to myself and to God.”
Sam shrugs, but insists, “It’s more than any of the other angels can be bothered to do.”
“Many of them do not yet realize how far from God’s truth their superiors have fallen. I have said so before, and it is no less true now than then. We must do something about that, if we can. They deserve the right to know the truth,” Castiel immediately counters.
“If we can tell them without getting ourselves captured or killed, we’ll help get the word out. But only if it’s safe, Cas. If they’re too stupid to realize something’s wrong and if they’d hurt you if you tried to talk to them, they aren’t worth the trouble. I’m sorry to put it that way - I know they’re your brethren and your friends, too - but it’s true. This fight’s too important to risk you that way. Dean’d tell you the same thing, if you asked him,” Sam replies, holding Castiel’s eyes to make sure he understands Sam’s telling him the truth.
After a moment’s hesitation, Castiel allows, “I will not foolishly or needlessly endanger myself.” Leaning a little closer - the hand on Sam’s shoulder tightening just a tad more, blue eyes narrowing - he then adds, “ It would ease my mind a great deal if I could believe that you and Dean would attempt the same.”
Sam smiles at him wryly, shrugging. “We can only promise to try. Some things are kinda hardwired, after so many years. Especially with Dean. He’s kinda got this whole saving people thing going on, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Castiel sighs as he inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment. “I have noticed as much, yes. If you would both agree to try to be careful, I would still feel much better about spending so much time away from you.”
“I promise I’ll try. And I’ll try to get Dean to agree to try, too, okay?”
He gets another one of those bare glimmers of bright smile. “I appreciate that a great deal, Sam. Thank you. Are you ready, now? Is there anything else?”
“I don’t know of anything else. Thanks for the help, Cas. It always seems to help, when I can talk with you like this. I really appreciate it.” Daring greatly, Sam reaches up and touches the hand on his shoulder, patting it briefly, fondly.
Castiel almost smiles at him again, clearly touched by the gesture. “I am glad to help. I hope to continue to be of help, in the days to come. Some day soon, I hope the three of us will be able to travel together, as well as stand together against Lucifer and his demons and the other evils that walk the Earth.”
“I’d like that, Cas. I hope it happens, too.”
“Thank you, Sam. Until then, you should rest and gather your strength.” Castiel gestures towards the bed further from the door, knowing that it’s meant to be Sam’s bed.
With a smile, he turns and makes his way over to it, peeling off the old flannel shirt he’s apparently thrown on over the tee-shirt and flannel pants he plans to sleep in, in the dream, and placing it on the back of the chair at the desk where his laptop’s sitting, waiting for him to use. After he’s crawled under the covers, Castiel joins him, standing over him like Dad used to do, like Dean used to do, gazing down at him with a soft expression of fondness as he tells him, “G’night, Cas.”
“Goodnight to you as well, little brother. Sleep well, Sam. Sleep deeply, and safely, and without dreams.”
The touch to his forehead makes him think of Dean (of being tucked into bed, of being comforted after nightmares, of being seen to, when sick. It makes him think about what an idiot he is, to’ve not realized before that Dean has kinda raised him and taken care of him as if he were his child and not just his little brother. It makes him think that he needs to do better, to make up for things like that, and try harder, to pay Dean back for all of those years of care and protection. And it makes him think that he needs to try harder, to see things from Dean’s point of view instead of always going solely on what he sees and feels and wants), and so he’s smiling (if a little bit sheepishly, over what a moron he’s been) as he lets the angel’s power push him smoothly down into the warm, dark, quiet embrace of sleep.
Tomorrow, he’ll do his level best to talk to Dean and to fix this problem.
Tomorrow, he’ll do what he can to get Dean to open up and talk to him, about Zachariah and his fears and everything else that’s been going on, while he’s either been away or so screwed up by Ruby and the demon blood that he didn’t even realize have of the crap that was going on.
Tomorrow, he and his brother are going to make a real (a fresh) start, not just at being a family again, but at being allies and equal and hunters again, if it’s the last damn thing Sam does.
Maybe then, if they’re both willing to try, Castiel will be proven right after all, and it will be enough to see them through this and the three of them can start working together properly.
And maybe, if they’re lucky, they’ll figure out a way to wake enough of the Hosts of Heaven up to clue them in to what’s really going on, and then they can repay Zachariah and all of those other faithless sadistic pricks who wanted a war so badly that they were willing to do anything to get one - even if it meant turning away from God and manipulating humans into letting Lucifer out of his cage - by starting a revolution in Heaven and giving them a real fight.
