Fret (part 2)
Part 1
He stepped inside and touched the thick payphone, alarms signaling off in his head. He fumbled with it and dropped it numerous times before clutching it harshly, his hands shaking ridiculously.
Dial- he needed to dial a number. But who's? Not Dean's- his was out of the question. Sam didn't want to go from one nightmare into another. No- he'd call- someone else. He tried for Bobby's, but his wrecked mind couldn't recall the exact digits. He cursed, jumped at his own voice.
Castiel. He wasn't much better than- Dean, but Sam remembered his number. Castiel would take him away, hurt him, but maybe not kill him. He could- he knew how to fend off angels, and Dean- he couldn't fight Dean. If his luck held, maybe Dean wouldn't show up.
Sam dialed, his fingers not cooperating. He misdialed perhaps four times before managing what he believed was the correct combination of numbers. It rang once.
And then the payphone was smashed, stand and all, leaving only the glass walls intact.
Morael was here, casting doom and horror onto Sam in magnificent bursting hallucinations of what he thought now was Hell. Flash, flash, flash. He lifted Sam by his neck and slammed him into the busted phone box, and Sam felt the back of his head rip open. Then he was rammed continuously into the glass until it cracked and spiderwebbed and Sam couldn't register anything but daunting beasts and tangible dread and dark. He didn't even bother to try and breathe.
"I told you to stay- in- the- house!" Morael shouted, emphasizing each word with a smash of Sam's skull against the wall. During the end of it, Sam's hair was slipping in a slick sanguine wetness. The angel threw Sam against the other side of the booth, letting go his grip on the man's neck so he could choke and hyperventilate alone around the cracking of ribs. He slowly fell down to the ground, but Morael lifted him up again by his shirt.
"I said not to rebel. I said DO NOT ESCAPE!" The angel roared above Sam, pounded into him with abandon. Blood splattered and painted the glass around him while any light was clouded over by a black void. Sam dazedly jerked with each blow and saw Morael grow and become as sinister as the hunter could never have imagined, flashing terror pulsing off the vessel and huge figure around it.
Sam's heart kept going faster and Sam was no longer around to stop it. His face and chest felt as if they were robbed of their skin, and it may have been true in some areas. Demons warped around them.
The angel's voice was as low as Hell and controlling and burning as he warned, "This will never happen again."
The beating in Sam's chest constricted in torture, then stopped.
When Sam became conscious again, he was in a cramped place with a smell that triggered his gag reflex instantly. He tried to get up, to move, but the walls were so closed in they suffocated him. The odor ended up being blood, which coated the blanketed floor and most of Sam's skin. His head screamed in pain, his face doing the same as it twisted in agony, and his chest stretched and burned. Even his neck pulsed achingly as he tried to crane his head to see something, only coming up with black. He uncurled one of his arms, gasping at the shocks it sent throughout his frame, and brought it up to press against whatever was restricting him.
Thin metal bars, crisscrossing each other to form an unyielding loose-knit mesh, prevented his hand from going far.
A cage. Morael had put him in a sort of kennel, in order to prevent any more escape attempts, he guessed. His organs pounded in remembrance of what had happened; he didn't want to think about escape anymore.
He felt Morael's presence very close by, and though it was too dark to see, he could also feel the angel's gaze on him.
He stayed and mended in the kennel for probably weeks, and was only half-healed during his trials.
***
Castiel sounds out of breath himself.
"It is unwise to interfere in my ministrations," Morael replies coldly. "I have already informed you of this." Sam knows through experience the total lack of emotion the angel carries, though at this moment he witnesses a darkness seep into the man's voice. It mimics hatred.
Sam starts to scrabble backwards.
Castiel speaks up again after some hesitation. "I do not wish to harm you any further, brother-"
"Goddamnit, just let Sam go and we won't tear your bastard wings off!" That's Dean.
No no no, the word hooves through his mind, erasing any other thought. His chest contracts painfully and his hand lands on something serrated, and he's slipping backwards into a shallow pool. Rain is pouring down harshly now, his ears register that, but the drops aren't touching him. Layers of Morael's cloak, however, are piling on by the second.
"I will repeat. Samuel Winchester has been assigned to me. To interrupt or take him is blasphemy."
