Like a Rolling Thunder Chasing the Wind
Title: Like a Rolling Thunder Chasing the Wind
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: AU after 4.03 "In The Beginning" Also: Includes a character from 4.07 "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester", but no plot points.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The sound of the door slamming is a violent crash, shaking the ground underneath his feet. It makes him wince, makes him shudder.
The more time that he spends molded into the form of this human body, the more the sensitivities and frailties press over and into him, like slowly creeping vines insinuating their way over solid brick and mortar. The feeling is constrictive, even moreso than the sensation of the tie around his neck, the patent leather shoes too tight on his feet.
This all had, at one time, been strange and unfamiliar enough to perplex him, warranting a pause here and there to work through the new challenges. These humans are messy, unfathomable creatures and their ineptitude and confusion alternately intrigued and annoyed him. Still, even then, he had been able to observe with cold fascination the trials and tribulations that they faced.
Now, he stands in the shadows, recognizable not as an angel but as a man, and watches with interest as Sam stalks across the parking lot, fuming with anger. He heads for his brother’s car but stops as soon as his hand hits the door handle, remembering that the vehicle is no longer his to take.
Without his demon by his side, Sam no longer has a way to escape. There is no one ready to rescue him from the straight and narrow in the dead of night. Not anymore.
Dean had seen to that. The first smart thing the man had done since Castiel had been assigned to the task of checking Sam Winchester into place. Dean’s propensity to waver where his brother is concerned tries his patience and tonight felt like the first triumph in a long line of defeats.
Eventually, Sam will see that this was necessary. He will come to understand.
And if he didn’t…
The hesitation Castiel feels as to what comes next is unsettling. Uncertainty is an unfamiliar emotion.
“More than the fate of mankind hangs in the balance.”
Castiel does not turn toward the speaker, for he does not desire to witness yet again the scorn on Uriel’s face.
“This is a battle of heaven and hell being fought on the plains of this earth. Yet you stand there and watch, Castiel, depending on one man to do the right thing.”
“Two men.” Castiel corrects and he can sense this leaves a question unanswered, warranting clarification. “There is a part that Samuel must play, Uriel. Dean can talk, but Samuel must listen.”
“And we fight this war by placing our hopes on the shoulders of men.”
Castiel tilts his head slightly to the side, Uriel’s dark shape visible as a blur out of the corner of his eye.
“We must.”
“I may fight to protect them, as is the will of God, but I do not trust them, Castiel. There are some matters best left to those who understand.”
“These are matters that no one save God understands. Even you, bestowed with the power of prophecy, have been laid blind in these dark times.”
“Yet we do no act upon the knowledge we do have. We let the boy live, knowing the road he walks even if we do not know where it leads, and we idly allow him to travel it.”
“What has not happened yet need not happen at all, if Sam wills it so. It is too late to change the past, but if the future were set in stone, we would not be fighting Lilith at all.”
Castiel turns his gaze back toward Sam, who sits on the shining black hood of the Impala as if he is waiting for someone or something. He doesn’t understand why Sam has remained, why he has not simply walked away, if he is indeed as angry as his body language portends.
“Samuel did not ask for this to be brought down upon him, we must remember that. Mercy-“
“I do not believe in mercy for demons. I do not pity the boy for his misfortune; it does not change what he is. He may not have courted evil in the past, Castiel, but he courts it now. He acts against God in using the gifts that Azazel bestowed.”
The door to the Winchester’s motel room opens, a sliver of warm light expanding slowly to fan over the parking lot like the spreading of wings. Dean’s shadow cuts a dark divide as he steps outside.
Sam looks over, meeting his brother’s eyes and tensely squaring his jaw.
“Sam.” It is not an apology but a plea.
It is then that Sam slides down from the car and walks away. Then.
Castiel does not understand these humans at all.
A firm hand comes to rest on his elbow and it takes him a moment to realize what the touch is, that the hand belongs to Uriel’s vessel.
“Do not forget yourself. We are not here to save merely mankind. We are here to save ourselves. If Lucifer walks free, it will mean the end of us all.”
“There is no need to remind me of such things,” Castiel replies tersely and finds himself being whipped around, forced to face Uriel. Fire flashes in the other man’s eyes, his true nature ablaze inside his human shell.
“And do not forget your place.” Uriel growls, fists tight in the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat. “Michael may have directed you to this task, but you are not one of our four. Do not think you may cross me or rise above me, for you will find you are mistaken.”
Uriel lets him go, his fingers snapping loose, and Uriel’s host body shudders as if Uriel himself had just settled back into it completely.
