vail_kagami
in
ohsam
The Distance Between One and the Same
Title: The Distance Between One and the Same
Author: vail_kagami
Genre: gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Rating: PG
Word count: 6516
Warnings/Spoilers: Language, set after My Bloody Valentine (5.14), so spoilers up to that episode.
Summary: Bobby's not home, so it's up to Castiel to take care of a recovering Sam. Dean's not helping.
Note: Written for this prompt at one of the older comment-fic memes.
The sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky, creating the illusion of a warm day. It was, in fact, cold outside, and whenever it was quiet inside the house, Castiel could hear the wind whistle around the broken cars outside in the salvage yard.
It was almost constantly quiet inside the house. Sam had stopped screaming one day before, had been unconscious until this morning, and had not spoken much since they had all agreed that the worst of his latest withdrawal was over and let him out of the panic room. Everyone else had no spoken much either. Perhaps they did not have much to say.
The most words that had been spoken in a row this day were by the owner of the house, when he told Castiel and Dean that a friend needed his help and would pick him up in an hour. He’d asked if they would manage on their own for a few days and Dean had lied that they would be fine and made a comment about neither of them being children, with the possible exception of Castiel. The angel had been unsure how to react to that, whether to point out that Dean was not fine and that Sam needed to be cared for, and ask the man to stay. But the hunt Singer was needed for could be important, could relate to the apocalypse, and there was one person still here to care for the brothers. So Castiel had said nothing, further contributing to the silence in the house.
That had been an hour ago. Evidently, Singer’s approximation of time to pass until his being picked up was faulty, as he was still there.
When the knock on the door occurred, Castiel was standing in the doorway to the only bedroom, where the older hunter was checking on Sam for a final time before he patted the sleeping man’s leg for no discernable reason and turned his wheelchair around.
“Make sure he drinks a lot,” he said as he passed the angel. “And keep an eye on Dean. Keep them fed and don’t let them do anything idiotic while I’m gone.” He snorted. “Actually, if you manage that, you’ll deserve a price. Of course, if you don’t, I’ll cut off your wings and sell them to McDonalds as chicken wings.”
Castiel didn’t know what to say to that, so he watched wordlessly as Singer wheeled to his waiting friend and barked a hurried good-bye to Dean, who did not answer.
-
Watching over Dean and Sam was not an easy task. Castiel had known this beforehand, learned it from experience. He had, however, assumed that in this case it would be a manageable task at least. They were not in danger of being eaten by Werewolves, drank dry by Vampires or kill each other under the influence of some unfortunate chemical. They were set in one of the safest houses on the planet; Sam unable to go anywhere and Dean lacking the will to do so. Even if they refused to acknowledge their basic needs, there was no immediate threat to their lives. Castiel therefore expected the days until Singer’s return to be uneventful and quite possible boring.
Except that angels did not get bored. They merely got in situations where they were well aware of several Things They Should Rather Be Doing.
Either way, boredom was not a feeling he got to experience much. Frustration came closer to describing it.
Sam slept when Singer left, but his sleep was uneasy and brief. When the older hunter had Castiel help Sam up the stairs to ground level and to bed, he had been weak and barely aware of his surroundings. When Castiel looked for him later he found the bedroom empty, the sheets straightened but not as neat as Sam liked to leave them, as if he had pulled and smoothed them but not managed to get it quite right. This did not surprise Castiel, since when he found Sam in the bathroom, Sam was hardly able to stand and his hands were shaking.
He was leaning heavily on the sink, his forehead resting against the cool surface of the mirror, his eyes closed. Focused entirely on remaining upright, and quite possibly on keeping the content of his stomach, he did not react to Castiel’s presence.
“It is inadvisable for you to be out of bed,” Castiel said.
“I need a shower,” Sam muttered. “I stink.”
“That appears to be unavoidable after days of wearing the same clothes. I will assist you then.”
“No.” Sam’s reply was weak but quick. “Please, Cas. Just leave me alone.”
“You are not able to take care of yourself. Attempting to go through the act of cleaning without help will likely result in injury or collapse.” The angel stepped closer, since there was no reasonable point in refusing his help when it was offered. Yet, despite having no strength to spare for unnecessary movements, the human flinched away from his approach.
“Go away, Cas,” Sam insisted, his voice tight. “I can… I can do this alone.” As if to emphasize his words, his body jerked as he struggled to hold back bile. Castiel assumed he did not actually do it on purpose.
“If you insist,” the angel gave in, stepped back, and left the young human to his misery. He left the door open, though, and heard Sam’s low moan mere seconds after he had turned away. Before he reached the door to the living room, he heard the sound of retching.
-
Contrary to Castiel’s original assumption, Sam did not refuse to acknowledge his basic needs - at least not all of them. He acknowledged his need to be clean, his need to use the bathroom and brush his teeth. He merely refused his need for help.
It frustrated and confused Castiel since he could not understand it. He was there, he was willing and able to assist the human in the necessary tasks. Help was needed, help was offered. It fit, and Sam had no reason to decline.
But at the same time, Castiel had no reason to force his help on him. Not as long as Sam did not endanger his own health beyond reason.
Still feeling a sort of responsibility to ensure the young hunter’s safety, Castiel stayed outside the bathroom and listened until the retching stopped, then listened - minutes later - to the sound of running water. He stayed and waited for the sound of someone slipping and hitting the tiles hard, but it did not occur. Eventually the shower was turned off and Castiel wandered away to look for Dean.
-
Dean was on the porch, still clutching his whisky bottle as if it were his best friend, his brother and his Bobby all at once. He stared at nothing, then briefly at Castiel, then at nothing again.
“That bottle is empty,” Castiel pointed out.
Now Dean stared at the bottle.
“Damn, you’re right,” he agreed. “And here I’d been wondering why nothing happened when I tried to drink from it.”
The angel suspected he was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t sure.
“Are you being sarcastic?” He had to know to judge how drunk Dean was. Dean laughed roughly.
“No, I’m drunk,” he said. “Being drunk feels pretty damn good right now.”
“You do not look like you’re feeling good.”
“Well, I guess I could feel better if I was even more drunk.”
“I do not advise it.”
“Sweet,” was all Dean had to say in return. He continued to stare into the distance, and Castiel decided to go back inside and hide all the alcohol stored in the cupboards before Dean remembered that to become more drunk than he was he needed to consume more alcohol. Then he went back out and said, “You need to eat something.”
“Not hungry.” Dean chuckled. “Besides, someone seems to have eaten all the damn burgers in the country, so there really isn’t any food left for me.”
It was not mathematically correct, even though Castiel had to admit that while under the influence of Famine’s curse he had made a valiant effort to achieve this goal. There was food besides burgers in the country though, and in this house, and Castiel was aware that Dean was aware of that.
“You are trying to be nasty,” he realised.
“Yeah, I think I might be. Is it working?”
“No. I know that I am not to blame for my actions under Famine’s influence. You cannot hurt me.”
“Too bad. Because I really, really want you to leave me the fuck alone.” Dean’s tone was sweet and gentle and a complete contrast to his words. Castiel decided to leave him the fuck alone and try again later.
Just when he was about to enter the house, Dean’s voice held him back. “I guess Sammy’s not to blame for his actions either, huh?”
Castiel hesitated, knowing he had to be careful what to reply, for Dean’s sake as well as his own. “Do you want to discuss your brother or do you wish me to leave you alone?” he asked.
Dean snorted. “I don’t want to discuss my brother, ever.”
Castiel suspected that this was actually a problem.
