Watch Out For Me
Title Watch Out For Me
Author sunset_delilah
Fandom Supernatural
Character(s)/Pairing(s) Castiel, Sam; pre-slash friendship
Genre Friendship, Angst-ish, leading to Romance
Rating PG
Word Count 937
Disclaimer I own nothing, I'm borrowing from CW, WB, Kripke, Gamble, et al
Summary Sam has a dream.
Warning(s) spoilers for 6.12 Like a Virgin, takes place shortly after
Notes This was inspired fully by the not-hug; I wanted some Cas watching over Sam and Sam actually getting it. It's just a drabble right now but I'm thinking of continuing with it. This is my first foray into SPN fanfic so I really hope I'm doing all you wonderful writers justice
*
Sam’s dreaming. He knows it immediately, because he’s standing on the sidewalk outside his childhood home in Lawrence, staring through the window at a scene that could never have been real. His instincts kick in, and he tears his gaze away from the window to glance quickly around the street.
He’s alone. With a sigh, Sam stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and takes a hesitant step forward. Then another. A light layer of snow crunches underfoot, a rare thing for Kansas in winter, but he doesn’t notice. His eyebrows furrow as he sees - really sees - what’s going on inside the house.
It’s Christmas, that much is clear. The tree is almost obscene, Sam thinks, redolent and sparkling with ornaments and lights and tinsel. But he spares only a moment to take it in, because he sees Dean, and he sees himself, two young boys practically vibrating with happiness as they wrestle with a huge present. He tries to imagine what it feels like, the wonder of a proper Christmas morning, and the dream provides. A grin lifts his lips and he tilts his head a little, bringing the rest of the living room into view.
“Mom,” he breathes hoarsely, “Dad.” Mary and John are sitting together on the sofa, and Mary is cradling a mug in her hands, leaning into John, whose arm is slung casually over her shoulders. They’re beaming matching smiles at their boys, who by now are flinging ripped wrapping paper everywhere.
It’s Hallmark-card-perfect, and Sam loves it. He’s never had this dream before, never really wanted to because Christmas was just a blip on the radar of depressing family memories he’d rather forget, but he loves this. It’s comforting; soothing, even.
And it’s just as he’s considering that maybe it’s too perfect, and since when does Sam Winchester, the demon-blood-drinking, back-from-hell Sam Winchester, have dreams this fluffy and sanguine, that he hears a telltale rustle just over his left shoulder.
“Cas,” he mutters, unable to keep a trace of bitterness from his tone. “So it’s you I have to thank for this?”
He’s still unwilling to look away from the window and Cas doesn’t seem to mind. He stays in place behind Sam and speaks in what Sam’s by now able to identify as his ‘gentle’ voice, although really it’s more of a breathy growl.
“I had hoped this dream would bring you happiness,” is the simple response.
Sam sighs. He doesn’t mean to be harsh to Castiel, not really, yet it always seems to happen. With an effort, he turns and faces the angel, clad unsurprisingly in his familiar beige trench.
“It does, Cas,” he reassures. “It’s just - well, I mean now that I know it’s angel-provided I guess I get why it seems so…unreal.”
He sees Cas’ face fall and cringes. “Damn it, Cas, don’t be like that. I love it, really. Thank you. It’s very thoughtful of you. But why are you going to all this trouble to make sure I have sweet dreams anyway?” Because by now Sam’s made the connection and realized Cas must have been in his dreams ever since he’d gotten his soul back - the string of pleasant dreams had seemed to good to be true, but Sam had just chalked it up to his eggs still being scrambled, like Dean had said. That reassurance had turned out to be more of a deception than a reassurance, but still.
Cas shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably, which makes Sam take an insistent step towards him. Finally the angel looks up at him with an almost angry determination.
“I am keeping an eye on you, Sam,” he says finally. “Your soul has been free of the cage only a few days now and I…I have been endeavouring to make them as peaceful as possible in sleep, since Dean seems insistent on enabling your desire for danger in the waking hours.”
Sam smiles at the concern in Cas’ eyes. “But Cas, you know I’m okay, right? I don’t remember anything. And I have every intention of staying away from the Great Wall of Sam because believe me, I’m happy having no memories of hell. This situation is better than we could have hoped, Dean said so himself.”
“Dean is blinded by the joy of having his brother back,” snaps Cas, “and it makes both of you vulnerable. I am not willing to risk something going wrong. And in sleep - your mental state is more relaxed, uninhibited, and you are in greater danger of scratching at the wall unintentionally.”
Sam blinks; he’s surprised and a bit taken aback at the amount of worry Cas is showing. He must think Sam’s situation is serious if he’s taken to haunting his dreams; surely angels have something better to do with their time than dream up Christmas morning sequences?
This time it’s Cas who steps forward, and reaches up tentatively to lay a splayed hand on Sam’s chest. His fingers, slender but strong, radiate heat that Sam can feel through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. It’s soothing; he feels a tension he hadn’t noticed before seep out of his shoulders and draw them down.
“I may not understand the finer points of human emotion,” Cas begins, speaking again in that breathy growl that means he’s demonstrating as much understanding as an angel can muster, “but I know that you are far from out of danger, and that this time, the danger comes from within. Dean can’t help you here, Sam.” Cas’ jaw flexes as his bright blue eyes gaze into Sam’s.