“Now do what you are supposed to do.” In the blink of an eye, the only trace of Uriel left is the echo of his words and Castiel is alone with the dumpster and the prowling alley cats.
Castiel draws a deep breath and he can feel the cool night air fill his lungs. This constant invasion of the elements is yet another facet of living within human bounds that feels odd and unsettling. No wonder men all seem so unbalanced, with the outside and inside of themselves in permanent flux.
With Uriel’s warning in mind, Castiel shifts inside Dean’s motel room, ready and waiting for the young man when he finally closes the door and turns around.
“Hello Dean.”
Dean doesn’t startle any longer. He only glares.
*******
“Samael.”
Sam barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Tense, he places his glass of beer down on the bar with a firm hand and sets his lips in a stern line.
“It’s Sam. Quit it with the Samael shit.”
“Right. Forgot. Sorry.” As usual, there is no hint of apology in the mocking tone. Uriel slides over one stool, settling in close. Sam looks straight into his dark, hateful eyes, refusing to be intimidated.
“She was on our side. She was trying to help.”
Uriel only shrugs and takes Sam’s drink from in front of him, raising it to meet his lips. He winces after swallowing and wipes his mouth.
“Disgusting.” He comments, his eyes coming to rest on Sam. It’s clear that he is not talking solely about the beer. “Demons can't be trusted. Period.”
"Smite first, ask questions later, right?" Sam mutters bitterly. How right Ruby had been; deathly so. “I can't believe you made Dean do your dirty work for you.”
“We did not ‘make’ Dean do anything.”
“Castiel told him to.” Sam purses his lips, his words low and furious.
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Uriel actually smiles, a flash of pearly white teeth, and Sam reaches out, grabs him by the collar, yanks him forward. Uriel’s smile disappears, his eyes narrowing. He wraps his hands around Sam’s wrists, tight around flesh and bone like heated vises.
Sam resists the pain but eventually has to turn Uriel loose. He glowers, stare cool and dangerous.
“I want to meet him.”
“God? Good luck.” Uriel snorts derisively.
“Castiel. I’m sick of dealing with you.”
“I don’t want to deal with you either, devil. They all look to the enemy out there in the darkness but me? I see the enemy every time I clap eyes on you. It makes me sick. If I had my way, you wouldn’t even exist. Not anymore.”
“Then why don’t you just kill me.” Sam mutters angrily.
“It is not God’s will.”
“So? You have your own free will. Do what you want.”
“I consider myself an agent of providence. I desire what God desires.”
“Too bad for you,” Sam gets up, slapping a five down on the counter and adjusting his jacket. “If you’re not going to kill me and you’re not going to help me, then just stay away from me.”
Sam doesn’t look back as he walks out of the bar.
Uriel is already waiting for him when he emerges into the night.
“I can’t do that.”
Sam steps toward Uriel, shoulders squared back and his fists clenching. Uriel does not flinch. Even in height and in size, neither of them have an apparent advantage; they appear just as deadlocked in physicality as they are at cross-purposes in every other way.
“Tell your friend that I want to see him,” Sam grinds out. “If he’s going to be talking my brother into killing the only people that matter, the only ones here to help, he could at least do me the courtesy of meeting face to face.”
“He owes you nothing.” Uriel states and Sam turns from him, feet hard hitting against the ground, punishing the pavement as he heads back toward the beckoning neon flicker of the motel sign down the road. Uriel’s words reach him as if whispered directly into his ear, even though he speaks no louder and he does not move. “And your demon was not a person.”
“She was fighting against Lilith, same as you!” Sam whirls around but he’s screaming at air, at nothingness. He fumes at the empty space for a moment, at a loss, before sullenly going back to the room where his brother is waiting.
He ignores the Listen and the I was only protecting you, Sammy, the It had to be done and all of the other excuses that Dean has to offer, until his brother finally gives up in frustration and goes to bed determined not to apologize any more. You lied to me, Sam. You lied about everything. is the last thing Sam hears before Dean turns away and pretends to sleep.
The morning brings silence and Sam catches himself inwardly thanking god for that before he realizes his mistake.
*******
“We were never supposed to meet.”
It’s the first thing he says. No introduction, just six words like a warning. Sam doesn’t move, but Castiel still stiffly shifts away from Sam, uneasy.
“And why’s that.” Sam asks, disdain dripping from his lips.
“I do not know,” Castiel replies with not even the barest hint of emotion.
“You don’t know.”
“We are God’s soldiers, Samuel. We do not concern ourselves with trivial matters.”
Sam crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the kitchen counter. Castiel studies him for a moment.
“But I suppose that is not a proper answer, it does not satisfy you.” He still seems to be processing his observations about Sam even as he speaks them. He offers nothing more, however, and it is obvious that he does not plan to.