-
At a loss what to do with either brother, Castiel went back to the bedroom to see if Sam had done a sensible thing for once and returned to bed. If he was asleep there was nothing for the angel to do as he had no intention of waking him, but even watching him sleep and counting his breaths would be preferable over analyzing how easy it had been to lie to Dean.
Except that Sam was not a good company for deluding himself, being the only proof that what Castiel had said about his responsibility was actually far from the truth.
He did not have to worry about that for a while, though, because as it turned out, Sam had not been sensible and gone back to bed. He also hadn’t lain down on the couch or ended up in the kitchen. Instead Castiel eventually found him still in the bathroom, his hair and skin still damp from the shower. He was dressed only in the towel wrapped around his waist and lying curled up on the floor, out cold.
Castiel’s first reaction was immediate concern, thinking the young man had collapsed and possibly hut himself. But his posture didn’t fit that idea. It looked rather like Sam had simply lain down on the floor and fallen asleep.
It was not a smart thing to do. The tiles were very cold and Sam was ill. Despite lacking personal experience, the angel knew that with the fever still lingering in Sam’s body the cold had to be almost painfully uncomfortable.
It was not a smart thing to do and Sam was a smart person. Castiel therefore imagined him overcome by weakness after finishing his shower, lying on the ground because he lacked the strength to move to a more comfortable location, curling in on himself to protect himself from the pain and nausea.
There was a toothbrush on the side of the sink. It was damp, indicating it had been used. Despite his agonizing weakness, Sam had managed to brush his teeth - instead of using his fading strength to get back to bed. Castiel had to admire his determination, even as he cursed his stupidity.
The angel knelt down to check his pulse and temperature, found his skin hot and his pulse slow. He also found him unresponsive and was left wondering what he was supposed to do now. Taking Sam to bed appeared to be a good idea, but the movement would likely wake him, and Castiel considered sleep to be a good thing for the man. Letting him sleep damp and mostly naked on the cold tiles was a bad idea. Creating a bed for him on the floor was an option, but it would block the bathroom for other people’s use.
Dean stumbled into the bathroom before the angel had come to a decision. He stopped in the doorway, looking down at Castiel and Sam with a confused expression.
“Someone stole all the alcohol,” he said, followed by, “Why is my brother lying on the bathroom floor?” Followed by, “I really need to piss.” After shaking his head as if to clear it, he finally asked, “Is he okay?”
“He passed out. Chances are he is not.” Castiel turned back to the younger brother. “He is not likely to be in any danger, however. He merely needs rest.”
Dean was silent for a moment. Then he said, “And I really need to piss.”
Castiel sighed, trying to keep that his only show of emotions and his voice calm. “Why are you telling me that?”
“Because you two are blocking the bathroom.”
“Your brother is sick. I need to take care of him. And I doubt he passed out here just to annoy you.”
“You sure? It sounds like something he would do.”
Now Castiel turned back to Dean and found him staring at Sam with an expression that was impossible to read. “Why are you angry with him?”
“Why wouldn’t I? He brought this on himself, and now he’s a burden to everyone. Except himself, because he conveniently goes to sleep and lets us deal with the mess he’s made of himself. Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?”
“Yes,” Castiel said, clinging to his patience with effort. He knew that lashing out at his brother was not an unusual way of Dean’s to deal with his own issues, but Castiel, unbelievable as it seemed to be for his friend, had issues of his own and little tolerance for Dean’s immature words. It would have been a relief to lash out as well, but as that would likely result in broken bones on Dean’s part, it would not actually benefit the situation. Also, he had an interest in his wings staying attached to his body rather than being sold to McDonalds under the pretence of being something else.
Dean said, “Watching him go through detox again was bad enough. My sympathy was pretty much used up then, thank you very much.”
“You did not watch him go though detox,” Castiel pointed out. “You barely even listened to him going through detox. I did. I have sympathy left.”
“Well, you don’t need to pee.” Dean sounded like a petulant child. Castiel allowed some of the annoyance he felt to show on his face and whatever Dean had wanted to say next was changed into a reluctant, “Anyway, it can’t be healthy for him to lie on the floor like that. Can’t you take him to bed or something?”
“I can try.” Castiel made a show of carefully shaking Sam awake and Sam blinked open his eyes, throwing an unfocused look at the angel and none at his brother.
“C’mon, get up,” Dean said, carefully pulling his brother to his feet. “It’s little brother beddy-bedtime.”
Sam made a quiet sound in acknowledgement and let Castiel lead him away without looking up from the floor. Dean stayed behind watching with an impatient scowl until they cleared the room.
“It was I who took the alcohol,” the angel said as he left.
“I figured.” The door closed with a loud click and was locked from the inside.
On the way to the bedroom, Sam leaned heavily on Castiel, his feet barely lifting off the ground. Yet, when they reached their destination, he refused to enter the room. “Not here,” he mumbled. “’s Bobby’s bed.”
“Robert does not mind you using his bed,” Castiel explained. But Sam shook his head.
“No,” he said. “It’s the only one.” As if that was any explanation at all.
One moment later Sam added, “I need clothes.”
“I will get you some when you are settled.” But Sam still refused to use the house’s only proper bed, so, unwilling to upset him further, Castiel led him to the couch instead, then went to fetch some blankets and clean clothes. When he returned, Sam looked at him with slumped shoulders and tired, wet eyes.
“Let me get dressed, please,” he said quietly.
After a moment of hesitation, Castiel left him alone, not offering help because he knew it would not be accepted. He wanted to ask Sam how long he had been awake, how many of Dean’s words he had heard, but understood that Sam had pretended to be asleep to give all of them the chance to pretend it had never happened. It appeared to be the preferred way of dealing with issues between the brothers.
Ten minutes later Castiel returned to find Sam half-dressed and deeply asleep on the couch. The angel draped the blankets over him and sat in the sofa, turning on the tv to check the recent news.
-
The first day passed without further incident. Sam woke briefly in the evening, was made to drink a glass of water by Castiel and fell back asleep, his body still weak and ill after days of violent withdrawal. Dean lurked around upstairs until late at night, when he left for a walk and eventually fell asleep in the impala. He avoided both Sam and Castiel all day. Neither of the brothers ate anything at all. In Sam’s case it was expected. In Dean’s case it was expected, too. It was also worrisome.
Around midnight, it felt safe to leave them alone for a few hours, so Castiel sat down on the bed both brothers refused to use and send his mind out, extending senses humans did not have to search the area for any signs of danger. Neither Sam nor Dean was in a state to deal with an attack now. Sam could not fight and Dean might just not do it.
There was nothing, fortunately. Another thing that was not there when Castiel returned to the living room in the morning was Sam. Castiel looked at the obvious places - the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen - without finding him. He found Dean, however, when he crossed the living room again. The young man was sitting on the couch his brother had vacated, wrapped in one of the blankets and glaring. He looked tired and cold and was obviously not interested in a conversation.
“Have you seen your brother?” Castiel asked.
Dean shrugged. “Haven’t looked for him. I think he’s upstairs. Heard him moving around there earlier.”
Temporarily satisfied with the answer, Castiel went to the kitchen and created sandwiches out of ingredients he found there. The act stuck him as odd. He was an Angel of the Lord. He was supposed to be fighting the Apocalypse. He was making sandwiches.
Absurd.
He expected Dean to make a comment in that direction, but Dean only groaned and claimed not to be hungry. Castiel eventually threatened him into eating. That he did so without enthusiasm was further reason to worry.