Then maybe they’ll have enough power on their side to finally go after Lucifer.
Crazier things have happened. And, as someone once said, hope springs eternal. It won’t hurt anything for him to hope. Maybe, it might even help.
Who knows? God just might even wake up enough to notice what’s going on and decide to do something about it, if enough of them are all hoping and praying for the same thing.
Crazier things have been known to happen, when the Winchesters are involved . . .
*********
Title: “My Dreams Under Your Feet”
Part two of the story only!
Pairing: Mention of past Sam/Ruby. Mention of/implication that Lucifer is attempting to “woo” Sam. Can most easily be read as preslash Dean/Castiel.
Rating: Uhm, probably a borderline PG-13-ish, maybe (?)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Supernatural, more’s the pity (seeing as how they belong to Kripke and to the show’s writers)! What I do have is an extremely contrary muse that refuses to shut up and leave me alone . . .
Summary: Just when Sam Winchester thinks he’s finally getting used to having an angel of the Lord visiting in his dreams, he finds himself actually sharing a room with the angel while he’s carrying on a conversation with Sam’s brother . . . and if that weren’t strange and awkward enough, there’s also the fact that Dean seems to think they can just go back to being like they were, before Lucifer’s rising (even though that obviously didn’t work for them. Hence, the freakin’ Apocalypse!), and that he still doesn’t trust Sam to even know what’s best for him . . .
Warning: Apparently, I am writing an on-going series of linked stories, (mostly) in response to the individual episodes of season five. This particular story is meant to function both as a kind of sequel to the previous four stories I’ve written for Supernatural, “What Dreams May Come,” “Unless First We Dream,” “Dreams Are Free,” and “Dreams Shall Never Die,” and as a sort of continuation of and between-the-scenes addition to season five’s fifth episode, “Fallen Idol.” Given how this seems to be working out so far, while some specifics this story will likely be Jossed as soon as next Thursday and the sixth episode (“I Believe the Children Are Our Future”) roll around, the series itself will adapt and continue with a response to that episode. I have no idea how long this series will last, at the moment, but I’m getting the feeling it may run the entire length of the season, if not longer!
Author’s Notes: Please see the notes posted with the first half of the story!
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“My Dreams Under Your Feet”
That startles Sam, and he’s pushed himself over and struggled up onto his elbows, a protest on his lips, before it occurs to him to worry that Castiel may not have actually been using his angel-mojo to send Dean into a warded deep sleep. By the time he’s finished blinking the tiredness out of his eyes, Castiel’s already standing next to his bed, doing that trick where he somehow manages to loom, even though his human form isn’t really all that tall for a guy (especially when compared to Sam). “Wha’ - ?”
A faint line appears in the angel’s forehead, but his voice is less foreboding than it is chiding when he speaks. “I have been told it isn’t polite to listen to others’ conversations, Sam.”
Sam half shrugs and half scowls, eyes falling to the tangle of sheets around his waist. “I was worried. He was in there a long time. I wasn’t expecting you to be here. And, well . . . ” Sam sighs, scrubs a hand through messy damp hair, and then awkwardly adds, “I worry about you and him. I wanted to make sure you were both going to be alright, given the topic of conversation.”
Castiel’s face softens, that almost curve of a smile returning. “I believe the conversation went well - far better than I had dared to hope it would. Do you not agree?”
Sam gives him a little lopsided smile in response, even though his head still hurts (and he feels more than a little bewildered) from the whole darn conversation, and agrees, “Yeah. It went well. Really well. I’m proud of you. You did good. You got him to believe you and more.”
Castiel doesn’t smile, but his eyes crinkle as though he were grinning, and he looks so delighted that Sam finds his own smile automatically widening a little in response. “I am quite pleased. I did not think he would agree to even contemplate learning the symbols. Knowing that there is a cure to the demonic virus must have lifted his spirits immensely. I am glad to have been able to do that, for him.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad that there’s a cure for that, too. That plague? That’s some nasty shit, Cas. Zachariah’s even more of a sadist then I thought, putting something like that into whatever the hell it was he did to Dean. I really think I’m going to have to hurt him, for that.”