“You can’t give me one straight answer about what is going on here?”
“Your father-“
“What about my father?” Sam cuts in sharply and Castiel sighs slowly.
“You were not meant to be a soldier, Sam. That much is clear. You are impatient and you are stubborn-“
“You do sound like my father,” Sam snorts, dropping his arms to his side and pushing off the counter, crossing toward the table. He sits down in one of the rickety chairs and eyes Castiel, taking the man in. He’s not at all what Sam imagined he’d be. He’d been expecting someone much like Uriel, but where Uriel sparks hot with anger, Castiel flows cool like water.
He takes a deep breath then and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you want with Dean?”
Castiel remains quiet.
“You rescued him from hell, to what? Stop Ruby? Stop Lilith? Stop me?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps what?”
Castiel gazes out the window at the moonlight shining over the shattered salvage of Bobby’s junkyard as if trying to divine some secret in the shadows.
“I’m not a threat.” Sam gives up on getting answers from the stoic stranger and starts to offer his own defense while he has the opportunity. Uriel would never listen, but Castiel seems more even-keeled. Not exactly open or susceptible - Castiel is clearly more reserved, less passionate than his partner.
Yet his impassivity is not apathy; it leads Sam to believe that his views are not set in stone, that he does not burn brightly with the desire to punish Sam for deeds yet uncommitted.
“Two years ago if you’d shown up, I would’ve believed you. Hell, I might’ve begged you to kill me," Sam continues earnestly. "But I know now that I can use what I was given to do good. I’m not afraid of this anymore. I can use it against them. I can help you.”
“Sam.” Castiel’s eyes find his, icy grey in the dim light. “How can you possibly be sure that you will always be in control of this darkness inside of you? You are playing with fire.”
“And we could use it to burn them to the ground.”
“Or you could burn the world to ash,” Castiel retorts, undercutting Sam’s defiance. He walks toward Sam slowly, shoes clicking on cracked linoleum. It makes the silence more pronounced when he stops in front of Sam, feet mere inches from brushing Sam’s bare toes. Sam tilts his head, lifting his eyes to meet Castiel’s flinty gaze.
Castiel is regarding him so carefully, so intently, that Sam is left to wonder what precisely the angel is attempting to learn from him in this moment.
“Let your brother watch over you. Let him guide you. Without him, you are lost.”
Sam opens his mouth to speak but stops as Castiel lifts his hand. He doesn't expect Castiel’s fingers carding through his hair and he can only watch, only feel, as the strands slip through Castiel's gentle fingers. Sam forgets to breathe.
The gesture lasts an eternity. Only one simple movement, one stroke, but time seems frozen.
Then Castiel blinks and a curtain falls between them, sudden and heavy. His face is unreadable, his expression blank.
“We must never meet again.”
The sliding doors to the kitchen part and Dean emerges from the living room, blinking sleep from his eyes and bearing pillow marks on his cheek.
Castiel is gone.
Sam’s heart resumes beating. He swallows hard and stands, shrugging off the ghost of Castiel’s touch that still tingles over his body, warm and strange.
“What’re you doin’ up?” Dean mumbles, drowsy but waking into concern as he steps into the spot Castiel had occupied moments before. Sam doesn’t reply. Around Dean these days, he doesn’t trust himself not to say something he’ll regret.
Dean grunts as Sam knocks past him and Sam doesn’t have to look to know his brother just rolled his eyes.
“You know you’re gonna have to talk to me sooner or later, Sam.” He snaps. Sleep still hangs on his voice and he clears his throat.
“I talk to you all the time, Dean.” Sam snipes back and reclaims his spot on the couch. “We really need to find some mattresses to put in the spare rooms so we have our own places to sleep.” He pulls the blanket up to his shoulders and rolls onto his side, offering Dean nothing but his back.
Sam can hear Dean standing there, wanting to find the right thing to say to snap everything broken between them back into place, but he keeps his eyes focused on the red pilled fabric of Bobby’s couch and steels himself against the urge to turn around and have it out with Dean right now.
“I’m not sorry I did it, Sam.” Dean speaks quietly, his voice rough. “I had to protect you. It’s m’job. To save you.”
Sam bites back the necessary words to remind Dean that heaven never appointed him his savior. Stopping him is not the same as saving him.
Even their father had known that.
Sam blinks away the hot tears forming in his eyes and grips the blanket tighter, pulling closer in on himself.
He’d thought with Dean back, this emptiness inside would go away. He thought that things would be right again.
He’s never felt more alone.
*******
“So, how come you’re not askin’ me about Castiel anymore?” Dean shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth and raises his eyebrows at Sam.