-
Sam kept away from them all day. Castiel understood his need for privacy, but it was inconvenient. The house wasn’t large. Sam did not want to use the bedroom and the living room was too central, bound to confront him with company frequently. Locking himself in the bathroom was not an option because Dean needed to use it too. The rooms upstairs were only desirable until Dean chose them for his own retreat. When Castiel found the older brother there in the afternoon, he knew Sam must have fled elsewhere, but he had no idea where. Dean taking over the second storey left only one room inside the house for Sam to hide in: the panic room.
Castiel checked there for lack of other options. It was, as expected, empty.
The simple and frustrating conclusion was that Sam was outside. Outside it was cold and the salvage yard was large and offered many places to hide. Castiel did understand Sam’s need to be alone. He did not assume that Sam hid from them to make their lives harder. Yet he had to fight hard to suppress his growing irritation.
In the end it did not take too long to find the young man, but it had taken a long time to realise he was no longer in the house and by the time Castiel opened the door of the rusty pick-up truck Sam had chosen as a temporary home, the sky was beginning to darken.
The location of the truck close to the house confirmed that Sam had not actually meant to hide from them but merely sought some solitude. It was very cold however, the temperature falling steadily with the approach of night, and Sam should be inside, no matter how uncomfortable the presence of other people - mainly, Castiel suspected, his brother - made him feel.
The hunter was huddled in the passenger seat, one long leg drawn to his chest, the other resting on the seat as if lacking the strength to do the same. A woollen blanket was wrapped around Sam’s shoulder. He appeared to be sleeping, but jerked to awareness the moment the rusty door was pulled open.
“You need to go inside,” Castiel told him, and added, “It took me a long time to find you.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled, while looking around a little disoriented. “I didn’t think… I didn’t…”
“I was worried about you.” Considering the human’s state of mind and his strained relationship with this brother, Castiel judged he would benefit from knowing someone was concerned about his wellbeing and thought himself justified to lie. He was not truly worried about Sam, knowing his condition was not life-threatening. Then he thought that perhaps he had not lied at all, not as such, because Sam was pale and shivering and sweating despite the freezing cold air, and while Castiel knew his life was not in danger, he found he did not wish further illness on his friend.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbled again, confused, an automatic reply. Castiel took his arm and gently pulled him out of the car, supporting much of his weight on the way back to the house.
Sam was shivering uncontrollably when Castiel settled him on the couch and fell asleep almost instantly. Remembering the order to make him drink a lot, the angel reluctantly woke him again to make him drink some water, but most of it ran down the ill man’s chin and Castiel gave up after half a glass.
Dean came in an hour later. He stopped in the doorway and stared down at his brother.
“Not to complain here or anything, but couldn’t you have made him sleep in the bed instead of, you know, a room where other people actually would like to do stuff? He’s taking up all of the couch.”
“You do not need to worry. Sam will not wake from the sound of the television.” Dean had actually spoken in a subdued voice, possibly unconsciously. Now he only frowned at Castiel, looking vaguely irritated. “And he refuses to sleep in the bedroom,” Castiel continued. “I believe he does that because it is the only bed available and he wants to leave it to you.”
Dean stared at his brother for a long moment before he turned and walked away without a word.
-
It was another day before Castiel decided that a conversation with Dean was necessary. The prospect did not excite him. It would force both Dean and him to voice things they did not wish to talk - or think - about.
Singer had called, telling them that he would be gone another few days. Castiel found himself wishing he would return sooner than that.
Sam slept through the entire night and most of the following morning, only to be woken by nightmares that left him confused and depressed. He still wasn’t able to handle solid food, but Castiel managed to make him drink some soup. Around noon, Sam became restless but was too weak to move around, so Castiel brought him the books he asked for and waited until his friend had fallen asleep over them.
He knew rest was what Sam needed most, but the ongoing fever unsettled him. So he called Singer and asked for advice.
“What’s wrong with Dean? He should be able to treat a little fever,” came the hunter’s gruff reply.
“Dean has been withdrawn lately,” Castiel told him. “I do not want to bother him with this.”
“Bother him, my ass! There was a time when Dean wouldn’t move five feet away from his brother if Sam was having so much as a cold! So you better go and bother him a bit. If it’s so bad with him, it’s about time someone spoke to him, don’t you think?”
“Dean is not interested in a conversation, least of all one addressing his issues with his brother.”
“Tell you what, I don’t give a damn about what Dean’s interested in! If I fuck up this hunt because I have to worry about those boys, I’m taking it out on you!” Then Singer told Castiel which medication to make Sam take and had him put cool, damp pieces of cloth on his neck and forehead to bring down the temperature. Sam shifted uneasily at the contact, made an almost mewling sound in protest, but did not wake up.
The day was cold, but sunny. Dean had escaped outside, taking his car for a ride. When he came back, Castiel was waiting for him on the porch.
“Did you drive while under the influence of alcohol?” It was not what the angel had intended to open their conversation with, but he could not ignore the whisky bottle clutched in Dean’s hands.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course not. But I intend to put myself under some influence right now.” He screwed open the bottle that did indeed still have all its contents and put it to his lips.
Castiel reached out, faster than any human could react, and pulled it from his hands.
Dean glared at him. “Not goddamn funny, Cas,” he said. “Give it back!” He tried to lunge for the bottle, but Castiel held it out of reach.
“This is undignified. And unnecessary. Does getting drunk really make you feel better?”
“Hell, yeah! So give it back.”
“Better about what?” Castiel insisted. Dean replied with an incredulous stare.
“Are you kidding? Do you know anything about my life? I went to fucking hell! I broke the first seal. Everyone I love dies, and my life is worthless now because when I sold my soul, apparently I really sold my soul, because there’s just no joy anymore. Even the things I loved before, they mean nothing to me.” He looked close to tears. “What the hell am I living for, now? When all is said and done, when we stopped Lucifer, so that’s even possible, what’s left for me then? I might as well lay down and die!” He turned, took a few steps away from Castiel, who knew he had postponed this conversation for far too long. Sam’s poor health and his own doubts had kept him from giving Dean’s emotional torment the attention it deserved. The situation was unfortunate.
Sadly, he was not sure he could do anything to help.
“You are thinking about Famine’s words. You believe them.”
“Of course I believe them! Because he was right. I want nothing. Nothing means anything. My life is pretty damn empty!”
“And that hurts you.” Castiel nodded thoughtfully.
“You think so? Surely doesn’t make me happy.”
“You’re hurting,” Castiel said, his voice firm. “Then your soul is not empty.”
Dean gave a short laugh. “Oh, and you’re the expert on dead souls now?”
“Yes,” Castiel said solemnly. “Your soul is not dead, just suffering.”
“Okay, great. That makes me feel better already.” He did not believe Castiel’s word, though, and the angel didn’t know how to make him understand.
“You still feel,” he tried. “You’re hurt. You’re angry. You would not be if nothing mattered to you.”
Dean still did not look at him. “So, I have enough soul left to be in pain? Figures.”
“That’s not what I-”
“But then, there’s not much to be happy about, I guess. Girls and booze and burgers don’t really cut it if you’re facing the end of the world. Unless you’re you, of course,” he added. “Guess even an angel has more desires to latch onto than I do.”
To not have this conversation end in a disaster, Castiel knew, he had to control his own emotions. “My performance in front of Famine was shameful,” he admitted. “However, did it occur to you that the curse did not pass you by? It merely had the opposite effect on you; dulling your desires instead of amplifying them.”
Dean said nothing.