Castiel’s bright face dims slightly, eyes hardening, but his voice is still surprisingly light when he says, “I am glad that you are glad and sorry that I must agree with you on the subject of my unworthy brother, who has become as a rabid dog with his obsession with war. It grieves me that he has fallen so far and taken so many with him. But all is not yet lost. There is still time to save some of my brethren and to return the Hosts of Heaven to the side of righteousness. There is still time to save the Earth and to stop the Apocalypse, stop Lucifer. You must believe that, Sam. There is still time. There is still hope. We will find God, and we will find another way to defeat Lucifer. I have faith that we will.”
Sam’s heart twists a little, because after the whole thing with Lucifer showing up in his dreams and impersonating Jessica? Yeah, he’s not so sure that he has the same unwavering faith in the idea that there’s a way out of this (painfully literally) damned mess anymore, even though he desperately wants to, even though he’s steeled himself to embracing the task of defeating Lucifer, even though he is painfully aware that he has promised Castiel that they will succeed at this task and is more than willing to give anything (everything) to ensure that this promise will be kept and sometimes believes that if he can just hold on long enough and do something right for a change and help Dean and Castiel figure out that they’ve, well, pretty much mostly already become Dean-and-Castiel for a reason that they’ll actually manage to pull it off and win this thing. So his smile slips and twists a little bit out of true, even though he can practically feel the waves of faith and hope and that muted but powerful semi-subliminal and semi-tangible love-love-love-love-love pouring out of Castiel, washing up against him like waves against a beach (or a particularly stubborn boulder in the way of the beach, maybe). “We’ll fight until our last breaths and beyond, if we have to, to stop Lucifer,” he acknowledges. “We will, Cas. We’ll fight until we win, ’cause no one else is gonna.”
The angel’s blue eyes soften, sadness creeping in around the corners of them. “You are a good man, Sam. A righteous man. Much like your brother. Please, hold tight to hope.”
“I’m trying. I promise I am. I won’t let go.”
“Good.” Castiel gives him one of those small slivers of smiles - the ones that make him go slightly wonky and soft and floaty and good around the edges, that make him feel like the world really is a good place and angels are imbued with the divine and everything is going to be alright because God has to still be out there somewhere if He’s smiling on Dean like this, by giving him a treasure as precious and as bright and beautiful and strong and good and full of grace (and Grace, what it means to truly be an angel, what all angels should hope to be like) as Cas - and inclines his head, almost as if in prayer. “That is good, little brother. I am heartened to hear that. I would hear more, but you need your rest. You should sleep while you can. This . . . is not going to be easy for you. Or Dean.”
Sam’s lips quirk as he thinks to himself, Understatement of the year, that. Possibly the decade. Maybe even the century. “I know. But we’ll do it. Like Dean said, we’ll fix this. One way or another. Eventually. But yeah, you’re right. Sleep would be good. Can you - ?”
“Yes.”
It takes him a few beats to place the quality in Castiel’s voice for what it is: compassion. Part of him - the part of him that’s entirely too much like his father, and his brother - wants to kick up a fuss and spit in the face of such kindness. The rest of him just relaxes back against the bed, relief flooding his body as part of that feeling of crushing foreboding and threatening hopelessness and the seemingly ever-present threat of despair lighten, lift away, dissipate under the brightness that is the angel. His eyes are wet and shining and he knows Dean would laugh and call him a girl, but he just can’t find it in him to care, anymore, as he whispers, “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, little brother.” Castiel steps a little closer, hand extended, two fingers raised in a familiar sign of approaching benediction. “Sleep, Sam. Sleep deeply, sleep safely, and without dreams.”
He has an instant, when fingertips brush with aching gentleness against his forehead, to think of his brother - to think of when he was still young enough for Dean to tuck him into bed every night, small hands comforting and warm and reassuring as he folded covers and blankets around his little brother and silently professed devotion and love with every motion, even while his mouth spoke only of sleeping and pleasant dreams - before, smiling, he slides down into the waiting darkness.
He is neither relaxed nor smiling nor reassured when next he sees Castiel, though.
He is dreaming; he is wound so tightly that his whole body aches with it, muscles all vibrating with tension (like a crossbow with the tension cranked far too high, pulled so tight that any motion threatens breaking); he is desperate with fear and sick with frustrated fury and all but choking on the ashen taste of disappointment; and he could gladly, gladly beat an enemy to death - preferably Zachariah, though he’d take just about anyone (and would really, really take his time if someone would bring Ruby back for a more . . . suitable death) - with his bare hands.
