Walk 3/7: I'm Learning To Talk Again
Title: Walk
Author: safiyabat
Artist: chasingparallax
Characters & Pairing(s): Sam/Castiel; Sam, Castiel, Claire, Dean
Rating: M
Word Count: 32,417 / 5,490 (chapter)
Warnings: show-level violence, depression
Summary: Sam opens up and comes to a decision.
It would take Cas eleven hours to get from the Bunker to Goshen, assuming that his wretched Caddy hadn’t sprung an oil leak and died by the side of the road or something. “I wonder why Dean hasn’t sat him down and tried to explain basic car maintenance to him yet,” Sam mused as he and Claire barreled down the highway, past yet more corn. “I mean the guy isn’t incapable of learning.”
“You sure about that?” she asked him, raising an eyebrow. “Everything he knows, he knew from the moment he was created. Do we know that he’s ever learned anything new?”
Sam snorted. “Sure we do. He learned to take the stick out of his ass sometime after drinking an entire liquor store not long before the world ended.” He stretched out his neck. “Or didn’t end. You know.”
“Not really. I mean, we could tell that something stopped because there weren’t any more earthquakes where there shouldn’t have been earthquakes but you know.” She shrugged. “Dean said that Castiel saved the world.”
Sam meant to stay quiet, he really did, but he gave a bitter little laugh anyway. “Yeah. Okay. I was dead by that point, so I missed it.”
She shuddered. “You know, you think I’d get used to that whole ‘revolving door’ thing that you’ve got going on but no.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” He sipped from his coffee.
“If it worked like that for the rest of us, I’d still have parents.” She looked out the window.
“I get that.” He sighed. “I lost mine too. At the same time, I don’t know anyone whose life got better when they came back. I know the world would have been better off - no Apocalypse, for example - if I’d just stayed dead the first time.”
She gaped at him. “So there’s nothing in all that time since then that’s made it worth coming back?”
His mind raced to find something. “Look, this is kind of a morbid conversation for a car ride, don’t you think? You can’t look at my example and think ‘That’s what’s going to become of me.’ It’s not. You can look at me as a cautionary tale, maybe, but there were other factors at play that don’t figure into your story. So don’t worry, okay?” He tried for a reassuring grin. It probably came out more like a grimace, but whatever.
“Okay. So. You didn’t seem thrilled about having Castiel come along on the trip. Care to explain why?” She blinked guileless blue eyes at him.
He sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“We’ve got five and a half hours of corn. We could talk about the different mile markers, I guess.” She smirked and gestured to the windshield.
“Okay. Cas is a nice enough guy, for an angel, but he’s, um. He’s got his biases.” Sam licked his lips. “He’s not a big fan of me going out or doing much without Dean’s supervision and he thinks Dean’s always right about everything. I’m just not sure that I’m up for that right now.”
She hummed out a little noise of acceptance. “Okay. Is that all?”
Sam inhaled deeply and tried to let it out slowly. “It’s not enough?” He squeezed the steering wheel and let go. “A while ago Dean did something to me, something terrible. And when it all blew up on us, on me, he walked away and left Cas to clean up his mess. Dean, uh, he helped an angel to possess me against my will and then ordered that angel to erase my memory so I didn’t know.”
Claire choked on her coffee. “Jesus!”
“Right. So he left me alone, recovering from torture and the possessions, and the whole time Cas just… just wanted me to call Dean. All the time, nagging me to call Dean. Didn’t care about what I was going through, or that Dean was the one who took off, or any of that. That - I mean it was nice enough of him to stay with me, I appreciate that. But it really drove home that he’s not here for me, he’s not my friend, he’s Dean’s friend. You know? Like, I’d thought that maybe we’d made some progress since all that crap back when. But I guess not. Kind of stupid of me to think anything else, really. I mean, the day we met I knew what I was to him and I’ll never be anything else.” He glanced away and avoided a crow feasting in the right-hand lane. “It’s okay. We’ll need backup.”