“And did it occur to you that Famine might have done this on purpose?” Castiel continued. “To make you lose your will to live. And to bring you and your brother further apart.”
When Dean replied, his voice was bitter. “As if we needed any help. Sam does a pretty damn good job of that on his own.”
Castiel closed his eyes, briefly. “What makes you say that?” When he opened his eyes, Dean was looking at him.
“You have to ask? Seriously?” The human shook his head. “I went to hell. For him. And as a token of his appreciation, I get lied to and cast aside. Oh, and then he breaks the world.”
Castiel thought of orders, of secrets he never told, of one fragile human in the merciless hands of Heaven and Hell. “Sam’s motivation-”
“Let’s not talk about Sam’s motivation, okay? I’m not interested in Sam’s motivation. Fact is, he did it, and it would not have happened if he’d trusted me more, listened to me instead of that bitch. If he hadn’t betrayed me and everyone else because he thought he was so much better than me! But you know what the best part is?” Dean interrupted Castiel just when the angel wanted to speak, defend the younger brother against accusations against which he would never defend himself. “The best part is that I though we were getting better, you know? That we were getting over this. I was just beginning to think that maybe I could trust him again, and then he goes and bites the throat of the first demon bitch he comes across, and it’s the same mess all over again! I thought he could finally control himself, be stronger than that but I was wrong. I trusted him, and I was wrong. Again.” Dean’s voice, agitated at the beginning, sounded only exhausted at the end. Castiel’s own emotions became harder to control.
“If Sam had not drunken that demon blood, we could not have defeated Famine.”
“I know. And it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he fell off the wagon when I needed him not to. When I needed him to be stronger. Someone I can, trust, you know? Who can I rely on, if not him? And I can’t rely on him, I know that now. He knows he’s a junkie. He should have fought harder.”
“You don’t understand.” Castiel kept the strain from his voice with effort. “I failed in the face of Famine’s curse. You failed. We both stood before him and did nothing. Sam is the only one who was able to overcome it. The only one.”
“But only after-”
“I know you did not feel the desires we suffered from.” Castiel would not let him speak; he could not. “But you saw what it did to others. To me. People killed themselves for sex. Died in boiling oil for French fries. This is what the curse did with perfectly mundane desires. Even I, an angel who has no desires of my own but only some lingering needs in the flesh of my vessel, was entirely unable to control myself. Even in front of Famine with every means to kill him, I could only think of red meat.” Thinking back to this, admitting it was difficult. Shameful. But Castiel knew he had to, for Dean, and for Sam.
But Dean was quick to excuse him. “Like you said, you’re not used to desires. Can’t be expected to resist them.”
“The other humans were familiar with them. Not a single one resisted.”
“They didn’t know what they were dealing with. Sam did. He was prepared.”
Right now, Castiel had an increasing desire to hurt Dean. “Your brother is an addict,” he said, his voice hard. “He will always be an addict. You need to understand that. He may be able to control his addiction, but the craving is always there. Constantly. Every moment of his life, and it will. Never. Stop. Not for the rest of his life. It is the price he has to pay. Every moment of his existence is a struggle against the wish for demon blood. Do not assume it is easy for him, or that faced with the same situation, you would do any better.”
Dean looked taken aback. “I didn’t-”
“And that craving was amplified to a level that made everyone else, including me, lose their minds. That Sam resisted as long as he had is admirable in itself. That after giving in and taking what he wanted, after opening himself to his desires, he was able to step back and say No when confronted with the very thing he wanted with an intensity you cannot possibly imagine is…” Inhuman. Castiel knew better than to use this word when talking to Dean about his brother. “… incredible.”
Dean looked at him, his face blank and unreadable. “So my brother is Superman now,” he finally said. “Wow. I’m speechless.”
“You are lucky the curse has worn off,” Castiel admitted openly. “Because at the present time, I desire to punch you in the face.”
For a moment, Dean looked truly speechless. Then his face closed off. “Well, it’s nice to know where you stand.”
“Did you ever think about why the demons want to drive you two apart?” Castiel asked. “Sam is Lucifer’s vessel. And he is alone. Everyone knows he is to blame for the death and destruction now wrecking the world, and Sam himself knows it best of all. And the one person whose support he needs despises him. So he is alone and vulnerable and Lucifer…” It was hard to say this. “Lucifer is the only person on the planet he can turn to. The only one who welcomes him instead of pushing him away, offering sympathy instead of scorn and hatred. Your brother is starved for sympathy. And yet he keeps saying No.” Casiel looked into Dean’s eyes, his lips a hard line. “Can you?”
Dean stared back at him, looking uncomfortable and vaguely betrayed. “I don’t despise him.”
“Then stop acting like it.” Castiel sighed, some of the tension leaving his body. “I know you are hurt, Dean. I know you carry a great burden. But don’t let the forces working against you make it worse than it has to be. They know it’s easy for you to doubt your brother. They will always use that against you if you let them.”
“Well, there is a reason why it’s easy to doubt him,” Dean muttered.
“Who do you doubt more? Him or yourself?”
Dean didn’t reply. He looked defeated.
Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t. Have faith. In yourself if not in God. You will be strong enough in the end. And your brother will help you carry the burden, if you let him.”
Dean still said nothing, and Castiel read in his face how scared he was of not being able to live up to the expectations placed in him. How all of this, all this doubt and loss of hope was another step towards Michael.
Eventually Dean reached out his hand. “Can I have my bottle back now, please? I really need a drink on this.”
-
The angel left Dean alone on the porch, knowing his friend needed time to think. He did not expect his words to have had much effect. Dean was hurting, doubting himself, increasingly unable to deal with the burden placed on his by others, and he would never be able to understand Sam if he did not want to understand. Perhaps focusing on his brother’s shortcomings was Dean’s way of focusing his hurt and anger on something to keep himself from breaking. If so, Castiel did not miss the irony. Dean was actively cutting himself off from the only thing that could safe him.
The angel felt close to Dean and he had come to consider Sam his friend as well, but he had no illusions as to his importance to them. The only ones who could save them were each other.
Sam was still asleep when Castiel returned to his side. The angel replaced the damp cloths with new ones, then checked Sam’s temperature, seeing to his satisfaction that it had gone down a little.
Asleep and pale, Sam looked young and fragile, vulnerable to the overwhelming forces that wanted to use him. The angel knew how deceiving that impression was, but he found himself promising to protect the boy from any harm he could possibly prevent. Him and Dean both. They deserved as much, and more.
But he feared it would not be enough. He was not as strong as he liked to believe himself to be. Admitting his failure to Dean had been hard, but admitting it to himself had been harder. He had wanted to believe that he was helpless against Famine’s curse, that there was nothing he could do to break it, that he was free from blame. But Sam had broken it, proving him wrong, and Castiel had to face the knowledge that he could have spared his friends much pain if only he had been stronger.
The angel had never found the courage to admit to his guilt in freeing Lucifer, thus never having to take any blame. Sam never kept his guilt to himself. He took the blame and the resentment, accepted his responsibility and instead of running away did his best to repair what he had unintentionally broken. Even if he had to do it alone.
Dean did not want the help he was offered. Sam was not offered the help he wanted. He kept fighting anyway. It was all he could do.
Castiel found himself impressed against his will by this tiny human, whose twenty-six years were so insignificant in the face of the millennia the angel had seen. This human who had never in his life had a chance and yet never lost because he never gave up.
Sam did not believe himself to be worthy of God’s love. One day, perhaps when this was over, Castiel would have to tell him that it was people like him that made the angel understand why the humans were the most beloved of God’s creations.