The motel room is familiar but not quite right for the place he and his brother are actually staying. He paces in the small space between and around the two rumpled beds with undisguised agitation, hands alternating between clenching tightly at his sides, pummeling the one into the other, and scrubbing up across his face and back through his hair. He’s so distracted - so upset - that he’s not even aware of the fact that he’s waiting for someone to show until he hears the voice, quietly saying, “Sam. Is it anything I can help with?”
He whirls to see the angel - familiar messy windswept hair and loosely knotted, slightly crooked tie, compact body made to seem somehow bigger through a combination of sheer power and rumpled trench coat - for once not standing behind him but instead sitting on the foot of the second bed, the one nearest the door, the one Dean always takes (unless Sam insists otherwise for some reason), so he can put himself between Sam and anything or anyone who might try to come through that door.
The laugh that burbles up from within him at the offer is so bitter he nearly chokes on it, and it has a ragged, jagged edge as it overflows from his mouth out into the room. Desultorily - though his voice is soon rising with frustrated anger - he replies, “I don’t know, Cas. I don’t know that anyone can help. I don’t know what fuck I’m supposed to do. Why am I even here? He obviously doesn’t want me here! Nothing’s changed! He still treats me like an idiot child - like I’m some kid too young to know any better about anything and too much of a moron to be trusted to make any decisions! And he obviously doesn’t trust me as far as he could throw me! He won’t talk to me about anything! How the fuck am I supposed to warn him about Lucifer or talk to him about that prick Zachariah or anything when he refuses to talk to me? Half the time it’s like he’s pretending none of this crap has even happened, and half the time he’s off talking to Bobby behind my back about how unstable and untrustworthy I am!”
“Sam - ”
“I don’t know what to do! We’re out here chasing about freakin’ ghosts when it’s the End of freakin’ Days? What the hell, Cas? Is he that scared of me? Is he that worried I’m gonna freak out and start hunting up demons to drain of their blood? What the fuck? Why did he even tell me to come, if he’s not even willing to try? I want to fix this, but - ”
“Sam. Please. I know you are upset, but - ”
“Upset? Upset! For God’s sake, Cas, he has us out here hunting a goddamned ghost that might not even be real while Lucifer’s out there doing God only know what and - !”
“Samuel. You cannot imagine that this is easy for Dean. He is trying, very hard, to do the right thing for the both of you, as well as the right thing for this world. Please try to keep in mind that the vision Zachariah showed Dean very likely was of a future where you had consented to becoming Lucifer’s vessel, half the world or more was ravaged by the demonic plague created by Croatoan, Dean had resorted to torture to get answers from the captured possessed, and I was no longer myself. You and agreed previously that this is most likely to be what happened. Think, for a moment, on what that would mean, to your brother. And think too, if you will, on what he has suffered, since being returned to Earth.”
Castiel’s voice is hard - harder than he can ever remember it being, even in the hospital with Bobby, when he spoke so furiously of all that he had given and lost and done, for Dean, only to have Dean fail to stop Sam from breaking that final Seal and letting Lucifer out - but Sam’s a little bit too angry to heed the warning. He tries to protest, angrily insisting, “He’s not the only one who’s suffered because of this! I - ”
The angel is off the bed and standing in front of him between one heartbeat and the next, his hands rigidly jammed into his pockets (as though hiding them, thus, is the only way to keep himself from reaching out and hurting Sam), glaring up at him with an expression so affronted and disappointed and blatantly protective of his brother that Sam flinches backwards and nearly swallows his own tongue, in his haste to shut up and backpedal from what he’s been saying.
“You suffered, yes, but whatever you have been through, Sam, it is nothing compared to what your brother has been through. Dean surrendered his soul to Hell, to save your life, and returned, after spending decades in one of the lowest levels of Perdition, to find that you had broken your promise to no longer using your powers and were traveling the country with that demon, Ruby. Ruby turned you, Sam, and you let her. You had good intentions, yes, I know, but the fact remains that you turned your back on your brother - you injured Bobby Singer, in order to escape, and then you injured your brother, too, when he came after you - and chose to go with her, with a demon, instead of trusting your family to help you. You broke the last Seal necessary to release Lucifer from his prison, when you used your powers to kill Lilith, and then you pulled away and left your brother again, when events conspired to show you how vulnerable you might still be to the potential for evil within you. In the face of so many mistakes, can you truly blame him, for having difficulty trusting you and your stability, your reliability? Can you even truly blame him, for resorting to picturing you as the little brother he must protect at all costs, as you are still too young and inexperienced to be able to do so properly yourself, so that he can work with you again?”