Sam continues pushing around the sausage on his plate, as he has been doing for the past ten minutes. His appetite is gone; the thought of eating unappealing. Dean reaches over abruptly and grabs his wrist, stilling his hand firmly. Sam looks at him and Dean lets go.
“Just quit it.” Dean mutters around a mouthful of food, but he sounds more defensive than anything else, like he needed to explain away any reason for even touching his brother these days. Sam sets his fork down and folds his hands into his lap. Dean swallows and then lets out a large sigh. “C’mon, Sam. I can’t take this.”
“What.”
“You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, hell, you’re barely even talkin’. It’s getting ridiculous. I haven’t seen you like this since Jess.” Dean, in the middle of lifting his coffee cup to his lips, stops suddenly and sets the mug back down with a heavy thud. “Wait. You and Ruby-“
“No! No, Dean.” Sam quickly shuts down the idea and Dean looks relieved. “God, no.”
“Well…good.” Dean nods once and then shakes his head, ridding himself of some horrible image in his mind.
Sam pushes his plate aside.
“You killed her, Dean. Killed her. With her own knife.”
“I do realize that, yes.”
“And you’re listening to angels-“
“You’re the one who was all woo-hoo, angels rock, Sam.”
“I know, I just…I’m not so sure anymore.” Sam looks down at the flecked linoleum tabletop and the vinyl of Dean’s seat squeaks as Dean shifts across from him, leaning forward.
“This isn’t just about Ruby, is it.”
“No. Yes. I mean, I don’t know.” Dean leaves his eyebrows raised, waiting for Sam to continue. Sam frowns. “It’s just…Uriel’s on my ass every time I turn around, he’s like the fucking paparazzi.”
“I thought Castiel was a douche, but that guy? Total dick.” Dean leans back in his side of the booth, taking another sip of his coffee.
“Yeah. Well.” Sam snorts and pushes his hair back from his forehead, glancing out the large plate glass window to their left. He lets his shoulders slump, his defenses slipping just slightly. He’s exhausted from all of this, continually keeping Dean at arm’s length, burying all his secrets deep inside.
Dean seems to sense that the walls are breaking down at long last because he nudges Sam’s foot gently underneath the table and lets his gaze rest easy on Sam’s face.
“What is it, Sammy?”
“Nothin’.”
Dean lets it slide. It wasn’t the closed off response of yesterday or the day before, but a soft and weak mumble that promised further explanation on down the line if he doesn’t press it now. A lot of things have changed since May, but some things never will. He can still tell when Sam’s about to crack open like a piñata and let it all spill.
“You all done with that, sweetie?” The waitress is matronly and she looks at Sam with motherly concern, pointing to his untouched food. Sam nods. “You want me to box it up for you?”
“No thanks,” Sam mumbles and the woman takes his plate reluctantly, stacking it on top of Dean’s, which is practically wiped clean. Dean sucks a syrup-sticky finger into his mouth, the last taste of maple lingering there, and then wipes his hands on his crumpled napkin.
Sam shifts uncomfortably like his back is aching, his brow furrowed, and Dean is careful to avoid his brother’s eyes. He waits it out.
Sam finally lays it down after the check comes, even though it’s not exactly as revealing as Dean had hoped.
“Castiel…he’s different than Uriel.” It actually sounds more like a statement but Dean turns it into a question, positive that it’s the only thing it can be.
“Night and day, I think,” Dean replies, considering.
“It’s like Uriel is used to passing for human. If you walked by him on the street, talked to him in a bar, you wouldn’t even know. You’d think he was an asshole, maybe, but you wouldn’t know.”
“So the guy’s had practice,” he shrugs. “He is…what, thousands of years old? Maybe he pops down here for holidays when it’s gettin’ boring up there. Mexico is great this time of year.” Dean grins but Sam doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh. “What’s your point here, Sam?”
“Castiel isn’t like that.”
Once again, his tone leaves some confusion and this time Dean can’t write it off.
“Are you askin’ me that, or tellin’ me that, Sammy?”
Sam averts his eyes.
“Did you meet him? Castiel?” Dean demands. He leans forward, elbows on the table, and wraps his hands around his coffee mug so tightly that he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter into ceramic shards in between his palms. “When? What did he say to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. The other night. And he didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.”
“What the hell’s he doing talking to you?”
“What’s the big deal, Dean? You didn’t care when Uriel showed up-“
“Because Uriel? I know how to deal with. He’s got the same smart mouth and bad attitude as every other punk ass demon we’ve ever dealt with. He may not be the same species, man, but he’s cut from the same cloth.”