October 22, 2010
Author: vail_kagami
Genre: gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Rating: PG
Word count: 6516
Warnings/Spoilers: Language, set after My Bloody Valentine (5.14), so spoilers up to that episode.
Summary: Bobby's not home, so it's up to Castiel to take care of a recovering Sam. Dean's not helping.
Note: Written for this prompt at one of the older comment-fic memes.
The sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky, creating the illusion of a warm day. It was, in fact, cold outside, and whenever it was quiet inside the house, Castiel could hear the wind whistle around the broken cars outside in the salvage yard.
It was almost constantly quiet inside the house. Sam had stopped screaming one day before, had been unconscious until this morning, and had not spoken much since they had all agreed that the worst of his latest withdrawal was over and let him out of the panic room. Everyone else had no spoken much either. Perhaps they did not have much to say.
The most words that had been spoken in a row this day were by the owner of the house, when he told Castiel and Dean that a friend needed his help and would pick him up in an hour. He’d asked if they would manage on their own for a few days and Dean had lied that they would be fine and made a comment about neither of them being children, with the possible exception of Castiel. The angel had been unsure how to react to that, whether to point out that Dean was not fine and that Sam needed to be cared for, and ask the man to stay. But the hunt Singer was needed for could be important, could relate to the apocalypse, and there was one person still here to care for the brothers. So Castiel had said nothing, further contributing to the silence in the house.
That had been an hour ago. Evidently, Singer’s approximation of time to pass until his being picked up was faulty, as he was still there.
When the knock on the door occurred, Castiel was standing in the doorway to the only bedroom, where the older hunter was checking on Sam for a final time before he patted the sleeping man’s leg for no discernable reason and turned his wheelchair around.
“Make sure he drinks a lot,” he said as he passed the angel. “And keep an eye on Dean. Keep them fed and don’t let them do anything idiotic while I’m gone.” He snorted. “Actually, if you manage that, you’ll deserve a price. Of course, if you don’t, I’ll cut off your wings and sell them to McDonalds as chicken wings.”
Castiel didn’t know what to say to that, so he watched wordlessly as Singer wheeled to his waiting friend and barked a hurried good-bye to Dean, who did not answer.
-
Watching over Dean and Sam was not an easy task. Castiel had known this beforehand, learned it from experience. He had, however, assumed that in this case it would be a manageable task at least. They were not in danger of being eaten by Werewolves, drank dry by Vampires or kill each other under the influence of some unfortunate chemical. They were set in one of the safest houses on the planet; Sam unable to go anywhere and Dean lacking the will to do so. Even if they refused to acknowledge their basic needs, there was no immediate threat to their lives. Castiel therefore expected the days until Singer’s return to be uneventful and quite possible boring.
Except that angels did not get bored. They merely got in situations where they were well aware of several Things They Should Rather Be Doing.
Either way, boredom was not a feeling he got to experience much. Frustration came closer to describing it.
Sam slept when Singer left, but his sleep was uneasy and brief. When the older hunter had Castiel help Sam up the stairs to ground level and to bed, he had been weak and barely aware of his surroundings. When Castiel looked for him later he found the bedroom empty, the sheets straightened but not as neat as Sam liked to leave them, as if he had pulled and smoothed them but not managed to get it quite right. This did not surprise Castiel, since when he found Sam in the bathroom, Sam was hardly able to stand and his hands were shaking.
He was leaning heavily on the sink, his forehead resting against the cool surface of the mirror, his eyes closed. Focused entirely on remaining upright, and quite possibly on keeping the content of his stomach, he did not react to Castiel’s presence.
“It is inadvisable for you to be out of bed,” Castiel said.
“I need a shower,” Sam muttered. “I stink.”
“That appears to be unavoidable after days of wearing the same clothes. I will assist you then.”
“No.” Sam’s reply was weak but quick. “Please, Cas. Just leave me alone.”
“You are not able to take care of yourself. Attempting to go through the act of cleaning without help will likely result in injury or collapse.” The angel stepped closer, since there was no reasonable point in refusing his help when it was offered. Yet, despite having no strength to spare for unnecessary movements, the human flinched away from his approach.
“Go away, Cas,” Sam insisted, his voice tight. “I can… I can do this alone.” As if to emphasize his words, his body jerked as he struggled to hold back bile. Castiel assumed he did not actually do it on purpose.
“If you insist,” the angel gave in, stepped back, and left the young human to his misery. He left the door open, though, and heard Sam’s low moan mere seconds after he had turned away. Before he reached the door to the living room, he heard the sound of retching.
-
Contrary to Castiel’s original assumption, Sam did not refuse to acknowledge his basic needs - at least not all of them. He acknowledged his need to be clean, his need to use the bathroom and brush his teeth. He merely refused his need for help.
It frustrated and confused Castiel since he could not understand it. He was there, he was willing and able to assist the human in the necessary tasks. Help was needed, help was offered. It fit, and Sam had no reason to decline.
But at the same time, Castiel had no reason to force his help on him. Not as long as Sam did not endanger his own health beyond reason.
Still feeling a sort of responsibility to ensure the young hunter’s safety, Castiel stayed outside the bathroom and listened until the retching stopped, then listened - minutes later - to the sound of running water. He stayed and waited for the sound of someone slipping and hitting the tiles hard, but it did not occur. Eventually the shower was turned off and Castiel wandered away to look for Dean.
-
Dean was on the porch, still clutching his whisky bottle as if it were his best friend, his brother and his Bobby all at once. He stared at nothing, then briefly at Castiel, then at nothing again.
“That bottle is empty,” Castiel pointed out.
Now Dean stared at the bottle.
“Damn, you’re right,” he agreed. “And here I’d been wondering why nothing happened when I tried to drink from it.”
The angel suspected he was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t sure.
“Are you being sarcastic?” He had to know to judge how drunk Dean was. Dean laughed roughly.
“No, I’m drunk,” he said. “Being drunk feels pretty damn good right now.”
“You do not look like you’re feeling good.”
“Well, I guess I could feel better if I was even more drunk.”
“I do not advise it.”
“Sweet,” was all Dean had to say in return. He continued to stare into the distance, and Castiel decided to go back inside and hide all the alcohol stored in the cupboards before Dean remembered that to become more drunk than he was he needed to consume more alcohol. Then he went back out and said, “You need to eat something.”
“Not hungry.” Dean chuckled. “Besides, someone seems to have eaten all the damn burgers in the country, so there really isn’t any food left for me.”
It was not mathematically correct, even though Castiel had to admit that while under the influence of Famine’s curse he had made a valiant effort to achieve this goal. There was food besides burgers in the country though, and in this house, and Castiel was aware that Dean was aware of that.
“You are trying to be nasty,” he realised.
“Yeah, I think I might be. Is it working?”
“No. I know that I am not to blame for my actions under Famine’s influence. You cannot hurt me.”
“Too bad. Because I really, really want you to leave me the fuck alone.” Dean’s tone was sweet and gentle and a complete contrast to his words. Castiel decided to leave him the fuck alone and try again later.
Just when he was about to enter the house, Dean’s voice held him back. “I guess Sammy’s not to blame for his actions either, huh?”
Castiel hesitated, knowing he had to be careful what to reply, for Dean’s sake as well as his own. “Do you want to discuss your brother or do you wish me to leave you alone?” he asked.
Dean snorted. “I don’t want to discuss my brother, ever.”
Castiel suspected that this was actually a problem.