Quietly (feeling a little kid being torn a new one by his dad for something he more than deserves to be reamed out for, for once), he admits, “No. No, I can’t. But Cas, I need him to - ”
“He is trying, Sam,” Castiel only insists, some of the disappointment and anger leaving his eyes, but the protectiveness still blazing as bright as watchfires against the night. “If you want him to be able to see you in some other way and still trust you enough to work with you, then you must be the one to give him a reason to do so. Dean has taken care of you for essentially his whole life, Sam. Your father trusted him to be the one to take care of you, and he has grown thinking of himself primarily as your protector and caregiver. It is . . . difficult for him to think of you as his equal, rather than as someone he should be taking care of, when you have given him so little reason, of late, to consider as an equal in this battle. If you need for him to do so - and Sam, I do understand why you need that. I think it would be best for you both, if Dean could stop thinking of you so much as his little brother, to be protected at all costs, and if you could stop thinking of Dean so much as your big brother, to be vied with and measured against, as if your father were still here and had a right to pass judgment on the worth and worthiness of you both, and if you could both start to see each other more as adults and allies working together to stop the Apocalypse and send Lucifer back to his prison - then you need to tell him so and give him reason to accommodate your wish.”
Less stridently, Sam attempts to point out, “But he’s so stubborn about - !”
Castiel sighs, quietly, shoulders relaxing almost to the point of slumping, as he gently interrupts. “Sam. I do not believe you understand how difficult it would be for him to see you as an adult, even if the events of the past few years had not transpired as they have. He is the one who essentially raised you. From the moment he carried you out of that burning house, you have been his responsibility, and he has never truly relinquished that. He is as much parent as he is brother, whether you realize it or not. You must take that into consideration, before you judge him for his behavior towards you.”
“I’m twenty-six, not a six-year-old! He’s only four years older than I am!”
Castiel shakes his head. “That does not matter. He is older. You were a baby, when your mother was killed. He is the one who has, by and large, taken care of you, since then. And he still takes care of you. You have permitted him to do so for so long - including most of the five years that have passed since you rejoined him on the hunt, since Azazel killed Jessica Moore - that he does not understand why you seem to resent him so for attempting to do the same, now. You must tell him that you are only striving to be his equal so that you can be of the most possible help during this battle, so that you can be an independent adult worthy of being his ally, or he will not understand that you are not simply trying to leave him again. You know, surely, that your brother has abandonment issues,” he adds, the inflection of his voice making it not so much question as a pointed reminder, eyes narrowed as though to warn Sam not to be foolish.
Sam immediately deflates, anger leaving him in a rush and shame flooding back in to replace it. “I know. That’s - a lot of that’s my fault. I wasn’t thinking of him, when I left for Stanford. I just - I wanted so much to get out of the life, to have a chance at a normal life, and the school was offering me a way out on a silver platter, and I - I - I was selfish,” he admits, voice cracking. “I shouldn’t’ve done it. I shouldn’t’ve left him there alone with Dad. I should’ve known better. You can’t stop being who you are, just because you’re angry at your family and fate for not giving you more of a choice. Bad things happen and it’s nobody’s fault but the evil things that cause them. Dad did the best he knew how to do. And I can’t - I don’t dare fault him for what he did. Hell, I did pretty much the same thing, after Azazel killed Jess. It’d be disingenuous of me to say he’s a monster, for having done that to us when we were too small to make the decision for ourselves, when I know I would’ve done the same thing, in his place.”
“So you understand?” Castiel asks, voice gentling some, gaining a note of hopefulness.
“I - yeah. I get it. I’ll - I’ll figure out a way to talk to him about it. Even if I have to just blurt it all out and keep repeating myself until he has to listen to me.”
“Good. That is very good, Sam. Thank you for understanding,” Castiel tells him, voice fervent with gratitude and relief.
Sam shrugs, scratching his head so he won’t have to look at those too big blue eyes, and mutters, “Least I can do. You’re right, you know. I don’t know what Hell’s like. And I don’t want to know, either. And I’m pretty sure that I only still have that option because of Dean.”
“Sam, you are a - ”
“ - good man, yeah, I know you think that. But right now I’m afraid I’m kinda stuck on the selfish idiot who’s trying to be good but still fails a lotend of the spectrum,” Sam interrupts to explain, lips thinning as he swallows back another bitter laugh.