Sam trains his gaze carefully on Dean, studying between the lines of what’s been said.
“So you do feel it, then.”
“Feel what?”
“That Castiel is…different. Than anything else we’ve ever dealt with before.”
Dean regards Sam, eyes narrowing, the reverential tone in his brother’s voice making him nervous, the faraway look in his eyes making him even moreso.
“He weirds me out more than anything else we’ve seen, met, killed, whatever, dude. It’s like…he looks right through me. It’s creepy.”
“It wasn’t like that with me.”
“Oh, what was it like?” Dean can’t keep the edge out of his question, disliking where this is going.
“It wasn’t like he was looking through me, it was like…he was seeing everything.” Sam looks down at his hands and Dean shifts, sitting up straighter and talking louder, wanting to snap Sam out of this daze he seems to be in all of a sudden.
“Look, all I know is, when he’s around, I don’t know which way is up. My head’s all messed around and I don’t want him doin’ the same thing to you, all right? He’s not supposed to be near you.”
Sam’s face screws up in puzzlement, completely back in the moment now.
“He said the same thing. He said we weren’t supposed to meet. Why aren’t we supposed to meet, Dean?”
Dean looks even more bewildered than Sam and he stumbles for an answer.
“I don’t know. But you shouldn’t be around him.”
Sam takes in a deep breath, gearing up for another round of anxious questions, but Dean heads him off.
“Look, I don’t know how I know. I just do.” Sam avoids Dean’s searching stare. “Sam. I mean it.”
“Fine.” Sam gets up from the booth and zips up his coat. He heads for the door without another word.
“Don’t worry, I got it,” Dean calls after him in annoyance, digging a twenty from his pocket and tossing it to the table.
When he steps outside, ready to bitch Sam out for sticking him with the check, all angry thoughts are blasted from his mind by an incredibly high-pitched ringing in his ears.
It stops almost the instant his boots sink into the gravel of the parking lot, the sudden and immediate cessation almost as strange as hearing it in the first place. By the time he ducks and covers his ears, the threat has passed.
“What the fuck?” Dean mutters, glancing around for some sign of Castiel’s presence. Sam stands by the passenger’s side of the Impala and the quizzical expression on his face is directed solely at his brother.
“Didn’t you hear that?” Dean circles close to the car, checking the windows for any sign of damage. Sam turns at the waist awkwardly, following Dean’s motions with confusion.
“Hear what?” He hedges.
“The shrill shrieking banshee-like, ear-splitting, brain-melting sound?” Dean gestures wildly into the air, trying to convey it’s overwhelming omnipresence only a moment earlier. “You didn’t hear it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Dean glares at him and ducks into the car, slamming the door behind him. Sam climbs in beside him and is met with Dean’s green eyes still locked on him, expectant.
“You’re tryin’ to tell me you didn’t hear a thing just then.”
“Dean, the only thing I heard was you cursing and that was it.” There’s a lie lingering behind Sam’s hazel eyes. These days, he can hardly look at Sam without seeing the shadows of things being kept from him and now those shadows are only growing darker. “Can we just go? You’re acting weird.”
“Yeah…right back at ya,” Dean mumbles and sticks the keys into the ignition, firing the engine to life with a twist of his wrist. The ride back to the motel is silent but the voices inside Dean’s head only grow louder.
This is all going wrong. Very, very wrong.
*******
The light of the soda machine is flickering, debating between keeping up the fight or simply going out. Fresh ice rattles down into the bin of the ice machine beside it as Sam leans his weight against the cool metal, waiting for what he knows is going to happen.
He scans the parking lot for any sign of movement. A slight breeze rustles branches of the oak trees overhead. The night clerk is watching COPS in the main office around the corner and the sound of sirens wafts down occasionally. Mosquitoes circle the yellow fluorescents and they remind Sam of tougher times when they camped out as children when their father couldn’t afford a room with real beds. As he’s remembering taking showers in grimy campground stalls and brushing his teeth with iron-tinged well water that tasted like blood in his mouth, a car rounds into the parking lot and comes to a stop almost in front of him.
A drunk blonde with a miniskirt that redefines mini and a man in a messy business suit stumble toward the room next door, giggling and groping one another like a pair of teenagers on prom night.
Sam forces an awkward smile at the pair as they fumble with the door and then pointedly looks away.
“That man has a wife at home, expecting their first child.”
“Classy.” Sam mumbles, sticking his hands in his pockets. Castiel is right beside him; Sam can feel him there, close enough to touch, but he’s not sure what will happen if he turns toward him. He’s not sure he wants to find out.
“Sometimes I can understand why Uriel holds the human race in such disdain. God has given you everything and look what you do with it.”