She swallowed hard and looked straight ahead. “Oh.”
This was why Sam didn’t open up to people. The response was always something like, “Oh.” Well, that and he didn’t have anyone to open up to. The hell was he thinking, anyway, blabbering at a teenaged girl like that? So they had a few things in common. That didn’t make them friends, or anything like that. God, she must be so disgusted even being in the same car with him right now. “Not a big deal.”
“Kind of is. That sucks. That wasn’t fair! I mean, I wouldn’t expect him to understand what it’s like to be possessed or to have to deal with having been possessed.” She shuddered with her whole body. “They think it’s a frigging honor. But he’d have known about the lying, about the memory crap, right?” She was wrong, technically - Castiel had been briefly possessed by the Leviathan he’d devoured, but Claire didn’t know that and Sam didn’t see a reason to enlighten her. It wasn’ the same thing, not at all.
“Dean did it to save my life,” Sam chuckled mirthlessly, “even though he knew I didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be saved, didn’t want to be saved that way most of all. And in Cas’ head, that made it all okay. Dean wanted my body alive at that point, so whatever he did to ensure that it lived was A-OK.”
“You’re still pretty angry.”
“I’ll probably always be angry.” He shook his head. “For all the good it does me.”
She blinked and turned to face him. “But who are you angry with? Dean, or Cas?” She took a deep breath. “Because it seems like Cas was kind of shitty about it, but he’s not the one who did it.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m pissed for different reasons. I’m pissed that Cas didn’t care. I’m pissed that he acted like I was just throwing a tantrum - like I didn’t matter, like it was only what Gadreel did that mattered. Like if Gadreel hadn’t turned out to be a traitor it wouldn’t have been a problem that Dean handed my body, my mind and my soul away to someone else. But,” he sighed, “it’s probably not right or rational for me to be upset about that. He’s always going to support Dean in anything Dean does, without question and I have to accept that.”
“You don’t, though,” she said after a second. “You don’t need to accept it. It’s wrong. If you’re supposed to be friends -“
“That’s the thing, though,” he said. “We’re not. We keep acting like we are, but at the end of the day he’s here for Dean, not for me, and if it weren’t for Dean we’d never see each other again.” He blinked a few times, surprised by how much it hurt to say that out loud.
“You talk about him like you had a crush on him,” Claire smirked.
“Maybe once.” He shrugged. “It’s long gone. I’ve known better for a while.” He shook his head. “Look, the whole thing is complicated and kind of unbelievable. Can we just… I don’t know, ignore it?”
“Yeah, like that’s done you so much good?”
“Not like I’ve had a lot of choice.” He glared.
“But it hasn’t gotten you anywhere. You’re not happy, anyone with eyes can see that.” She bit her lip.
“I’m fine, Claire.” He forced a little smile. “I’ve accepted my life now.”
They got to Goshen and found a motel, booking two rooms so Cas would be comfortable when he arrived. Then, Sam found something approximately the right size and weight as Claire’s Gregori sword and found a secluded spot to show her some things she could practice on her own.
Castiel called once he’d gotten close enough to Goshen to worry about finding their motel, and they returned to the little hostel to await the angel’s arrival. It didn’t take long, although he frowned when they handed him the key to his own room. “Why have you wasted money on a second room, Sam?” he frowned. “I don’t sleep. I’m an angel.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re still in a body, and you take up space. These rooms aren’t huge.”
“Then you can have a room to yourself and leave Claire and I to ourselves. We have a lot to discuss before I bring her back to the bunker.”
Sam crossed his arms across her chest. “I told you before. It’s Claire’s choice to go back to the bunker or not. You don’t get to make that choice for her.”
“With all due respect, Sam, you’re not a father. You wouldn’t understand.”
Claire snorted. “Neither are you. At least he’s not faking it. We didn’t call you here because of daddy issues, okay? We called you here because of a job.” She nodded to Sam. “You want to show him what we found?”
Sam felt the corners of his mouth twitch in appreciation. Claire had a lot of steel in her spine.
