The Start Of Something, Part 3

[safiyabat]

Title: The Start Of Something, Part 3
Authors LJ Username: safiyabat
Artists LJ Username: evian_fork
Beta: stolen_voices
Pairing(s): Sam/Castiel
Rating: R (this chapter hard PG-13)
Wordcount: 23,447 (this chapter 6,965)
Chapter Summary: Castiel might have expected that curing Dean would have also cured Sam. He finds that he was wrong. Can he help Dean and Sam before time runs out for all three of them?
Warnings: Violence, suicidal ideation, depression.
Link to fic masterpost here. View the previous chapter here.
Link to art masterpost here.

Dean’s injuries - a stab wound as well as a few stray bullet holes - were easy enough to heal. Castiel brought him to his room immediately, not wishing to expose his friend’s tears to the eyes of so many unsympathetic eyes. The angels did not have much patience for Dean’s time under the influence of the Mark as a general rule and Castiel knew that they were uninterested in hearing Dean defend any of the atrocities he’d committed, demon or no. So he ensured that he got his privacy but didn’t leave him alone. He preferred to be with Sam, but Sam would be fine. He’d impressed many of the other angels with his diligence and resourcefulness; they actively liked him. Dean could not make the same claim.



Being Dean, he soon recovered control over his responses and requested his typical self-medication. Whiskey, however, Castiel would not give him. “I think sobriety is in your best interests at this point, Dean.”

The elder Winchester sighed. “You have no idea what it’s like, Cas. I was…”

“You were a monster, Dean.” There was no real reason not to be blunt. He had little fear of Dean drowning in guilt. “You slaughtered an entire bar full of people because your credit card was declined. There were no survivors.” He frowned, watching as Dean took stock of the room.

“Yeah, but I was free. Nothing bothered me, Cas. Nothing worried me. Nothing hurt me. I just… I didn’t care.” He punched the pillow. “Why couldn’t he have just let me be?”

“Because his only options were to put you down or bring you back.” Angels didn’t get tired. Their energy came from Heaven, from Grace, but suddenly he felt profoundly exhausted. “You should sleep, Dean. Your day has been taxing. I’m certain that you will feel better in the morning.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right, Cas.” He looked away and began to undress, removing the bloody and sweaty clothing that carried the evidence of his shame.

As a precaution, Castiel removed anything that could be used for self-injury from the room. Then he detailed Phanuel to watch over his friend while he went to go check on Sam.

The younger Winchester lay on his bed, as still as a statue. “This is not a bedroom,” Flagstaff sniffed. “It’s a storage closet with a bed in it. And the bed is miserable.”

“It is a trial,” he acknowledged. “I can’t understand why he sleeps on it, unless he never saw it as a long-term solution. But how is he, Flagstaff? Has he woken?”

“No.” She stood up and began pacing. “Apparently he re-started the third Trial by curing his brother.” She gave a thin little smile. “The gates of Hell are still open because we prevented his death, which I suspect will upset him when he does wake up. I know he’d prefer not to be ‘helped’ with sleep in that way, but I didn’t think he would - I didn’t want -“ She turned to him, away from the figure on the bed, and got herself under control. “He needs help, Castiel.”

“I have tried to offer it since this began.” He sighed. “He doesn’t want it from me. I don’t know what to offer him. Do you think that he knew? Do you think that he expected that the cure would result in his death?” It was almost too horrible a thought to contemplate, but he had to acknowledge the possibility.

She sighed. “I’ve tried to talk to him - to get him to open up a little, in the time we’ve worked with him. And I do think that he wasn’t averse to the idea. I think he suspected. I think he hasn’t made any long-term plans.”

Cas looked at the man on the bed. “I’ve tried to talk to him about this, Flagstaff. Why won’t he understand that his life is precious?”

“Because you’re one voice in a sea of voices telling him something different, and his own voice has been added to the voices on the other side. Even you’ve felt differently in the past.” She sat beside Sam and stroked his hair briefly. “This isn’t the kind of problem that gets solved overnight. And I know that you care for him, Castiel, but even if he says ‘yes’ and agrees to some kind of a relationship with you, depression will always be part of his life.”

“Dean is alive and himself again,” the angel said. “He will help.”