“Didn’t Lucifer get grounded for talking back just like that?” Sam turns now, arching an eyebrow. To his surprise, a slight smile quirks up the corner of Castiel’s lip.
“You’re beginning to sound like your brother, Samuel.”
“We’re alike in more ways than you’d think.”
“And yet so different in others.” Castiel’s face is intransigent once more, impenetrable. It makes Sam wary, not knowing what the cold expression means.
“I thought we could never meet again.” Sam states, changing the subject, and Castiel nods once, tersely, and acknowledges why he's come.
“You heard me, today, outside of the diner.”
“You said…you said You shouldn’t have told him. Shouldn’t have told him what? That we’ve met?” Sam inquires, gesturing to the small space between them. “Are you ever going to tell me why that’s such a big deal?”
“That you can hear us, Sam, has troubled many of my brothers,” Castiel ignores Sam’s questions and carries on. “By all accounts, you, of all people, should not be the one to hear our true voices. And I believe, given the opportunity, you could see our real forms as well.” Castiel looks at Sam and quirks his head to the side, a thought occurring to him. “You do not seem surprised at learning this.”
“I’ve always had faith. I’ve always believed.”
“The matter is not so simple. It takes a special person, Sam, to spy upon my true visage. I believed your brother would be the one.”
“And he isn’t?”
“No.”
Sam steps off the sidewalk, needing to put some space between himself and the angel but not understanding why. He pauses and surveys the tree line where civilization meets wild, the forest rolling dark into the distance. The highway murmurs past on the other side of the motel but it seems far away from where they are now. Here, the night is still.
“What does it mean, then?” Sam tosses a look back over his shoulder at Castiel, which apparently beckons him to come to Sam’s side once again.
“I believe that this means you are pure of heart, Samuel. I believe that no matter what dark evil has attempted to gain hold of your soul, you are incapable of giving into it.”
Sam knows better than to feel an ounce of hope at Castiel’s revelation.
“And the others. What do your ‘brothers’ believe?” Sam turns his head and finds Castiel close, too close. Castiel’s eyes burn into his and he can’t tear himself away.
“They do not believe the same.” Almost imperceptibly, their bodies press closer. Sam’s senses wake to him and he almost feels too much all at once, a flood of something rich and powerful surging through his veins. “They call you the seducer, the destroyer. They think you will bring the end.”
“I won’t.” Sam promises and without thinking presses forward, laying claim to Castiel’s parted lips.
He’s spinning dizzy and breathless, air leaving his lungs in a hot rush, lost the moment their mouths touch. It’s an instantaneous surge like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart and he’s sweating, pulse pounding in his ears. The world is ablaze and his soul is on fire and he holds onto Castiel’s body, his face, for everything that he’s worth. He can’t let go.
He can’t see, he can’t think, all he can do is feel an intense want burn through him. It’s like he’s dying; the pain of the pleasure is so great, so overwhelming. Sam is enfolded, pulled close, Castiel wrapped around him in a way that his human body simply couldn’t be holding him.
When Castiel rips himself away, Sam’s legs give out from underneath him and he sinks to the ground, boneless and weak.
“This is not the end that was foreseen by God.” Castiel’s voice is wrecked, trembling for the first time since the sound of it first graced Sam’s hearing. He casts his words down at Sam in desperation, trying to make him see. “This is not the end of the Seven Seals and Judgment and the return of Christ. There will be no Tribulation ending in glory and eternal reward for those who have believed, who have shown faith. Lucifer is not waiting to be loosed for his last great rebellion. This is the apocalypse as initiated by Lucifer himself and no one knows what lies in store. The rules are being broken and we will all be torn asunder.”
“Castiel…” Sam struggles, feeling the pull of unconsciousness begin to drag him under. Castiel is close, Sam can feel his hand reaching for him again, tempted to touch him. There is a shift in the ground underneath him, a gust of wind as Castiel withdraws his hand from where he has almost brushed the side of Sam’s face.
“Lord, forgive me for I know not what I do.”
Sam knows then that Castiel is gone and he gives up on trying to stay awake, letting his weight drag him flat to the pavement.
When he wakes in the morning, he is safe in the bed beside Dean’s but his lips feel singed, his body endlessly warm. The fever never seems to recede.
*******
Castiel feels Sam with him now even when he is nowhere near. He had felt that kiss with his real lips, felt Sam’s body with his real hands.
He hadn’t known it to be possible. He hadn’t left his vessel but Sam still moved beyond it, somehow.
Terror is an underestimation of what he should be experiencing, but all he can do is relive the sensations over and over again, unable to comprehend the strength of what had occurred. It’s unlike anything he’s ever encountered, in all of time.