"Morael, God is no longer in Heaven. The authorities have been corrupted-"
"My mission will not be compromised."
"Beleth is not your superior anymore, Morael! Much of Heaven's Host has fallen in the last month alone."
"Sam!" Dean calls out suddenly, sending Sam's heart into a frenzy. He tries to forestall another inevitable panic attack as he continuously slips backwards. Dean can't see him, he can't. "Sammy!"
"Samuel is not here."
"Bullshit," Dean growls, then resumes his hollering.
Castiel shouts over the rain and thunder and cars and Dean's yells, "I will warn you only once more. Surrender Sam Winchester or I will force you to relinquish him."
Sam gives up entirely on escape, instead bringing one hand up to grasp at his shirt while he tries to breathe through agony. Ripples form ceaselessly from his shaking.
"You are thus proposing betrayal of the Lord-"
"I have already fallen, brother," Castiel snarls. "And so have you."
Then, chaos anew. There's a scrabbling of movement and curses, and Sam stills in seeing the two great angels release themselves upon each other. It's an awe-filled show of dark and new light, both burning and racking Sam's frame mercilessly. He feels pain foreign to what Morael's given him, a stabbing that doesn't belong to the cold angel. It feels as if messy talons were ripping the life off his skin.
He can't breathe. There's more screaming, human and angel, the earth and bridge rumbling with their force. Sam's being attacked.
Screeches turn to gasps, then, and a heavy and threatening silence follows. But Sam doesn't notice.
His heart is seizing and every gulp of air is fake, making him beyond disoriented. Most of his person is soaked by or submerged in water. And then, and then, Morael's presence is just- gone. A cold enters his jerking bones rapidly and he's lost and stripped bare. His name isn't registered when it's shouted, but the hands grabbing him are.
Any idea of calm is completely erased at that moment and if he could struggle, he would- but his heart and lungs and nerves and mind are burning and he just. Can't.
Because it's not Morael. He knows, from the feel, the smell, it's not Morael.
It's Dean.
And he can't, he can't get away, can't escape them. He's drowning in more ways than one and he doesn't know how to get away-
Then he's burning, and Castiel is right there, pulsing with heat and light, and that touch on his forehead is nothing like the other angel's.
Nothing at all.
***
The first two times Sam tried to escape, he wasn't even sure if what was going on was real or not.
Events blurred together after the first few trials, his mind no longer very stable or reliable. His constant state of disorientation did nothing to help him flee, as he was always doubting his actions or backtracking in fear.
One time Sam didn't make it out of the house before he surrendered to panic. With every door he opened, every window he looked out of, there was something on the other side looking back. Sometimes they were violent, sometimes they didn't move at all. Usually they had that frighteningly morbid slowness that was worse on Sam's nerves than a blade. The dark and shadows scared him now too, but it was better than turning the lights on, because whenever Sam did it sickly illuminated bloodstained walls and fatally still figures in the corners of rooms. Some things Sam saw were instantly repressed like a door slam shut.
The other time he hadn't been looking for an escape route, but started wrecking through the house when he heard Dean call out his name. His heart already pounded at record speed, and he startled just as easily at the monsters behind the doors, but he didn't stop- knowing it could end. He just wanted to find Dean. But then he did, and Dean was standing in the middle of the room, facing him, and his expression was falsified and untrustworthy. Sam froze, suddenly unsure.
"D- Dean?"
Dean's face twisted into a smile. "Hey- Sammmmm-mmy. Hey- Sam-" He stopped abruptly but didn't continue.
Sam backed up. This was a trap. He turned, but was met with a view of Castiel a few feet away, face shadowed and unreadable, a hand outstretched and reaching towards him. He didn't say a word.
Sam was uncertain where to go, now, both his exits trapped. His breathing quickened and he tried to keep quiet, not provoke either of them.
"What's- wrong, Saaaammmm?" Dean's head cocked to the side, and he took a slow step forward. Sam's lungs tripped.
"G-g-get away from me."
Flashbacks suddenly assaulted his mind, showing Dean and Castiel doing things and being things Sam knew weren't true but scared him nonetheless. Between each scene he regarded his brother and the angel- fake versions of them- coming closer to him, slowly, slowly. He was paralyzed to the spot.