-
At a loss what to do with either brother, Castiel went back to the bedroom to see if Sam had done a sensible thing for once and returned to bed. If he was asleep there was nothing for the angel to do as he had no intention of waking him, but even watching him sleep and counting his breaths would be preferable over analyzing how easy it had been to lie to Dean.
Except that Sam was not a good company for deluding himself, being the only proof that what Castiel had said about his responsibility was actually far from the truth.
He did not have to worry about that for a while, though, because as it turned out, Sam had not been sensible and gone back to bed. He also hadn’t lain down on the couch or ended up in the kitchen. Instead Castiel eventually found him still in the bathroom, his hair and skin still damp from the shower. He was dressed only in the towel wrapped around his waist and lying curled up on the floor, out cold.
Castiel’s first reaction was immediate concern, thinking the young man had collapsed and possibly hut himself. But his posture didn’t fit that idea. It looked rather like Sam had simply lain down on the floor and fallen asleep.
It was not a smart thing to do. The tiles were very cold and Sam was ill. Despite lacking personal experience, the angel knew that with the fever still lingering in Sam’s body the cold had to be almost painfully uncomfortable.
It was not a smart thing to do and Sam was a smart person. Castiel therefore imagined him overcome by weakness after finishing his shower, lying on the ground because he lacked the strength to move to a more comfortable location, curling in on himself to protect himself from the pain and nausea.
There was a toothbrush on the side of the sink. It was damp, indicating it had been used. Despite his agonizing weakness, Sam had managed to brush his teeth - instead of using his fading strength to get back to bed. Castiel had to admire his determination, even as he cursed his stupidity.
The angel knelt down to check his pulse and temperature, found his skin hot and his pulse slow. He also found him unresponsive and was left wondering what he was supposed to do now. Taking Sam to bed appeared to be a good idea, but the movement would likely wake him, and Castiel considered sleep to be a good thing for the man. Letting him sleep damp and mostly naked on the cold tiles was a bad idea. Creating a bed for him on the floor was an option, but it would block the bathroom for other people’s use.
Dean stumbled into the bathroom before the angel had come to a decision. He stopped in the doorway, looking down at Castiel and Sam with a confused expression.
“Someone stole all the alcohol,” he said, followed by, “Why is my brother lying on the bathroom floor?” Followed by, “I really need to piss.” After shaking his head as if to clear it, he finally asked, “Is he okay?”
“He passed out. Chances are he is not.” Castiel turned back to the younger brother. “He is not likely to be in any danger, however. He merely needs rest.”
Dean was silent for a moment. Then he said, “And I really need to piss.”
Castiel sighed, trying to keep that his only show of emotions and his voice calm. “Why are you telling me that?”
“Because you two are blocking the bathroom.”
“Your brother is sick. I need to take care of him. And I doubt he passed out here just to annoy you.”
“You sure? It sounds like something he would do.”
Now Castiel turned back to Dean and found him staring at Sam with an expression that was impossible to read. “Why are you angry with him?”
“Why wouldn’t I? He brought this on himself, and now he’s a burden to everyone. Except himself, because he conveniently goes to sleep and lets us deal with the mess he’s made of himself. Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?”
“Yes,” Castiel said, clinging to his patience with effort. He knew that lashing out at his brother was not an unusual way of Dean’s to deal with his own issues, but Castiel, unbelievable as it seemed to be for his friend, had issues of his own and little tolerance for Dean’s immature words. It would have been a relief to lash out as well, but as that would likely result in broken bones on Dean’s part, it would not actually benefit the situation. Also, he had an interest in his wings staying attached to his body rather than being sold to McDonalds under the pretence of being something else.
Dean said, “Watching him go through detox again was bad enough. My sympathy was pretty much used up then, thank you very much.”
“You did not watch him go though detox,” Castiel pointed out. “You barely even listened to him going through detox. I did. I have sympathy left.”
“Well, you don’t need to pee.” Dean sounded like a petulant child. Castiel allowed some of the annoyance he felt to show on his face and whatever Dean had wanted to say next was changed into a reluctant, “Anyway, it can’t be healthy for him to lie on the floor like that. Can’t you take him to bed or something?”
“I can try.” Castiel made a show of carefully shaking Sam awake and Sam blinked open his eyes, throwing an unfocused look at the angel and none at his brother.
“C’mon, get up,” Dean said, carefully pulling his brother to his feet. “It’s little brother beddy-bedtime.”
Sam made a quiet sound in acknowledgement and let Castiel lead him away without looking up from the floor. Dean stayed behind watching with an impatient scowl until they cleared the room.
“It was I who took the alcohol,” the angel said as he left.
“I figured.” The door closed with a loud click and was locked from the inside.
On the way to the bedroom, Sam leaned heavily on Castiel, his feet barely lifting off the ground. Yet, when they reached their destination, he refused to enter the room. “Not here,” he mumbled. “’s Bobby’s bed.”
“Robert does not mind you using his bed,” Castiel explained. But Sam shook his head.
“No,” he said. “It’s the only one.” As if that was any explanation at all.
One moment later Sam added, “I need clothes.”
“I will get you some when you are settled.” But Sam still refused to use the house’s only proper bed, so, unwilling to upset him further, Castiel led him to the couch instead, then went to fetch some blankets and clean clothes. When he returned, Sam looked at him with slumped shoulders and tired, wet eyes.
“Let me get dressed, please,” he said quietly.
After a moment of hesitation, Castiel left him alone, not offering help because he knew it would not be accepted. He wanted to ask Sam how long he had been awake, how many of Dean’s words he had heard, but understood that Sam had pretended to be asleep to give all of them the chance to pretend it had never happened. It appeared to be the preferred way of dealing with issues between the brothers.
Ten minutes later Castiel returned to find Sam half-dressed and deeply asleep on the couch. The angel draped the blankets over him and sat in the sofa, turning on the tv to check the recent news.
-
The first day passed without further incident. Sam woke briefly in the evening, was made to drink a glass of water by Castiel and fell back asleep, his body still weak and ill after days of violent withdrawal. Dean lurked around upstairs until late at night, when he left for a walk and eventually fell asleep in the impala. He avoided both Sam and Castiel all day. Neither of the brothers ate anything at all. In Sam’s case it was expected. In Dean’s case it was expected, too. It was also worrisome.
Around midnight, it felt safe to leave them alone for a few hours, so Castiel sat down on the bed both brothers refused to use and send his mind out, extending senses humans did not have to search the area for any signs of danger. Neither Sam nor Dean was in a state to deal with an attack now. Sam could not fight and Dean might just not do it.
There was nothing, fortunately. Another thing that was not there when Castiel returned to the living room in the morning was Sam. Castiel looked at the obvious places - the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen - without finding him. He found Dean, however, when he crossed the living room again. The young man was sitting on the couch his brother had vacated, wrapped in one of the blankets and glaring. He looked tired and cold and was obviously not interested in a conversation.
“Have you seen your brother?” Castiel asked.
Dean shrugged. “Haven’t looked for him. I think he’s upstairs. Heard him moving around there earlier.”
Temporarily satisfied with the answer, Castiel went to the kitchen and created sandwiches out of ingredients he found there. The act stuck him as odd. He was an Angel of the Lord. He was supposed to be fighting the Apocalypse. He was making sandwiches.
Absurd.
He expected Dean to make a comment in that direction, but Dean only groaned and claimed not to be hungry. Castiel eventually threatened him into eating. That he did so without enthusiasm was further reason to worry.