He gasps as he comes out from underneath the weight of another imagining, jarred by the power that Sam holds over him. The thoughts, dirty and sinful, linger in his mind. Expanses of skin, tangle of limbs, the heat of his mouth…
To trespass with a human, let alone the one human who threatens the kingdom, would be unspeakable and unforgivable.
Uriel has forbidden him to go anywhere near Sam Winchester for the rest of eternity. The indictment was overzealous considering the lifespan of the average human, but then again, Samuel was not the average human. One could not be too careful. He’d already proven to be quite unexpected.
It is for the best, he tells himself, and tries to settle down the stirring deep inside of him. If he had a soul, he might fathom that this is what it feels like to have it stolen. There is a gaping hole aching to be filled, ripped open the night that Sam’s kiss burned him, the same as his lips had burned Sam’s.
His body has been left in an unnatural state of arousal and Castiel cannot ease it, cannot erase it as he had the knife and gunshot wounds that Dean had inflicted upon their first meeting. He forces his eyes closed and thinks of death and destruction, the inevitable consequences of dire warnings gone unheeded.
His misstep brought them all one step closer to the brink, he knows.
Suddenly his world goes dark and the echo of his name rings out, sharp and demanding.
“What did you do?”
When Castiel opens his eyes, he is shocked to discover that he is standing in a rented room, another Winchester rest stop, with none other than Dean glaring at him in fury. He tries to hide his surprise for it would not do to show Dean that he has not arrived here of his own accord.
Castiel wonders briefly if Uriel had sent him here without his permission or knowledge but when he sees Sam, laid out on the bed on top of the covers, sweating through his tee shirt and barely conscious, he knows that could not possibly be the case.
Dean shoves him, every ounce of fear drained from his body, no trepidation or careful respect left. He’s every inch the angry young man Castiel had initially encountered, blaming him for all that he could.
Castiel opens his mouth to speak but Dean manhandles him over the bed, bringing him face to face with the fingerprints that Castiel had unwittingly left on Sam’s body. Angry welts are raised bright red on his arms, his neck.
“I cannot be here.” Castiel tries to keep himself in control. Ending Dean and taking Sam as his own crosses his mind in a brief flash that luckily does not return. “Your brother will be fine.”
“Like I’m going to fucking believe you. Is this what you meant by stopping him? There was no need for this, he wasn’t doing anything wrong and you-“
Castiel regains his composure and shoves Dean away, sending him colliding with the wall.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” Castiel touches Sam’s forehead with two fingers and Sam ceases shivering, his face relaxing and his breathing evening out. The brands fade from his skin, leaving him perfect and untouched.
“What did you just do?” Dean demands. Castiel whirls around to face him, leveling him with a deadened stare. Dean falls silent, his eyes wide with fear.
“Do not call me here again.”
He does not hesitate before departing, ignoring how Dean’s voice chases him through the nothingness.
Uriel is waiting for him.
“I did not go of my own volition.” Castiel informs him point blank, knowing it is his only chance to speak his truth. Uriel nods slowly, a deep frown creasing his face.
“I know. You have given them power over you, Castiel. You do not know the damage you have caused.”
As Uriel steps toward him, Castiel doesn’t fear his own fate. All he can think of is Sam.
*******
“This is ten different kinds of crazy, Sam. We can’t do this.”
“Why not.”
“Why not?” Dean scoffs. He’d laugh in outrageous disbelief if he weren’t so appalled. “Sam, need I remind you, both sides want you dead. And these aren’t whacked out spirits or low-rent demons that you can squash with your scary psychic stuff. These are the big guns, the ones you don’t mess with.”
“The only way to prove that I’m not a part of Yellow Eyes’ end game is to go there, Dean, fight alongside Castiel and Uriel and all of them and stop Lilith from opening the next seal.”
Dean pulls over to the side of the road without warning, screeching to a halt, tires kicking up clouds of furious dust that swirl past the windows like small tornadoes.
“Sam, do you think for one possible second that they are going to give you a chance to prove yourself? You show up and I’m telling you, it’s going to be lightning bolts and hellfire from every angle. No time to stop and ask questions. It’s straight-up suicide - you’re walking into the lion’s den, man.”
“They’re all gunnin’ for me, Dean. Either way, I’m going to have to face it sooner or later. I’d like to have some say in when that happens. Wouldn’t you?”
Dean grips the steering wheel tight with both hands, knuckles turning white.
“Dean.”
“No, Sammy.”
“Then I’ll just go without you.”
Dean turns off the engine abruptly.
“You aren’t going anywhere. If I have to knock you out and tie you down, that’s what I’ll do, Sam. I mean it.”