He launched into an explanation of what his research had found and the different possibilities for a cause. “I’m leaning toward a really big poltergeist,” he said at the end. “I’m not going to rule out demon, though. What do you think?”
“I think that we should bring Dean in on this,” Castiel replied immediately, pulling his phone out and dialing. “Whatever this is - and it does not sound like something familiar to me, so I am inclined to agree that it is a poltergeist - it is well outside something that you could handle, Sam. You need to let Dean take care of the larger hunts -“
Sam felt himself shut down, a physical process that sent little twinges across his jaw. He shouldn’t have let this happen. He shouldn’t have let Claire call Castiel. He should have just steered them away and messaged Dean about the hunt and been done with it. “I’m heading out,” he said. “Claire, I’ll pick you up wherever.”
Cas reached out and grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”
Sam knocked the hand away. “You’d rather work with Dean on this. That’s fine, I get it. But I’m not going to sit around and get stuck in the motel room or told to wait in the car like when I was ten.” He pushed past the angel, grabbed his duffel and the laptop, and went out to his car.
“Well that’s just awesome,” he overheard Claire say to Castiel. “There goes all the research, jackass. Would it kill you to treat him like a person?”
Any response was lost as he closed the door and started up the engine.
Sam drove until he hit Nappanee, far enough away that he could breathe again but close enough that he could get to Claire if she needed him. Not that she would, he reminded himself. She’s a tough kid. The last thing she needs is something like you holding her back. He found a motel and settled into it, adding angel warding to the usual salt lines and devil’s traps as part of his personal routine ever since Gadreel. At least, it had been part of his routine when he could get away with it, when he could avoid Dean catching him or when he knew he didn’t need to allow Cas in.
Then, he sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. What the hell had that been about anyway? It wasn’t like Cas’ feelings were unknown to him. He’d known what Cas thought of him ever since the day they met, and while he’d occasionally deluded himself into thinking that things might improve between them he’d always known, deep down, that he was just an adjunct in the angel’s view. And that was generous.
Maybe he was just freaking out because he’d bared so much of himself to Claire. That probably had a lot to do with it now that he thought of it. He’d been exceptionally open and honest with the teen, talking about things with her that he’d never let himself speak aloud before. He’d never been able to speak about this kind of thing with Amelia. Ruby had known about his little crush, but she’d been very quick to point out that “Dean’s angel” wouldn’t see much of a difference between him and her when push came to shove, and as in so many other things, she’d been right. Sam was tolerable only if he were under supervision.
Hell, even a full demon like Meg was better than Sam.
He needed to get himself back under control. This was what came of letting himself think about might-have-beens, think about himself as a full hunter or a full member of the team or full anything of value.
A small, rebellious part of him flared up, prompting him to stand up and start pacing. A moment’s examination identified this part of him as anger, an anger that he thought had been burned away in the Cage or maybe before that. Why should he be the one to be on perpetual double secret probation? Why should he be the one to be eternally exiled to the kids’ table? Sure he’d broken the last seal, but he’d also stopped the Apocalypse, had jumped into the Cage and taken two angry archangels with him. Hadn’t Dean broken the first seal? And sure he’d done it under torture - Sam didn’t blame him for that, not at all. But he’d made a deal with a demon; he had to know that no good could come of that. He’d dealt with a demon again by working with Crowley to find Brady, and then again by working with Crowley to track down Dick, and then again to unmake his own mess and free Sam from Gadreel, and then again by taking on the Mark of Cain. He’d taken on the Mark of Cain - why was it that Sam was the one blamed and never Dean’s motives or judgment that were questioned?
And Castiel - he’d been part of duping Sam into breaking the last seal, hadn’t he? Oh, but he’d just been following orders! And he certainly hadn’t been sorry to see Sam jump into that pit. He’d screwed up on pulling Sam out, he couldn’t have not known he’d done so, but he’d been perfectly willing to let both halves of Sam reap the consequences for Cas’ failure. Then, when Sam had the wall in place, he’d torn it down in a deliberate act of terrorism, and not even against Sam. Like always, it was for Dean. And he’d unleashed the Leviathan against the world through his own hubris.