Flagstaff snorted, but said nothing. Instead she returned her focus to the young man on the bed, who slept the sleep of the profoundly drugged.

Cas set up a command center in the library, getting regular status updates on Heaven and on both brothers from his subordinates. He checked on Dean once himself. He checked on Sam more or less hourly, but Sam never moved.

Dean woke up at around six in the morning of his own accord, shuffling into the library with bleary eyes and a gray bathrobe that Castiel knew had been found within the bunker. He gave the staring angels a grin that he would probably describe as “cheesy,” although what a facial expression had to do with cheese eluded Castiel, and shuffled into the kitchen toward the coffee maker. After a few minutes he returned with a couple of mugs - one for him and one for Castiel. “So,” he said, putting one down in front of the angel. “Talk to me.”

Cas considered. “The Chincoteague feral ponies probably have their origins from the European settlers who left their livestock to roam freely on the island in the seventeenth century, but I was assigned to watch over a box near Stonehenge at the time so I cannot say for certain.”

Dean blinked. “O-kay. I meant, tell me what’s been going on with you since, you know. Metatron. How’s your Grace?” Cas knew that Dean was concerned about his brother. He could see it in the elder Winchester’s eyes, in the way his hand reflexively gripped at an empty space on his chest where a brass amulet should have rested. He also knew that Dean would not ask him about Sam - not after what he’d done.

“Oh. Taken care of. All has been set aright, as it should be.” He looked away. “Metatron has been imprisoned. The veil has been repaired; Heaven-bound souls will reach their appropriate destination.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” He cleared his throat. “I guess I’ve been out of it a bit.”

“You were a demon. That is more than a little out of it.” He tried to keep the judgment out of his voice. He knew he failed.

“Well, yeah. But even before that. The uh, the bloodlust. It was part of the Mark, I guess. You came up with a ritual to get rid of it?” He cleared his throat, unable to meet Castiel’s eyes.

“Oh. No. Your brother did.”

“Huh? Sammy?”

“Yes. There was some angelic assistance but for the most part it was entirely Sam. We just added a few touches to make sure that it would take. I believe he’s kept extensive notes on the subject, not that it’s likely that anyone will ever need such a cleansing again. Our test subject was Cain himself and he submitted himself voluntarily.” He gave Dean what he believed was a severe look.

Evidently it was not severe enough. “Why the Hell would he do that?”

“Because he did not like what he had become, Dean.” He looked Dean in the eye. “Are you telling me honestly that you regret having your humanity returned to you?”

“Maybe a little bit.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m still trying to process everything that happened. I’m not sure that I even understand it all, but I do know that for the first time since I was a little kid, I was free. No responsibility. Nothing. Sam wasn’t my problem anymore, you know?”

Neither Dean nor Castiel had heard the younger Winchester approach. Sam stood unsteadily on his feet but he was standing. “I’m still not,” he informed his brother softly. “I did what I stayed to do. You’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m more trouble than I’m worth and, for the record, I agree. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Dean. You get the best of both worlds. You’re human, and you’re free.” He smiled, the corners of his mouth moving up and down, before he turned around and left.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s always about him, isn’t it?” he muttered into his coffee.

“Considering that he just essentially died to give you back the humanity that you threw away on a whim, Dean, yes. I think that it is.” Cas sighed. He knew that he should go after Sam, but he also needed to make Dean understand what was at work here.

“Wait, died?” He shook his head. “Are you serious, Cas?” His hand shook.

“Curing a demon was the third Trial.” He explained in as few words as possible how the outcome had been changed by Flagstaff’s intervention.

“He said he wouldn’t have done the same thing,” Dean objected. He massaged his face. “I have no idea what’s going on with that kid. What’s up, what’s down, what’s sideways -“

“As I’ve been given to understand it, that’s exactly what he said. He wouldn’t have had you forcibly possessed. You were not harmed except to prevent you from harming others. He was perfectly willing to harm himself, which is what I and apparently several other angels take exception to.” He sipped his coffee.

“I’ve done a hell of a lot to keep that kid alive!” The human slammed his hands on the table and stood.

“And yet you’ve never stopped to wonder why he has so little interest in being alive,” Flagstaff sneered from the doorway. “Charming.”

“You don’t know anything about my brother, lady.” Dean shook his head with a cocky grin. “He’s done some terrible things.”