Sam shrugs.
“You know that can’t stop me.”
“Fuck you and your stupid powers, Carrie.” Dean snaps.
“Dean, I know you mean well, but this is something I have to do. If you don’t want to come, that’s fine. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t. If it’s dangerous for me it’s crazy dangerous for you.”
“Crazy’s the operative word there, bucko.” Dean pats Sam on the knee patronizingly and shakes his head with a grim smile. “You’re not going.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Dean.”
“Sam.”
“Castiel is on my side already. He’ll-“
“He’s on your side, Sam?” Dean rises high. “He friggin’ attacked you, man.”
“He did not attack me-“
“And where’s he been for the past month, huh? The world’s going to hell in a handbasket and where’s our so-called angelic friend? Where’s good ol’ Clarence?”
“He’s fighting, Dean.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Dean snorts. “You’d think with them all wanting to kill you and all, Sammy, you’d be a little less quick to defend them. But then you always were a sucker.” He slaps Sam on the shoulder, a mocking enthusiasm lifting his expression. “Hey, know what? I heard every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”
“You know what, that’s enough.” Sam gets out of the car and sets off down the road before Dean even has time to clamber out after him.
“Sam!” He barks, slamming his door hard in sheer frustration. Sam whirls around, walking backward as he shouts back at his brother.
“I have to do this, Dean. Or it’s never going to end.”
“Oh, it’ll end all right.” Dean stalks after him, shoving his keys into his pocket. “Get back in the car, Sam.”
“No.”
“What are you, thirteen? This isn’t Willowbrough and soccer practice, Sam, this is life and death.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Sometimes I don’t think you do.”
“What?”
“And after all I’ve done to save you, Sammy, to keep you safe…”
They both stop, facing one another, sweat beginning to drip down their faces in the afternoon heat. Cars whiz by them on the roadway, exhaust fumes making it hard to breathe. Sam squints at Dean in the bright sunlight.
“Maybe you need to stop, Dean.”
“Stop?”
“Stop trying to save me all the time. Start saving yourself.” Sam's plea is earnest. “What’s happened to me - what’s happening to me…it’s out of your hands.” He turns to go and Dean catches his wrist, yanks him back.
“No it’s not.” He blurts, desperation splintering his voice like desert heat cracks the ground. “Castiel put it in my hands, Sam. So did Dad. You’re my responsibility.”
“Dean, you gotta let me go, man.”
“No. Hell no.” Dean holds onto Sam harder. “Sit this one out. For me.”
“I can’t.”
“Sam, you owe me this.” It pains Dean to play that card, but it’s the only ace he has left up his sleeve. “After everything. Please.”
Sam wavers, wilts, no longer fighting against Dean’s tight grasp.
“Please.”
Dean searches his brother’s eyes for some sign that he’s relented and finds Sam’s eyes soft and warm, their familiar hazel a comfort as tears threaten to brim over and fall down his own cheeks. Sam’s entire body acquiesces, the fight crumpling inside of him and breaking apart like dead leaves, blown away on the next sharp breeze.
They stand on the roadside for longer than necessary, each feeling there should be something more said but both lacking the right words for the moment. Finally, Dean jerks his head back to the Impala and Sam nods.
Inside, Dean re-starts the engine and puts a new tape in the player, turning the volume down just a bit so Cream is only a comforting murmur.
“How about we just go back to the motel, huh?” He suggests in the same tone of voice he used when they were little and their dad would forget to pick them up from school, or would promise to take them out to dinner and then disappear for two days.
Sam nods again like he’s afraid to speak and Dean smiles slightly, gratitude and relief temporarily filling the cracks in his soul and holding it together like glue.
“Thanks, Sam.” Sam looks at him and for a second he looks every inch the little boy Dean had once known, all innocence and love. “Just…thank you.”
“Yeah, Dean. Sure.” Sam replies quietly, the words catching in his throat. Dean doesn’t know how to break their stare without a sarcastic comment and today, this time, he can’t bring himself to spit out something biting or teasing.
Sam reaches over and turns up the music just a little, barely at all, but enough to let the unspoken fade away from the space between them. Dean guns the engine and pulls back out onto the road, making a u-turn and heading back the way they came.
He knows he should fall to pieces later that night when he wakes up to an empty bed beside him, but he doesn’t shatter. He never expected Sam to keep his word, not really. It’d been wrong to hope.
He calls Bobby because he doesn’t know what else to do and then sets off after his brother, Castiel’s words repeating over and over again with each too-slow roll of his tires over the road Sam’s traveled.
Stop him. Or we will.
*******
THIS PART CONTINUED ------->