No one held that against him. Sure, some angels reminded him from time to time, but it wasn’t like they decided that Cas couldn’t make his own choices. Hell, they even kept trying to have him lead!
So why was it that Sam was consistently the lowest and the least? It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be in charge, to rule over anything but himself. He just wanted to be treated as an equal.
The crush? Well, maybe his feelings for Castiel hadn’t dissipated as much as he’d have liked, as much as they certainly should have. Cas had attacked him for no reason other than to hurt Dean; Sam hadn’t mattered to him at all. That should have killed any desire in him for the angel, whether for the angel’s love or goodwill or acceptance. He supposed that these things couldn’t be controlled, not entirely, but he could control how he responded.
What hadn’t been controlled was his response tonight, and he definitely blamed himself for talking so freely to Claire like that. He should know better. It wasn’t like she cared. It had only undone years of carefully paving over his own feelings and resentments and hurts. He needed to get himself under control before he could be expected to function.
First things first, though. He picked up his phone and set it so that calls from Castiel and Dean went straight to voicemail. He’d take off the injunction in the morning, maybe, but he wanted to know if Claire needed help.
Then, he sat back down and focused. He needed to be calm. He could be calm. He needed to be accepting. He could be accepting.
Maybe Claire had been right, though. Bowing his head and meekly accepting the status quo had gotten his brain turned against him in a hostile act, gotten his childhood friend murdered, gotten him left behind when Purgatory swallowed up everything he loved, gotten him blamed upon his and Dean’s return when he followed their agreement, gotten him replaced by a vampire, gotten him hijacked (replaced again, his traitorous brain replied) by an evil angel, and almost murdered twice by his own brother.
Maybe he was the lowest and the least. But no one else was exactly coming up smelling like roses, and submission certainly hadn’t gotten him redemption or reconciliation.
He couldn’t sleep, of course, but then again Sam and sleep had never been on the best of terms. He went for a run at the earliest point that he thought he could get away with it, then he went out for coffee and settled in to figure out next steps.
First he texted Claire. What’s going on? You need a pickup?
Nah, she texted back. Dean’s on his way. We’re going to try to track down what’s wrong here in Goshen. Seeing as how I’m the only one who’s seen the research and all. These losers know NOTHING. A moment passed and then his phone chimed again. You could always bring the research by. Come join in the hunt.
No. He hesitated over the phone and then decided to elaborate. She deserved more than a two-letter text. Pretty sure they won’t need it anyway. I hadn’t gotten very far. You going to stay with them or do you want me to come get you after that?
She didn’t respond for a while, and for a moment Sam felt that little spike of abandonment. Of course she was going to stay with them. They weren’t outcasts and could function in society. Finally, his phone chimed. Can I decide later?
Of course. She wasn’t rejecting him outright. It was a start.
Since he had nothing to do now that Claire had as good as given the hunt to Dean and Cas, who had no use for him anyway, he decided to try to make a plan for the future.
In theory, he should just go back to the bunker. That’s where he had been before going to help Claire. After the same time, he didn’t think he could do that anymore. He hadn’t felt welcome there in a long time, if he ever had, and even his “own” room hadn’t felt like his since he’d found out about Gadreel. Sure, Dean had killed Death rather than him, (or maybe he’d just slipped or something) but he hadn’t changed in any real way. He had Cas, and probably Claire now. He didn’t need Sam and the reminder of everything Sam was, and now with the Mark of Cain gone, Sam didn’t have anything to offer him. They were both angry with each other.
Assuming that Claire wanted him around, there was a case in New Philadelphia, Ohio that might be right up their alley. He’d see if she picked up on it before he brought it up to her, but it had the added advantage of being near Tuscarora Park. That would probably be vaguely fun for her; he remembered having enjoyed it the one time he’d run off there when he’d been, what, seventeen, that one summer?