“So I intend to do my best in his stead.”
Author sunset_delilah
Fandom Supernatural
Character(s)/Pairing(s) Castiel, Sam; pre-slash friendship
Genre Friendship, Angst-ish, leading to Romance
Rating PG
Word Count 937
Disclaimer I own nothing, I'm borrowing from CW, WB, Kripke, Gamble, et al
Summary Sam has a dream.
Warning(s) spoilers for 6.12 Like a Virgin, takes place shortly after
Notes This was inspired fully by the not-hug; I wanted some Cas watching over Sam and Sam actually getting it. It's just a drabble right now but I'm thinking of continuing with it. This is my first foray into SPN fanfic so I really hope I'm doing all you wonderful writers justice
*
Sam’s dreaming. He knows it immediately, because he’s standing on the sidewalk outside his childhood home in Lawrence, staring through the window at a scene that could never have been real. His instincts kick in, and he tears his gaze away from the window to glance quickly around the street.
He’s alone. With a sigh, Sam stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and takes a hesitant step forward. Then another. A light layer of snow crunches underfoot, a rare thing for Kansas in winter, but he doesn’t notice. His eyebrows furrow as he sees - really sees - what’s going on inside the house.
It’s Christmas, that much is clear. The tree is almost obscene, Sam thinks, redolent and sparkling with ornaments and lights and tinsel. But he spares only a moment to take it in, because he sees Dean, and he sees himself, two young boys practically vibrating with happiness as they wrestle with a huge present. He tries to imagine what it feels like, the wonder of a proper Christmas morning, and the dream provides. A grin lifts his lips and he tilts his head a little, bringing the rest of the living room into view.
“Mom,” he breathes hoarsely, “Dad.” Mary and John are sitting together on the sofa, and Mary is cradling a mug in her hands, leaning into John, whose arm is slung casually over her shoulders. They’re beaming matching smiles at their boys, who by now are flinging ripped wrapping paper everywhere.
It’s Hallmark-card-perfect, and Sam loves it. He’s never had this dream before, never really wanted to because Christmas was just a blip on the radar of depressing family memories he’d rather forget, but he loves this. It’s comforting; soothing, even.
And it’s just as he’s considering that maybe it’s too perfect, and since when does Sam Winchester, the demon-blood-drinking, back-from-hell Sam Winchester, have dreams this fluffy and sanguine, that he hears a telltale rustle just over his left shoulder.
“Cas,” he mutters, unable to keep a trace of bitterness from his tone. “So it’s you I have to thank for this?”
He’s still unwilling to look away from the window and Cas doesn’t seem to mind. He stays in place behind Sam and speaks in what Sam’s by now able to identify as his ‘gentle’ voice, although really it’s more of a breathy growl.
“I had hoped this dream would bring you happiness,” is the simple response.
Sam sighs. He doesn’t mean to be harsh to Castiel, not really, yet it always seems to happen. With an effort, he turns and faces the angel, clad unsurprisingly in his familiar beige trench.
“It does, Cas,” he reassures. “It’s just - well, I mean now that I know it’s angel-provided I guess I get why it seems so…unreal.”
He sees Cas’ face fall and cringes. “Damn it, Cas, don’t be like that. I love it, really. Thank you. It’s very thoughtful of you. But why are you going to all this trouble to make sure I have sweet dreams anyway?” Because by now Sam’s made the connection and realized Cas must have been in his dreams ever since he’d gotten his soul back - the string of pleasant dreams had seemed to good to be true, but Sam had just chalked it up to his eggs still being scrambled, like Dean had said. That reassurance had turned out to be more of a deception than a reassurance, but still.
Cas shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably, which makes Sam take an insistent step towards him. Finally the angel looks up at him with an almost angry determination.
“I am keeping an eye on you, Sam,” he says finally. “Your soul has been free of the cage only a few days now and I…I have been endeavouring to make them as peaceful as possible in sleep, since Dean seems insistent on enabling your desire for danger in the waking hours.”
Sam smiles at the concern in Cas’ eyes. “But Cas, you know I’m okay, right? I don’t remember anything. And I have every intention of staying away from the Great Wall of Sam because believe me, I’m happy having no memories of hell. This situation is better than we could have hoped, Dean said so himself.”
“Dean is blinded by the joy of having his brother back,” snaps Cas, “and it makes both of you vulnerable. I am not willing to risk something going wrong. And in sleep - your mental state is more relaxed, uninhibited, and you are in greater danger of scratching at the wall unintentionally.”
Sam blinks; he’s surprised and a bit taken aback at the amount of worry Cas is showing. He must think Sam’s situation is serious if he’s taken to haunting his dreams; surely angels have something better to do with their time than dream up Christmas morning sequences?
This time it’s Cas who steps forward, and reaches up tentatively to lay a splayed hand on Sam’s chest. His fingers, slender but strong, radiate heat that Sam can feel through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. It’s soothing; he feels a tension he hadn’t noticed before seep out of his shoulders and draw them down.
“I may not understand the finer points of human emotion,” Cas begins, speaking again in that breathy growl that means he’s demonstrating as much understanding as an angel can muster, “but I know that you are far from out of danger, and that this time, the danger comes from within. Dean can’t help you here, Sam.” Cas’ jaw flexes as his bright blue eyes gaze into Sam’s.
“So I intend to do my best in his stead.”