“He’s been perfectly forthcoming on those points, thank you. I don’t need the refresher course.”

“Flagstaff has been assigned as Sam’s guardian angel,” Cas clarified quickly, looking to diffuse the situation. “He seems to be willing to talk to her.”

“And here I thought he was making time with you, Cas.” Dean smirked. “I thought you angels thought he was too dirty to go near and here you are climbing all over each other to get a piece of him.”

Flagstaff’s lip curled in disgust. Cas shook his head. “I would cheerfully, as you say, ‘make time’ with Sam, Dean, but he was uninterested and mostly rebuffed my advances.”

“Of course he did, Cas. Sam’s not into dudes. Geez, I didn’t think you were either.” He leaned back in his chair and spread himself out, perfectly comfortable.

“I’m indifferent to gender when it comes to matters of attraction. Angels are technically genderless anyway, so a relationship between us would not necessarily constitute -” Flagstaff cleared her throat noisily. “That is unimportant.”

“Huh.” Dean made a contemplative face. “Who knew? Anyway, Sam’s kind of a monk, you know?”

“Carthusian or Benedictine?”

Dean silently repeated the words to himself. “No, dude. He just… avoids sex. And let’s face it, he should. He doesn’t have the best track record, am I right?” He laughed.

“I can take care of myself Dean. Is there another reason you don’t want me to be romantically involved with your brother?”

He sighed. “Well, I mean, you did break his brain.”

Cas drew back slightly. “This is true. He says he has forgiven me.”

“I think he forgave Jake Talley for stabbing him. After he shot him six times, but still.” He waved a hand. “The kid just… I mean, he makes terrible decisions when it comes to where he puts his bits, you know? And he gets too attached. He knows better than that. This life, you don’t get to have the same person more than once or twice. He knows that but he keeps trying to sneak a girlfriend in there. Girlfriend,” he emphasized and sipped from his coffee. “So he really came up with the ritual to take away the Mark, huh?”
“And it was his plan to capture you with a minimum amount of danger. We were pretty much allowed to show up and look good,” Flagstaff supplied with a glower. “He’s shown himself to be supremely competent. He should have more faith in himself. He could accomplish a great deal.”

“Yeah. Like letting Lucifer out of his cage,” Dean retorted. “Trust me. You don’t know him like I know him. If anyone has ever needed to be kept on a short leash, it’s Sam Freaking Winchester. Bad things happen when no one’s looking out for him.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I should let him chill for a little while, let him have his emo freak out or whatever. Thanks for all your help, I can take it from here.”

“I will stay until I have spoken to Sam,” Cas informed him evenly.

“As will I,” Flagstaff added with a curl of her lip.

They stayed in the library until Dean declared it to be dinner time. He opened the fridge and curled his lip. “What the Hell is this? Did he seriously just ignore the fridge while I was gone? Who did he think was going to clean it, Bob the Beer Fairy?”

“Oh - he wasn’t staying here,” Flagstaff informed her foe easily. “He felt that this was ‘Dean’s place’ and sealed it up tight. Even angels could only get in once we found the ritual.”

“Oh for crying out loud. Kid’s been bitching about being homeless for thirty years and you give him a goddamn home and what does he do?” He screwed up his face. “’This place isn’t good enough,’” he mocked in a shrill, high-pitched tone. “’I’m too good to live in a bunker underground. I need a girl and a dog and a white picket fence.’” He sighed. “I’m going out to get us something to freaking eat.” He stormed out.

Cas rose. “I’m going to go check on Sam,” he hazarded, walking down the hallway to the younger brother’s room. He knocked on the door. “Sam?” he called when there was no response. “Sam? It’s Castiel.” When no one responded he opened the door.

Sam’s room was empty. The bed hadn’t been slept in since Sam woke to find them in the library, and it was made up with military precision.

He wanted to run. He wanted to race back and shout, to start a search and fly into a panic. He did none of those things. Instead he walked very slowly and informed Flagstaff. He called Sam’s phone and was unsurprised to find that it went straight to voicemail. He then called Dean and told him to only purchase dinner for one; his brother had left the bunker. He had not left a note.