-
Sam kept away from them all day. Castiel understood his need for privacy, but it was inconvenient. The house wasn’t large. Sam did not want to use the bedroom and the living room was too central, bound to confront him with company frequently. Locking himself in the bathroom was not an option because Dean needed to use it too. The rooms upstairs were only desirable until Dean chose them for his own retreat. When Castiel found the older brother there in the afternoon, he knew Sam must have fled elsewhere, but he had no idea where. Dean taking over the second storey left only one room inside the house for Sam to hide in: the panic room.
Castiel checked there for lack of other options. It was, as expected, empty.
The simple and frustrating conclusion was that Sam was outside. Outside it was cold and the salvage yard was large and offered many places to hide. Castiel did understand Sam’s need to be alone. He did not assume that Sam hid from them to make their lives harder. Yet he had to fight hard to suppress his growing irritation.
In the end it did not take too long to find the young man, but it had taken a long time to realise he was no longer in the house and by the time Castiel opened the door of the rusty pick-up truck Sam had chosen as a temporary home, the sky was beginning to darken.
The location of the truck close to the house confirmed that Sam had not actually meant to hide from them but merely sought some solitude. It was very cold however, the temperature falling steadily with the approach of night, and Sam should be inside, no matter how uncomfortable the presence of other people - mainly, Castiel suspected, his brother - made him feel.
The hunter was huddled in the passenger seat, one long leg drawn to his chest, the other resting on the seat as if lacking the strength to do the same. A woollen blanket was wrapped around Sam’s shoulder. He appeared to be sleeping, but jerked to awareness the moment the rusty door was pulled open.
“You need to go inside,” Castiel told him, and added, “It took me a long time to find you.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled, while looking around a little disoriented. “I didn’t think… I didn’t…”
“I was worried about you.” Considering the human’s state of mind and his strained relationship with this brother, Castiel judged he would benefit from knowing someone was concerned about his wellbeing and thought himself justified to lie. He was not truly worried about Sam, knowing his condition was not life-threatening. Then he thought that perhaps he had not lied at all, not as such, because Sam was pale and shivering and sweating despite the freezing cold air, and while Castiel knew his life was not in danger, he found he did not wish further illness on his friend.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbled again, confused, an automatic reply. Castiel took his arm and gently pulled him out of the car, supporting much of his weight on the way back to the house.
Sam was shivering uncontrollably when Castiel settled him on the couch and fell asleep almost instantly. Remembering the order to make him drink a lot, the angel reluctantly woke him again to make him drink some water, but most of it ran down the ill man’s chin and Castiel gave up after half a glass.
Dean came in an hour later. He stopped in the doorway and stared down at his brother.
“Not to complain here or anything, but couldn’t you have made him sleep in the bed instead of, you know, a room where other people actually would like to do stuff? He’s taking up all of the couch.”
“You do not need to worry. Sam will not wake from the sound of the television.” Dean had actually spoken in a subdued voice, possibly unconsciously. Now he only frowned at Castiel, looking vaguely irritated. “And he refuses to sleep in the bedroom,” Castiel continued. “I believe he does that because it is the only bed available and he wants to leave it to you.”
Dean stared at his brother for a long moment before he turned and walked away without a word.
-
It was another day before Castiel decided that a conversation with Dean was necessary. The prospect did not excite him. It would force both Dean and him to voice things they did not wish to talk - or think - about.
Singer had called, telling them that he would be gone another few days. Castiel found himself wishing he would return sooner than that.
Sam slept through the entire night and most of the following morning, only to be woken by nightmares that left him confused and depressed. He still wasn’t able to handle solid food, but Castiel managed to make him drink some soup. Around noon, Sam became restless but was too weak to move around, so Castiel brought him the books he asked for and waited until his friend had fallen asleep over them.
He knew rest was what Sam needed most, but the ongoing fever unsettled him. So he called Singer and asked for advice.
“What’s wrong with Dean? He should be able to treat a little fever,” came the hunter’s gruff reply.
“Dean has been withdrawn lately,” Castiel told him. “I do not want to bother him with this.”
“Bother him, my ass! There was a time when Dean wouldn’t move five feet away from his brother if Sam was having so much as a cold! So you better go and bother him a bit. If it’s so bad with him, it’s about time someone spoke to him, don’t you think?”
“Dean is not interested in a conversation, least of all one addressing his issues with his brother.”
“Tell you what, I don’t give a damn about what Dean’s interested in! If I fuck up this hunt because I have to worry about those boys, I’m taking it out on you!” Then Singer told Castiel which medication to make Sam take and had him put cool, damp pieces of cloth on his neck and forehead to bring down the temperature. Sam shifted uneasily at the contact, made an almost mewling sound in protest, but did not wake up.
The day was cold, but sunny. Dean had escaped outside, taking his car for a ride. When he came back, Castiel was waiting for him on the porch.
“Did you drive while under the influence of alcohol?” It was not what the angel had intended to open their conversation with, but he could not ignore the whisky bottle clutched in Dean’s hands.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course not. But I intend to put myself under some influence right now.” He screwed open the bottle that did indeed still have all its contents and put it to his lips.
Castiel reached out, faster than any human could react, and pulled it from his hands.
Dean glared at him. “Not goddamn funny, Cas,” he said. “Give it back!” He tried to lunge for the bottle, but Castiel held it out of reach.
“This is undignified. And unnecessary. Does getting drunk really make you feel better?”
“Hell, yeah! So give it back.”
“Better about what?” Castiel insisted. Dean replied with an incredulous stare.
“Are you kidding? Do you know anything about my life? I went to fucking hell! I broke the first seal. Everyone I love dies, and my life is worthless now because when I sold my soul, apparently I really sold my soul, because there’s just no joy anymore. Even the things I loved before, they mean nothing to me.” He looked close to tears. “What the hell am I living for, now? When all is said and done, when we stopped Lucifer, so that’s even possible, what’s left for me then? I might as well lay down and die!” He turned, took a few steps away from Castiel, who knew he had postponed this conversation for far too long. Sam’s poor health and his own doubts had kept him from giving Dean’s emotional torment the attention it deserved. The situation was unfortunate.
Sadly, he was not sure he could do anything to help.
“You are thinking about Famine’s words. You believe them.”
“Of course I believe them! Because he was right. I want nothing. Nothing means anything. My life is pretty damn empty!”
“And that hurts you.” Castiel nodded thoughtfully.
“You think so? Surely doesn’t make me happy.”
“You’re hurting,” Castiel said, his voice firm. “Then your soul is not empty.”
Dean gave a short laugh. “Oh, and you’re the expert on dead souls now?”
“Yes,” Castiel said solemnly. “Your soul is not dead, just suffering.”
“Okay, great. That makes me feel better already.” He did not believe Castiel’s word, though, and the angel didn’t know how to make him understand.
“You still feel,” he tried. “You’re hurt. You’re angry. You would not be if nothing mattered to you.”
Dean still did not look at him. “So, I have enough soul left to be in pain? Figures.”
“That’s not what I-”
“But then, there’s not much to be happy about, I guess. Girls and booze and burgers don’t really cut it if you’re facing the end of the world. Unless you’re you, of course,” he added. “Guess even an angel has more desires to latch onto than I do.”
To not have this conversation end in a disaster, Castiel knew, he had to control his own emotions. “My performance in front of Famine was shameful,” he admitted. “However, did it occur to you that the curse did not pass you by? It merely had the opposite effect on you; dulling your desires instead of amplifying them.”
Dean said nothing.
“And did it occur to you that Famine might have done this on purpose?” Castiel continued. “To make you lose your will to live. And to bring you and your brother further apart.”