"S-s-s-st-stop-p-"
"Come on, Sam-mmy, we'll get- you- out of here."
Then, hands were grabbing at him, time suddenly sped up, and Dean's face morphed and split and twisted and leered at him with hollows where the eyes might have been on one face and regular green eyes on another. Sam struggled weakly, but their grips were strong, and Castiel's touch burned at his back. Nails were clawing at his ears and face and neck and Dean's fingers were blades, ripping down his torso. They made morbid disgusting sounds without having opened their mouths.
"D-Dean," Sam called, for the real Dean. "Dean! C-C-Cas!" But the only Dean and Castiel were the two surrounding him now, and flashes bucked his mind and sent his pulse into a frenzy. He kept screaming for his brother, for the angel, but each time he opened his mouth images of unspeakable things and indescribable feelings were stuffed in, throttling him. He struggled less and less and he felt violated, tainted and scared.
After an age, he started crying for Morael instead, and the hallucinations slowly faded until he was left clutching at the cold angel while trying not to have a heart attack.
He wouldn't remember these events or the many similar ones that followed.
***
When Sam wakes up, only remnants of fear linger over his skin. He stays still, reluctant to ignite the panic all over again. He feels a heaviness over him, a blanket by the feel of it, and his head is raised slightly and cushioned. A bed. He's bewildered- Morael's never put him in a bed before. There are a lot of bandages wrapped around him.
It smells cleaner than the places they've camped out in. Sam then realizes Morael's presence is nowhere, and his own soul has been stripped of the angel's energy, leaving a palpable sense of lacking. The beating behind his rib cage stutters. But before he can react to it, a hand is on his wrist.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Sammy," a voice above him murmurs. It's rough and low and Dean. Sam starts and scrambles up, trying to yank the sheets off.
"Hey, calm down Sa-"
"No no no," Sam stutters, "Morael? M-Morael?" He's calling, but gets no response. The hand around his wrist lets go suddenly and he tumbles off the bed and the carpet grates against his knees relentlessly. He switches between calling out for the angel and sending protests towards the darkness. Flashes of things start up again, but nowhere near as potent as the ones sent by Morael.
He gets shakily to his feet and backs up further, but trips over something and crashes to the floor again.
"Morael!" He cries out. Where is Morael? He never goes too far.
"Sam," Dean speaks again, closer than Sam would have guessed, "Calm down. Morael's gone, it's me."
"G-g-get away," Sam spits out. "D-don't."
Dean shouldn't be here. He can't be- that's wrong. Morael said-
Sam's thoughts are halted as Dean calls out again.
"Cas," the man asks confusedly.
"It... must have been Morael," comes the hesitant reply, "It may take a while to wear off."
The voice is lower than Dean's and especially rough, no doubt belonging to Castiel, whom Sam pinpoints being on the other side of the room to the left. He rises again and turns, stumbling with his hands outstretched and tripping over more unidentifiable objects until he hits the wall. Trembling, he traces along it, turning with the corner.
"Cas, he's blind. And he's fucking- afraid of us! What the hell!"
A pause, until Sam finds the door knob and turns. "No, Sammy-"
But then it's open and he bursts out, not confident enough to run- for the best, he realizes, when his knees crash full force into something and he falls onto a plastic sheet. Something rips and he's all the way down, in what he comes up with is the bathtub. Fuck.
Breathing is hard now, especially with a shower curtain pressing against his face. The hands return, and Sam thrashes and kicks out against them, landing a few successfully from the sounds of sharp exhales and cussing.
"Sam!"
"G-g-get the fuck away from me," Sam gasps out, fearing punishment and pain and flashbacks of what Dean's done, what he will do. But his memory searches for recollection of the past and he can't find a suitable spot in his timeline for what his mind says Dean has done. A headache rears up ferociously and a single hand traps his wrists together in an iron grip.
"No! NO!" Weight's being pressed against him and restricting his legs. Wetness falls out from his eyes absentmindedly, his actions induced by panic-filled tremors that strips him of all reason.
"Sam, stop!" Dean shouts, command hot by his ear. Sam bucks.
"Dean," Castiel's voice chides from further ahead of him. "I do not believe you are helping him."