Dean was predictably upset when Castiel informed him of the situation. He blamed both Cas and Flagstaff for failing to keep him at home where he belonged instead of letting him go wandering around to get himself killed or whatever. “You don’t think your words had anything to do with his decision?” Flagstaff challenged.

“Why would they?” Dean frowned.

She rolled her eyes and flew back to Heaven. She would call Cas if she had any news. The urge to smite, she admitted where Dean could not hear, was strong.

No one heard anything from Sam for three days. Dean claimed to not be concerned, but he slammed things around the bunker and spent a lot of time down at the firing range. Finally, Flagstaff reached out to Castiel: she’d heard from Sam after leaving him several messages. His phone had been off while he made his way back to one of his hideouts. He was giving Dean his space and wanted his own in return. He didn’t really want to be found. He was working a job, he said - a solo thing, he didn’t really want to talk about it. But he thanked her for all of her help and asked her to thank the rest of them, especially Cas.

Dean was angry at the snub. If he was going to force him to be human again the least he could freaking do was sit there and be with him, live with him and fight by his side. Cas pointed out that Dean had tried to kill him once and had made a habit of calling him up on the phone and pointing out his every flaw and weakness; he could understand why Sam might not want to spend much time in Dean’s company for a time. “It wasn’t me!” Dean objected. “I was a demon!”

“It was you, Dean,” Castiel retorted. “If you can hold Sam’s time without a soul against him, and the illness I caused against him, then he can certainly hold your time as a demon against you.”

“I’m worried about him, Cas. He does dumb stuff when he’s off on his own.”

“Like rescue his brother from eternity as a demon?”

Dean didn’t have an answer for that.

Time passed. Castiel returned to Heaven. Sam seemed content to continue to talk with Flagstaff once a week although she gained nothing of substance from the conversation - no hints as to his location, no real information at all. He inquired about Dean, about Cas, about Flagstaff herself, but passed off all inquiries about himself with “I’m fine.” His guardian angel was in no way content to rest with this. She had contacts at the hospital where she’d worked and they passed the word along to inform her if anyone fitting Sam’s description was brought in.

From time to time, Castiel hunted with Dean, more for old times’ sake than because either actually needed the other’s help with anything. For Castiel’s part, he missed the easy camaraderie of hunting rather than the necessary management of running Heaven. The banter might have been a little strained with just the two of them but it was better than the formality of a superior-subordinate relationship. He couldn’t quite say what Dean got out of the deal. He’d claimed that he was freer without Sam, that he was a better hunter without the hassle of having to worry about his brother. He periodically expressed relief that Sam hadn’t been around to “screw that one up for me,” or that Sam “didn’t get hit on the head to get taken hostage or anything stupid like that.”

And all of that irked Castiel. He knew Dean, though. He knew him well enough to know that Dean didn’t really mean what he was saying or at least wasn’t telling the whole story. He finally asked him about it as they sat in a bar in North Dakota following a successful strike against dark fae. “If you hated hunting with your brother so much, why did you insist so strongly that he continue doing it?”

Dean blinked. “It’s why we’re here. It’s what we were born to do.”

He sighed. “Dean, you were born to house Michael and be left a vegetable. Hunting never made Sam happy. It never gave him a sense of purpose or completion as it does for you. He was simply terrified of losing you.”

“If he was so afraid of losing me, why did he leave me?” Dean demanded in a smaller voice, looking down at his beer.

“He hasn’t chosen to discuss that. Not with me, not with Flagstaff. But I suspect that he didn’t enjoy being treated as a burden or an obligation. Being reminded of his mistakes on a constant basis probably didn’t help him either.”

“I… what can I do, Cas? How else am I supposed to keep him on task, on target? Remind him of why we’re doing this? If he had his way we’d never hunt a thing again!” He raised his hands and gestured toward the halls of the bar. “I mean, what more can I do for him? I save his life and he throws it in my face. I give him a home, when that’s all he’s ever wanted, and he won’t even unpack his bags in it.”

He sighed. He could understand where the man was coming from to some extent. “Perhaps it never felt like a home to him. Perhaps… perhaps he never intended to stay long enough to unpack, Dean. Your brother has been troubled for as long as I’ve known him. He doesn’t see saving his life as a gift.” He gave a little laugh. “We had a discussion about this, actually. But Dean, you don’t actually enjoy your brother. You don’t want him in your company when you’re not working and you don’t want him to actually enjoy himself.”