“You are also trying. That says more of the nature and strength and basic goodness of your character than anything else. Others would not bother to try. Others would have given in at the first sign of pressure or danger. Others would have chosen to run, after what happened to Jessica, and to hide themselves away and pretend as though nothing paranormal or at all out of the ordinary were happening. Others would have given in to Lucifer without even making him try to win consent, first. You are a good man, Samuel Winchester. Believe that, if you believe nothing else. So long as you hold to that and to hope and to your family, it should be enough to see you through the struggles to come,” Castiel promises, voice achingly gentle now.
Sam’s instinct is to lash out, push away, insist that he’s not good and that he doesn’t deserve Castiel’s compassion or forgiveness or understanding, but the angel’s eyes are so big and pleading and earnest that he can’t make himself do or say anything that might bring pain to those eyes. “I - alright. I’ll - I’ll try, Cas. I’ll try, and I’ll do the best I can. I promise I will.”
The angel shocks him by reaching up to pat his shoulder reassuringly, the gesture obviously mimicked from Dean’s earlier action with him. “It is enough. It is more than enough. Have faith. You will see.”
“I’m trying,” he repeats, not bothering to hide his plaintiveness.
The hand on his shoulder tightens the barest bit, at that, the heat of Castiel’s hand seeping through his layers of shirts to spread down into his skin and out through his body, almost as if he were being held in a warm embrace. “I know you are. As does your brother. Talk to him, Sam. It will make things far easier for you both.”
“Alright. I will. I promise. Just - you’ll come again, if it goes wrong, won’t you?”
“I will come. I will always come, Sam. My place is at your brother’s side, and I will do everything in my power to remain there for as long as I am able,” Cas immediately promises.
“Okay. I believe you. I’ll - I’ll do my best,” Sam promises in turn. “And I’ll try to get him to talk to me about whatever made him call me and tell me to come back. I know you talked a little about what Zachariah did, but it’ snot enough. There’s more he needs to talk about, if he’s not going to brood over it endlessly. And I know he promised to ask about the sigils and such. If we’re really talking again, maybe he’ll finally get around to bringing it up. Alright?”
“That would be good. You are still warding your sleep, aren’t you?” Castiel asks, concerned, head tilting sideways to allow him to peer upwards at Sam a little bit more closely.
Sam nods. “Yes. He doesn’t seem to’ve noticed, yet. I’ll bring that up, too, so you won’t have to do it for him every time he goes to sleep, okay?”
“I would appreciate that. It will be safer for you both, if you needn’t rely on me for such safety. The leads I am pursuing are . . . complex,” Castiel explains a little hesitantly.
“’S cool. Better safe than sorry. If the talk goes well, I’ll see about bringing that up, too. I doubt he’ll protest. It freaked the ever-living crap out of him, the first couple times you did the whole walking into his dreams thing. I didn’t know what was going on, at the time, but later, when I found out, in retrospect it was pretty obvious that the idea of somebody being able to do that really bothered him. He’ll probably do it, just so he won’t have to worry about anyone else showing up unexpectedly,” Sam replies reassuringly, giving the angel a small smile.
“That would be best,” is Castiel’s relieved response. “His sleep patterns are so irregular, at times, that I worry I will miss one of his naps and one of my brothers will find him, then.”
“Won’t happen. I’ll see to it. Trust me, okay?”
“I do trust you, Sam. I know you will do everything in your power to protect Dean.”
Sam shrugs, looking away again. “He’s my brother,” he gruffly points out.
“And you care for him a great deal, as he does for you. I know. But it is not always that way, with families. I am glad that it is so, with the two of you.”
Sam blinks at him, startled and incredulous. “Even though he - ?”
Flatly, Castiel insists, “Yes. Love is God’s greatest gift to us. It gladdens me that the bond you share with your brother is so strong. He has you to lean on, in these trying times.”
“He has you too, Cas,” Sam points out, voice gentling, surprised (and amused) when the angel looks down and away (much as Sam’s been doing), as though embarrassed.
The angel’s voice trembles just ever so slightly (reminding Sam just how powerful and how deep Castiel’s emotions seem to run, when his brother is concerned) as he admits, “I am glad that you believe so. I wish to be of service to him. I am trying to help as much as I can.”
“You’re doing a good job, Cas. We wouldn’t’ve made it this far, without you.”
If Castiel were a human, Sam’s certain he would’ve blushed. “It gladdens my heart to be of service to you both. I will do all that I can. If you will do so, as well, then together I believe we can help your brother see this through to the end.”
Sam nods. “I know you do. And I’m glad of that. I promise I won’t stop trying. Just don’t you give up either, okay? No matter what happens, Cas. You keep searching for God until you find Him. And we’ll do everything we can to help you. Alright?”