The pressing pauses, then Sam is let go, left to wallow in his uncertainty and thudding heart. He works to calm himself, screwing his eyes shut even though he can't see either way.
At first he tentatively wonders if this is another trial, but the words from under the bridge come back to him, and Morael is gone. Morael is gone. The thought does nothing to calm him further, but the expected terror never presents itself either. He attempts to slow his lungs, jumping as the voices start up again though further away.
Sam manages to calm down as much as is possible, though it leaves him with a sense of misplacement. He tries to rise silently, unconsciously aware of his brother and the angel watching him. His mind wars over itself, tied between fear of the two and the vague unyielding trust that had come before. His thoughts are a train wreck, screaming metal and crashes of dread.
***
"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do now? I can't go anywhere near him without him flipping out."
"We will wait, then. Give him time to readjust."
"But we can't, Cas. He's goddamn blind-" Cracking voice, pause. "We can't just leave him here and expect him to take care of himself."
"Then we have someone else do it for him."
"You saying I can't take care of my own-"
"Dean. Sam's been with Morael for almost two months. Do you honestly expect him to go right back to where he left off?" A short silence. "We have no idea what's been done to him. I've told you before what Morael was capable of. I can undo some of the damage, but not all of it, and not right away. It's one thing to shield a human from an angel's power; it's another to heal one of it."
"Then we take him to Bobby's, see if he can't get through to him."
"It will not be a guarantee-"
"You got any better ideas? Just let me pack up and we can go."
"Dean, I can just-"
"Cas. No offense, but I've had enough of your goddamn teleporting. Just let me drive him."
***
Sam clutches the counter, slightly hunched over and unsure of his next move. His eyes strain uselessly.
"Sammy," Dean speaks up tentatively, and Sam flinches at the sound of his name. "You're okay. We're not gonna hurt you... Just, just stay tight and- we'll take you to Bobby's. You like him, don't you?"
Sam stays silent, wary. There's a sigh, then, "I'm gonna get the car ready," and footsteps leading away.
"Sam," Castiel addresses him now, "I understand Morael's impressed upon you some notions of which are hard to let go. I will... see if I can find someone who will be able to rid you of those impressions, as well as your blindness." A silence rules over them again, making Sam startle badly when the angel talks more. "Morael was a different angel. I am not under the illusion that he didn't taint you through revealing remnants of his true form."
After that, there are no more words. The space outside of the bathroom fills with sounds of things being picked up, zipped closed, hefted around. Sam thinks of how he can get out of this; fear slowly builds up again at the display of his vulnerability, waiting to consume his heart again. It pushes at him each time he tries to wrap his mind around his situation, Morael not here, Dean and Castiel trapping him in the room.
The door opens and closes a few more times and Sam's still frozen when Castiel's presence crowds up to him Dean comes in and states,
"Let's go."
***
"How about we take a break?"
"Why?"
"Why- I'm tired of searching, that's why. I want to rest for once."
"But we can't just stop. Nothing is going to stop, Dean. It'll keep going and we can't afford to fall behind."
"For Christ's sake, nothing is going to stop no matter what we do. You're just gonna run yourself into the ground and next time something comes up you won't be fit to watch my back."
"Dean-"
"And vice versa. Look, I'm not gonna take back what I said, alright? We've already worked that out. But I'd feel a lot better if I could just stop and not have to worry about you running around while I'm asleep."
"I'd feel a lot better if you could trust me to handle something besides just research, Dean!"
"If you don't want to do this together, then why are you even here, Sam?"
"You know that's not what I meant."
"No, I know what you meant. And I get it, I do."
A snort. "Do you?"
"Damn it, Sam- you don't think I feel just as guilty as you do for this whole mess? That I don't want to fix as much as I can?"
"No, but-"
"I know. We have a job to do. But we're taking a break. You owe the world, sure, but you also owe me, or have you forgot that?"
Sigh, pause. "No."
"Then calm the hell down. You wanted to be treated as an equal, don't force me to start babysitting again."
"Dean, I don't-" Huff. "Fine."
A door slammed, then silence.
"Aw, hell." Shuffling, the door opened, "Sam, look, just come back inside and we can- Sam? -Sam!"