“Look, I’ve tried. I did that LARP thing with him, I got that stupid Game of Thrones DVD -“

“Did he ask for either of them? Or were they things that you yourself wanted?”

“There’s no reason he couldn’t have gotten something out of them too. I mean, Sam was reading the books.”

“And when you learned that there was someone who had an interest in your brother - romantically, I mean - your response was to forbid it.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I mean, look at his track record, Cas!”

“You’re referring to Ruby. Dean, Ruby offered him the faith and perceived trust and belief that his family never did. And it’s why he was such easy prey for her. She gave him something he’d never had. And your response has been to ensure he’ll never have it again. It doesn’t have to be with me -“

“Because he walked away from you too, Cas,” Dean pointed out.

“He has. I hope I’ll have the opportunity to talk to him about that. But I’m not just talking about myself, Dean. With Amelia, too - Sam had an opportunity for the love and stability he needs, but you weren’t willing to allow him to have it. Not if he was going to keep contact with you. Why is that? Why can he not have someone in his life who actually respects him and loves him and still stay in contact with the brother he loves?”

Dean laughed a little. “You’re kidding, right? It’s not like that, Cas.”

“It’s exactly like that, Dean.” He let the matter drop. He’d said enough, he thought, to trickle through Dean’s bias and resentment.

About two months after Sam left, Crowley called Dean. “You’d best put Gigantor back on his leash if you know what’s good for him,” he snarled without preamble. “He’s making a pest of himself. It’s not making him many friends.”

Dean and Cas exchanged glances. “Is Sam… hunting?” the latter demanded.

“Feathers, I should have known your hands would be all over this fiasco. Mark my words! If I get my hands on Sam Winchester, he’ll wish he was back in the Cage with Mikey and Luci.” The connection was terminated.

Dean began calling Sam then. Sam did not return the calls. One week later, Crowley’s body was left by the front door of the Bunker, a wound from an angel’s blade penetrating from his chin through his skull. Cas and Dean stared at the corpse for a moment. Then Dean grimaced. “He said he’d stab him in the brain,” he pointed out with a shrug.

Sam missed his next two check-ins with Flagstaff. Dean didn’t even pretend not to worry. Castiel called his cell phone twice per day.

After another two weeks, a hospital in Palo Alto called Flagstaff. A man fitting Sam’s description (more or less; he’d lost even more weight) had been found unconscious on a grave in a cemetery near Stanford. He was dehydrated and not terribly clean, and had wounds that had been no better tended to than having dirty rags wrapped around them and secured with duct tape, but he seemed vaguely alive. Flagstaff asked them to put him on a hold for psychiatric observation. Then the angels flew to the hospital to be by his side.

He was still unconscious when they arrived. The attending physician bought their story of being his personal medical staff easily enough, although Castiel suspected that he had some “help” from Flagstaff with that decision. It wasn’t as though most derelicts found camping on graves had a personal medical staff. The injuries themselves weren’t major, just cuts and sprains. The fact that they weren’t healing attested to a consistent pattern of neglect, probably self-neglect, that matched the malnutrition, dehydration and inattention to personal care.

The doctors had him on an IV with fluids and nutrition and antibiotics and painkillers and who knew what else. Castiel considered removing the IV and simply evacuating Sam to the bunker and tending to his wounds himself, healing him and restoring him to full health and vibrancy, but Flagstaff’s restraining hand stopped him. Instead, he allowed the staff to see Sam admitted to a room and get him bathed. He made sure he was in the room when Sam woke, however.

Hazel eyes blinked and squinted against the harsh lights, which Cas immediately turned down. “Sam,” he greeted gently, returning to take the younger man’s hand.

Sam squeezed softly. “Cas,” he rasped. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve missed you.” He stroked Sam’s hair gently.

Sam looked away. “How’s Dean doing?”

“He’s himself. Still hunting. He was surprised to find Crowley’s corpse on his doorstep.” Cas moistened his lips. “That was you, if I am not mistaken.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled slowly. “I think that’s the last thing. The last unfinished business, I mean.”

“What will you do now?”

Sam shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

He gave a gentle little laugh. “I promise not to break the world again, Cas.”