“That is more than alright. It is, quite possibly, a small miracle. Thank you, Sam.”
Sam’s lips quirk. “Probably a pretty big miracle, all things considered. If we can just get your brothers to stop screwing around with us, maybe we’ll even be able to put it to good use.”
“I have faith that we will,” Castiel instantly affirms, head bowing low.
Sam lets his smile deepen, shaking his head a little at the angel, fondly. “I know. Pity all of the angels can’t be as good or as loyal as you. Things never would’ve gotten this bad, if only they had half the faith you do.”
This time, Castiel does blush. “I am not perfect, Sam. I have limitations. And I have made mistakes that have cost us all dearly.”
“But you were coerced into nearly all of them. And you’re actually trying to help, unlike those other asses. That’s more than enough for me. And it’s more than enough for Dean, too.”
Hesitantly, as though afraid of the answer he might receive, Castiel begins to ask, “Do you think your brother has begun to forgive me for - ?”
Sam almost laughs, before he sees the anxious expression in the angel’s eyes. “Dude. He’s forgiven me for breaking the Devil out of Hell. I think he’s probably forgiven you for being brainwashed and possibly tortured by those assholes into going along with them, given that you helped him when no one else would and got yourself killed for your troubles and all. Don’t worry about it, okay? Really. It’s alright. He wouldn’t be helping you now if he didn’t trust you enough to like you, and he wouldn’t trust you at all if he hadn’t already forgiven you for being a dick, after Zachariah dragged you off to Bible bootcamp or whatever it was. I know him well enough to know that, at least. Okay? Trust me on this one. He’s already forgiven you.”
Sam gets another one of those blinding bright slivers of smiles, for that, and the feeling of euphoria it brings wipes away the rest of the tension and tiredness and stress weighing him down. He’s smiling back, unabashedly, when Castiel tells him, “Thank you for that, Sam. Of course I will believe you. You know your brother well.”
Sam laughs a little. “Well enough for this, anyway.”
Castiel inclines his head. “Yes.”
“Glad to be of help. You help me so much, it’s only fair I should try to help you, too.”
Castiel looks slightly uncomfortable, at that declaration, but he inclines his head graciously enough. “As you say. Would you like . . . ?”
“Yes, please. If it’s not too much of a bother. I always sleep better, when you do,” Sam admits, ducking his head in a mixture of shyness and sadness. “Nightmares don’t seem to care if my sleep’s warded against intruders or not.”
“I understand. It grieves me that my brothers have caused you such pain and worry.”
Sam shrugs, sighing. “’S not your fault. And you’re trying helping us. That means a lot, Cas. Not many people can ever be bothered to help. It’s good of you to do this. Wherever God is, I’m sure He must know that.”
Castiel bows his head, eyes averted. “As you say, Sam.”
“I’m serious about that,” Sam insists, a little perplexed by the angel’s discomfort with the subject. “I’ll tell Him myself, if I have to. And I know Dean would, too, if it came down to that. We’re not afraid to speak the truth. And you’re a good guy. You don’t deserve all this crap.”
“I . . . try to be good, as you say. I have faith that my Father would support my decision to help you and your brother. The path the two of you choose to walk now is far more righteous than that of my brethren. And I will not deny that Dean has come to mean far more to me than a charge entrusted to my care, my guidance and protection. I am trying to do only what I know feels right to me. But I know that I have been weak and misled in the past. I know that I have done wrong. And I know that I may yet do wrong again, without the voice of my Father to guide me. Yet, I am, as you say, trying. And I will continue to do so for as long as I am able to,” Castiel promises, eyes flickering back to Sam’s face at the last, determination in them like a fire.
“That’s all we can ask. It’s more than we can ask, really. You’re kinda a miracle yourself, in the midst of all this crap. You know that, right?” Sam asks, peering closely at the angel.
Again, Castiel colors ever so slightly, clearly embarrassed. “I am only doing what I must, to be true to myself and to God.”
Sam shrugs, but insists, “It’s more than any of the other angels can be bothered to do.”
“Many of them do not yet realize how far from God’s truth their superiors have fallen. I have said so before, and it is no less true now than then. We must do something about that, if we can. They deserve the right to know the truth,” Castiel immediately counters.