When Dean replied, his voice was bitter. “As if we needed any help. Sam does a pretty damn good job of that on his own.”
Castiel closed his eyes, briefly. “What makes you say that?” When he opened his eyes, Dean was looking at him.
“You have to ask? Seriously?” The human shook his head. “I went to hell. For him. And as a token of his appreciation, I get lied to and cast aside. Oh, and then he breaks the world.”
Castiel thought of orders, of secrets he never told, of one fragile human in the merciless hands of Heaven and Hell. “Sam’s motivation-”
“Let’s not talk about Sam’s motivation, okay? I’m not interested in Sam’s motivation. Fact is, he did it, and it would not have happened if he’d trusted me more, listened to me instead of that bitch. If he hadn’t betrayed me and everyone else because he thought he was so much better than me! But you know what the best part is?” Dean interrupted Castiel just when the angel wanted to speak, defend the younger brother against accusations against which he would never defend himself. “The best part is that I though we were getting better, you know? That we were getting over this. I was just beginning to think that maybe I could trust him again, and then he goes and bites the throat of the first demon bitch he comes across, and it’s the same mess all over again! I thought he could finally control himself, be stronger than that but I was wrong. I trusted him, and I was wrong. Again.” Dean’s voice, agitated at the beginning, sounded only exhausted at the end. Castiel’s own emotions became harder to control.
“If Sam had not drunken that demon blood, we could not have defeated Famine.”
“I know. And it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he fell off the wagon when I needed him not to. When I needed him to be stronger. Someone I can, trust, you know? Who can I rely on, if not him? And I can’t rely on him, I know that now. He knows he’s a junkie. He should have fought harder.”
“You don’t understand.” Castiel kept the strain from his voice with effort. “I failed in the face of Famine’s curse. You failed. We both stood before him and did nothing. Sam is the only one who was able to overcome it. The only one.”
“But only after-”
“I know you did not feel the desires we suffered from.” Castiel would not let him speak; he could not. “But you saw what it did to others. To me. People killed themselves for sex. Died in boiling oil for French fries. This is what the curse did with perfectly mundane desires. Even I, an angel who has no desires of my own but only some lingering needs in the flesh of my vessel, was entirely unable to control myself. Even in front of Famine with every means to kill him, I could only think of red meat.” Thinking back to this, admitting it was difficult. Shameful. But Castiel knew he had to, for Dean, and for Sam.
But Dean was quick to excuse him. “Like you said, you’re not used to desires. Can’t be expected to resist them.”
“The other humans were familiar with them. Not a single one resisted.”
“They didn’t know what they were dealing with. Sam did. He was prepared.”
Right now, Castiel had an increasing desire to hurt Dean. “Your brother is an addict,” he said, his voice hard. “He will always be an addict. You need to understand that. He may be able to control his addiction, but the craving is always there. Constantly. Every moment of his life, and it will. Never. Stop. Not for the rest of his life. It is the price he has to pay. Every moment of his existence is a struggle against the wish for demon blood. Do not assume it is easy for him, or that faced with the same situation, you would do any better.”
Dean looked taken aback. “I didn’t-”
“And that craving was amplified to a level that made everyone else, including me, lose their minds. That Sam resisted as long as he had is admirable in itself. That after giving in and taking what he wanted, after opening himself to his desires, he was able to step back and say No when confronted with the very thing he wanted with an intensity you cannot possibly imagine is…” Inhuman. Castiel knew better than to use this word when talking to Dean about his brother. “… incredible.”
Dean looked at him, his face blank and unreadable. “So my brother is Superman now,” he finally said. “Wow. I’m speechless.”
“You are lucky the curse has worn off,” Castiel admitted openly. “Because at the present time, I desire to punch you in the face.”
For a moment, Dean looked truly speechless. Then his face closed off. “Well, it’s nice to know where you stand.”
“Did you ever think about why the demons want to drive you two apart?” Castiel asked. “Sam is Lucifer’s vessel. And he is alone. Everyone knows he is to blame for the death and destruction now wrecking the world, and Sam himself knows it best of all. And the one person whose support he needs despises him. So he is alone and vulnerable and Lucifer…” It was hard to say this. “Lucifer is the only person on the planet he can turn to. The only one who welcomes him instead of pushing him away, offering sympathy instead of scorn and hatred. Your brother is starved for sympathy. And yet he keeps saying No.” Casiel looked into Dean’s eyes, his lips a hard line. “Can you?”
Dean stared back at him, looking uncomfortable and vaguely betrayed. “I don’t despise him.”
“Then stop acting like it.” Castiel sighed, some of the tension leaving his body. “I know you are hurt, Dean. I know you carry a great burden. But don’t let the forces working against you make it worse than it has to be. They know it’s easy for you to doubt your brother. They will always use that against you if you let them.”
“Well, there is a reason why it’s easy to doubt him,” Dean muttered.
“Who do you doubt more? Him or yourself?”
Dean didn’t reply. He looked defeated.
Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t. Have faith. In yourself if not in God. You will be strong enough in the end. And your brother will help you carry the burden, if you let him.”
Dean still said nothing, and Castiel read in his face how scared he was of not being able to live up to the expectations placed in him. How all of this, all this doubt and loss of hope was another step towards Michael.
Eventually Dean reached out his hand. “Can I have my bottle back now, please? I really need a drink on this.”
-
The angel left Dean alone on the porch, knowing his friend needed time to think. He did not expect his words to have had much effect. Dean was hurting, doubting himself, increasingly unable to deal with the burden placed on his by others, and he would never be able to understand Sam if he did not want to understand. Perhaps focusing on his brother’s shortcomings was Dean’s way of focusing his hurt and anger on something to keep himself from breaking. If so, Castiel did not miss the irony. Dean was actively cutting himself off from the only thing that could safe him.
The angel felt close to Dean and he had come to consider Sam his friend as well, but he had no illusions as to his importance to them. The only ones who could save them were each other.
Sam was still asleep when Castiel returned to his side. The angel replaced the damp cloths with new ones, then checked Sam’s temperature, seeing to his satisfaction that it had gone down a little.
Asleep and pale, Sam looked young and fragile, vulnerable to the overwhelming forces that wanted to use him. The angel knew how deceiving that impression was, but he found himself promising to protect the boy from any harm he could possibly prevent. Him and Dean both. They deserved as much, and more.
But he feared it would not be enough. He was not as strong as he liked to believe himself to be. Admitting his failure to Dean had been hard, but admitting it to himself had been harder. He had wanted to believe that he was helpless against Famine’s curse, that there was nothing he could do to break it, that he was free from blame. But Sam had broken it, proving him wrong, and Castiel had to face the knowledge that he could have spared his friends much pain if only he had been stronger.
The angel had never found the courage to admit to his guilt in freeing Lucifer, thus never having to take any blame. Sam never kept his guilt to himself. He took the blame and the resentment, accepted his responsibility and instead of running away did his best to repair what he had unintentionally broken. Even if he had to do it alone.
Dean did not want the help he was offered. Sam was not offered the help he wanted. He kept fighting anyway. It was all he could do.
Castiel found himself impressed against his will by this tiny human, whose twenty-six years were so insignificant in the face of the millennia the angel had seen. This human who had never in his life had a chance and yet never lost because he never gave up.
Sam did not believe himself to be worthy of God’s love. One day, perhaps when this was over, Castiel would have to tell him that it was people like him that made the angel understand why the humans were the most beloved of God’s creations.
October 22, 2010