Stricken, Castiel gripped the man’s hand harder. “Sam, that’s not why it matters to me. It matters because I don’t want to find out that you collapsed on your dead girlfriend’s grave, close to death.”

“Didn’t have anywhere else I wanted to go.”

“How about home, Sam?”

“That’s as close as I could get.” He gave half a grin that threatened to tear Cas’ grace in two.

“That isn’t true. No one has touched your room in the bunker. You can always come home, Sam.” He kissed Sam’s hand lightly and noticed the hazel eyes close for a moment. “Are you uncomfortable, Sam?”

“I’ve got a needle sticking into my hand and I’m stuck in a hospital room. Everything kind of hurts and I’m so dehydrated I think they’ve replaced my brain with a raisin. I’m a little uncomfortable.” He sighed. “I just want to go.”

Castiel knew that he wasn’t talking about the hospital. “Sam.”

The hazel eyes opened again. “Anyway.” He slowly pulled his hand away. “I’m sure you’ve got important things going on. Heaven things. You know, stuff like that. Thanks for visiting me.”

“Sam, nothing is more important than being with you right now. You have been alone for two months. Is that not enough ‘space’ for you?” He shook his head. “At any rate, Dean is on his way. It will take him a couple of days to reach us.” Sam froze. “You do not wish to see your brother?”

“I’m not exactly enthusiastic about him seeing me like this.” He used the bed’s controls to force himself into more of a sitting position.

“Perhaps you should have considered that before you neglected yourself to such an extent. Sam, you came very close to dying. You need to take care of yourself.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Cas. I’m not about to go back and be Dean’s little whipping boy. And I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“There was a woman -“

“Amelia?” He chuckled faintly. “Nah. I mean, she kept me together when I thought Dean was dead, and I kept her together when she thought her husband was dead. I don’t… I don’t know if we could be any good for each other now. I don’t think I could be any good for anyone anymore. I mean, Dean thinks I’m a liability and -“

“I don’t think you’re a liability.” The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop himself.

Sam fixed him with a still-fevered gaze. “Cas, you think I’m the world’s second biggest screw-up. But I’ve finally managed to do a couple of things right. Can’t we just… let it end on a good note?”

“We could.” He looked away and then seated himself on the end of Sam’s bed. “But I would prefer not to. I have had the pleasure of working with you, Sam. Always before, I’ve worked around you, near you. It’s only recently that I’ve been able to work beside you without your brother as a… as a middleman. And I must say, I’ve enjoyed it.” He grinned. “Although there have been times when I’ve felt somewhat superfluous.”

Sam blushed. “I’m just glad I didn’t get in your way.”

“But Sam, I found myself wanting more. It’s not enough for me to know that you’re a perfectly competent hunter and researcher. It’s not enough for me to know that you will get the job done. I found myself wanting to visit you and look in on you, even when it didn’t relate to the case. I knew that you weren’t taking adequate care of yourself and I wanted to… I wanted to intervene. Because I wanted to know that you were well.”

Sam glanced at the IV. “Yeah…”

“I saw that you were having nightmares, when I watched over you,” he continued. “And I wanted to stop them. So I held you. It seemed to work, and I wanted to hold you again. I liked holding you, Sam.”

“Yeah, but Cas, now you have Dean back.” There was no bitterness in his tone. He leaned forward and spoke earnestly and with passion, but without resentment. “You don’t need me.”

It took a moment for the implication to penetrate Castiel’s mind. “Sam, I am not now, nor have I ever been, romantically interested in your brother.” Sam leaned back again. “He is my friend. We share a bond, a profound bond. I care for him and I always will. But he and I are not lovers. You are the one that… arouses my interest.”

Sam’s cheeks turned bright red. Castiel thought that it was an excellent sign of his recovery that he had enough blood pressure to cause that reaction. “No,” he objected. “You’ve never…”

“Sam, I told you that you were beautiful to me. I told you that you were important to me. I told you that I wanted you to feel as beautiful as you are. We shared that moment in the bunker before we went to trap Dean. And I kissed you. What part of this indicates that I do not find you beautiful and important and attractive?” He tilted his head to the side, as though perhaps by looking at Sam a little differently he could acquire some kind of visual aid to understanding.

“That was just to keep me focused, keep me involved.” He looked away. “We talked about that, Cas.”