“If we can tell them without getting ourselves captured or killed, we’ll help get the word out. But only if it’s safe, Cas. If they’re too stupid to realize something’s wrong and if they’d hurt you if you tried to talk to them, they aren’t worth the trouble. I’m sorry to put it that way - I know they’re your brethren and your friends, too - but it’s true. This fight’s too important to risk you that way. Dean’d tell you the same thing, if you asked him,” Sam replies, holding Castiel’s eyes to make sure he understands Sam’s telling him the truth.
After a moment’s hesitation, Castiel allows, “I will not foolishly or needlessly endanger myself.” Leaning a little closer - the hand on Sam’s shoulder tightening just a tad more, blue eyes narrowing - he then adds, “ It would ease my mind a great deal if I could believe that you and Dean would attempt the same.”
Sam smiles at him wryly, shrugging. “We can only promise to try. Some things are kinda hardwired, after so many years. Especially with Dean. He’s kinda got this whole saving people thing going on, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Castiel sighs as he inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment. “I have noticed as much, yes. If you would both agree to try to be careful, I would still feel much better about spending so much time away from you.”
“I promise I’ll try. And I’ll try to get Dean to agree to try, too, okay?”
He gets another one of those bare glimmers of bright smile. “I appreciate that a great deal, Sam. Thank you. Are you ready, now? Is there anything else?”
“I don’t know of anything else. Thanks for the help, Cas. It always seems to help, when I can talk with you like this. I really appreciate it.” Daring greatly, Sam reaches up and touches the hand on his shoulder, patting it briefly, fondly.
Castiel almost smiles at him again, clearly touched by the gesture. “I am glad to help. I hope to continue to be of help, in the days to come. Some day soon, I hope the three of us will be able to travel together, as well as stand together against Lucifer and his demons and the other evils that walk the Earth.”
“I’d like that, Cas. I hope it happens, too.”
“Thank you, Sam. Until then, you should rest and gather your strength.” Castiel gestures towards the bed further from the door, knowing that it’s meant to be Sam’s bed.
With a smile, he turns and makes his way over to it, peeling off the old flannel shirt he’s apparently thrown on over the tee-shirt and flannel pants he plans to sleep in, in the dream, and placing it on the back of the chair at the desk where his laptop’s sitting, waiting for him to use. After he’s crawled under the covers, Castiel joins him, standing over him like Dad used to do, like Dean used to do, gazing down at him with a soft expression of fondness as he tells him, “G’night, Cas.”
“Goodnight to you as well, little brother. Sleep well, Sam. Sleep deeply, and safely, and without dreams.”
The touch to his forehead makes him think of Dean (of being tucked into bed, of being comforted after nightmares, of being seen to, when sick. It makes him think about what an idiot he is, to’ve not realized before that Dean has kinda raised him and taken care of him as if he were his child and not just his little brother. It makes him think that he needs to do better, to make up for things like that, and try harder, to pay Dean back for all of those years of care and protection. And it makes him think that he needs to try harder, to see things from Dean’s point of view instead of always going solely on what he sees and feels and wants), and so he’s smiling (if a little bit sheepishly, over what a moron he’s been) as he lets the angel’s power push him smoothly down into the warm, dark, quiet embrace of sleep.
Tomorrow, he’ll do his level best to talk to Dean and to fix this problem.
Tomorrow, he’ll do what he can to get Dean to open up and talk to him, about Zachariah and his fears and everything else that’s been going on, while he’s either been away or so screwed up by Ruby and the demon blood that he didn’t even realize have of the crap that was going on.
Tomorrow, he and his brother are going to make a real (a fresh) start, not just at being a family again, but at being allies and equal and hunters again, if it’s the last damn thing Sam does.
Maybe then, if they’re both willing to try, Castiel will be proven right after all, and it will be enough to see them through this and the three of them can start working together properly.
And maybe, if they’re lucky, they’ll figure out a way to wake enough of the Hosts of Heaven up to clue them in to what’s really going on, and then they can repay Zachariah and all of those other faithless sadistic pricks who wanted a war so badly that they were willing to do anything to get one - even if it meant turning away from God and manipulating humans into letting Lucifer out of his cage - by starting a revolution in Heaven and giving them a real fight.
Then maybe they’ll have enough power on their side to finally go after Lucifer.
Crazier things have happened. And, as someone once said, hope springs eternal. It won’t hurt anything for him to hope. Maybe, it might even help.
Who knows? God just might even wake up enough to notice what’s going on and decide to do something about it, if enough of them are all hoping and praying for the same thing.
Crazier things have been known to happen, when the Winchesters are involved . . .
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