“Ah. Right. Ruby.” He moistened his lips. “I can promise you, Sam, that I am not like Ruby.”

“Well, you’re a guy. And an angel.”

“Did you just make a joke, Sam?”

He rolled his magnificent eyes. “I do that sometimes, Cas.”

“The thing is, Sam, when I held you that night, you seemed to enjoy it,” he continued, after letting himself smile at Sam’s sense of humor. “I mean, you relaxed into it, you gave every indication of comfort. You said the next morning that it was pleasant.”

“Yeah,” Sam whispered. “Yeah,” he said again. “But Cas, you don’t need to sacrifice yourself like that. I don’t -“

“It’s not a sacrifice, Sam. I want to be that for you. It made me happy to feel that I had done something to make your night better; to know that you woke up in better shape than you went to bed because of something I had done. Because you had enjoyed my company in some way, Sam,” he continued, uncertain where he was going with this.

“I’ve always enjoyed your company, Cas,” Sam admitted. “I have.”

“Then spend more time with me, Sam. Give me more time.”

He looked up at Cas. “For what, Cas? I’m a mess and I know it. I can’t make Dean happy. What makes you think I can make you happy either?”

“Because seeing you here - even in the hospital - is enough to make me happy, Sam. Knowing that you’re here to push back makes me happy. Just… give me time. Please.”

“You have so much on your plate, Cas. Heaven’s still got a lot going on, you’ve got Dean to look after -“

“Neither Heaven nor Dean are your problem.” He edged his way up the bed so that he was beside Sam. “Let me give you some of the happiness you’ve brought me.”

Sam sighed and looked away. “Cas…”

“Just give me time.”

Sam said nothing, but he allowed Castiel to hold him as he fell asleep.

The angels discussed spiriting Sam away before he could meet the psychiatrist for the evaluation Flagstaff had requested as a way to force him to stay without checking himself out, but ultimately decided against it. Even if Sam were persuaded to stay, to allow people back into his life, Cas was under no illusions that Sam was going to magically get better simply because he was there. Sam needed to recognize that he had problems and get help for them.

The psychiatrist also succumbed to “persuasion” and offered a preliminary diagnosis of severe depression and probable post-traumatic stress disorder. He reported that Sam was not particularly cooperative with him - not hostile, but not responsive either. None of this was news to Castiel, or to Flagstaff. He recommended that Sam stay with someone after his release, someone who could monitor his emotional state and call for help, if need be. Sam had indicated that medication was not an option.

Once the doctor left, Cas and Flagstaff returned to the patient’s room. Sam glared at them from the bed. “Really?” he groused. “A psychiatrist?”

His guardian shrugged, looking very satisfied with herself. “It was the only way to ensure that you stayed in one place and got some of the help that you needed, Sam. You’ve been moving around from place to place - this is the only actual bed you’ve slept in since you left your brother, isn’t it?”

“Flagstaff, it doesn’t matter,” he told her softly.

“It does.” She smiled at him and squeezed his hand briefly. “Now. Rest, relax and watch some baseball.”

The television flickered to life as she left the room and Sam sighed. Cas sat down beside him again. He knew from Dean that Sam had enjoyed baseball once. It made sense, as far as Cas understood the game anyway. Understanding hinged on statistical analysis, which would appeal to Sam’s analytical side. “Can you explain to me what’s happening on the screen?” he asked.

The human cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. The pitcher’s going into his windup - it looks like he’s a knuckleballer, you don’t see a lot of those in the majors - and it’s zero outs with one man on, one strike and one ball. That means...” He continued to give the details of the game to his companion, from the definitions of “out” and “safe” to minute calculations of runs over average that made even Cas’ head spin. He didn’t say anything when Castiel rested his head on Sam’s shoulder. Eventually, though, he did throw an arm across Cas’ waist and doze off. Cas frowned. It seemed like it should have been an uncomfortable position, but any attempts to shift either of them were met with increased pressure and sounds that could only be described as “grumpy.”

Dean arrived the next night, and was not happy. “Damn it, Sam,” he growled, and Cas could tell he’d come straight to the hospital from the road without finding a place to stay first. “How many times are we going to have to come and dig you out of these scrapes, huh? You’re a grown ass man, you can’t expect me to pull your fat out of the fryer all the time!”

Sam looked away and said nothing. “Dean,” Castiel growled. “Need I remind you that it is only thanks to Sam that you are human at all? And that Crowley is dead and no longer available to trouble you?”

Sam shrank into his bed. “It’s okay, Cas. He’s right. I shouldn’t have caused so much trouble.”

“Sam, no. That is not … just no.” He shook his head. “Dean, we’ve spoken about this. I recognize that you’re upset because you are worried about Sam, but you need to rephrase how you address your brother.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Hey - he’s my brother and I know how he needs to be spoken to.”

“I don’t believe you do. You realize that he left because of what he heard you say?”

“Can we not do this right now?” Sam asked plaintively. “Look, Dean’s right. I know it’s a hassle for him to have to come here. We can - I can just leave. Sorry you drove all this way, Dean.” He started to get out of the bed.

“Sam, no.” Cas put a hand on his shoulder. “You need to rest. That’s why you’re here.”

“You don’t think he can rest in the bunker?” Dean sat down in the chair next to Sam’s bed. “I can take care of my brother just fine, Cas.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Dean.” Sam shot back, eyes narrowed.

“Oh come off it, Sam. Look at yourself. You on your own? You can’t feed yourself, you can’t stay hydrated-“

“Maybe I just don’t see the point! You dragging me around and laying into me about what a pain in your ass I am isn’t going to change that.” He licked his lips. “I, um. I get that I’m not much good to you, Dean. I get that I’m a responsibility and that you hunt better when I’m not around. So just let me go.”

Dean blinked repeatedly, eyes shining. “Sammy, it’s not like that.” He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I need to take care of you, Sammy. I need to keep you safe. You know that.”

“That’s not what’s happening here. That’s not what’s happened in a long time. And it’s okay. I get that I’ve screwed up. I’ve been screwing up for a long time. But I’m not the only one, man.” Sam turned his eyes to his brother. “I’m not going back to ‘this is a dictatorship.’”

Dean was quiet for a long moment. “You coming back at all?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean exhaled slowly. “Okay.” Cas forced his jaw to stay shut. “I’m, uh, I’m going to get a room. And I’ll see you in the morning, Sammy. I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.” He left. Had someone spoken with him, coached him?

Cas stayed with Sam. “I’m impressed,” he said.

“I don’t,” Sam started. “I don’t know that it will change anything. I mean, I’m pretty screwed up. We’re pretty screwed up.”

“It’s a start.”



As it so happened, Sam didn’t return to the bunker right away. It took a few more days for him to get out of the hospital; the malnutrition and infection needed to be brought under control before the doctor would consider releasing him. Castiel and Flagstaff could have easily taken care of the physical symptoms, but they agreed that Sam needed rest and care just as much as he needed nutrients and antibiotics. The time was not unproductive. Sam might not have been enthusiastic about the therapists, but he did speak to them and not at all like a cat with a toy mouse. He more than poked at the food brought to him, although he still had trouble clearing much of his plate. He made an effort to speak to his visitors, whether they were assorted angels or his brother. Dean’s visits were tense, filled with grim silences and choked-back commentary. Still, it was an improvement over the past. Both brothers clearly cared enough to try to minimize the arguing, and in the end, they even managed a little bit of quiet laughter.

On the third day, Sam reached out and held Cas’ hand, initiating intimate contact for the first time. The angel didn’t think that was the most positive signal Sam emitted during his recovery - he showed many subtler signs and perhaps it was not healthy that his recovery be so dependent on another being - but it definitely gratified Castiel on a more personal level than the others did.

When he was released from the hospital, Sam looked at Castiel and took a deep breath. “Look, I know that you, uh, you’re busy and stuff. But you said some things. And - ” He reached into the saddlebag of his motorcycle and pulled out a second helmet. “I thought you might be willing to take a ride. Not working, just us. If you want to, that is.” He looked down, a blush settling over his cheeks.

Cas stepped in and cupped Sam’s cheek as he kissed the hunter. Once again, Sam seemed startled by the action, but he responded eagerly once he recovered. “That should be interpreted as an enthusiastic yes,” the angel informed him.

And they drove up the coast together, Castiel’s arms around Sam’s waist.

Back up there...