If Claire chose to stay with Dean and Castiel, his options were wider. There was a spate of what looked like animal attacks near the West Branch State Park up near Ravenna that looked like one of the nastier demons, probably not someone working with Crowley if he was reading the signs right. It could have been witchcraft too - that spell Rowena had used on the sex worker Sam had met could have caused injuries similar to the ones he was seeing. That wasn’t anything he was interested in getting Claire involved with. He could also take on what looked like it might be a vampire nest up in the Cleveland area, which had the advantage of being in a larger city.
Maybe if he just let himself get out there, enjoy the physical again, he’d be able to banish the ache that talking about his buried feelings for Cas had stirred up in him again.
Then again, people were actually dying in Ravenna. The vampires, if that was what was going on in Cleveland, were attacking people, bleeding them and letting them go. Ravenna seemed like a higher priority. He could hit Cleveland afterward. In the meantime, he replenished his funds thanks to Donald Trump’s campaign chest, snorting quietly at the thought that Dean had forgotten that he knew how to do this sort of thing, and took care of some of the maintenance on his truck.
Eventually he emerged to go shop for some supplies and food. He went through another workout and then did some research for both cases into the late hours of the night.
The next morning he went for a run, as usual. It felt good to fall into a routine, and now that he had a plan of action he felt less adrift. He missed his brother, sure, but things were different now. It was best to just accept what it was and move on. Not that he cared if Dean cut his head off or whatever, but waiting for the blow to fall wasn’t much fun. Maybe they could schedule a date and time or something.
He texted Claire to check in. She told him she was okay, still wanted some time to do the job, and sent him a picture of a disgruntled-looking Cas trying to make sense of the function of a lawn flamingo outside of a mobile home in one of the poltergeist-affected areas. In spite of himself, he laughed.
For his part, he hacked his way into the Ravenna police department system. Incident reports on the attacks showed no regularity to the assaults. Not all of them had been fatal; there had been one survivor, who had escaped the attack by jumping into the reservoir. The young man would be scarred for life; his wounds looked like small claw marks, not the huge gashes of a werewolf or a wendigo. That made witchcraft more likely.
He picked up the phone. “Giant,” Rowena greeted. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Rowena. How are you?” He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth before running a trace on the GPS in her phone. He’d learned, while dealing with the Book of the Damned, that it payed to be polite to Rowena on the phone. Otherwise she’d refuse to cooperate and the call would devolve into a snark-fest that got no one anywhere but angry, and he didn’t have time for that right now.
“Now that I have that book I’m not even bitter about being chained up in that nasty wee factory of yours. And you? Now that you’ve got that ugly mark off your charming brother is life turning out to be everything you wanted?” Sam could hear the sneer in her voice. He wanted to wipe it off.
“We’re fine,” he lied. “Where are you?”
“Why would I tell you that, lad? You don’t get to be a four hundred year old witch by doing stupid things like divulging your location to excessively clever hunters.”
He sighed, unable to argue that point. “Alright. Let me put it to you another way. Are you anywhere near Ravenna, Ohio?”
The witch laughed out loud. “No. Ohio is too rust belt for me. I’ve had enough of decaying spaces ever since you chained me up inside one.”
He couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth twitch up at that. “I guess I can sympathize with that.” He glanced at the screen on his computer. It confirmed her words: her phone thought that it was in Santa Cruz, at least. “Listen. That spell you cast on the sex workers, back when we first met you.”
“Mmm. Oh yes. Delightful little gem. Comes in very handy when you’re in a tight spot. I suppose you’re looking to learn it?”
He blinked. What was with evil, attractive women wanting to mentor him? First Meg, then Ruby, now Rowena. “Uh, thanks, but that’s a level of dark magic I’m not comfortable with. If you maybe feel comfortable sharing the counter-spell, that would be great, though.”
“Counterspell? My dear Behemoth, that beauty is far too fast acting to have a counterspell. Once it’s out there, the victim’s over and done with. Unless, of course, they happen to be an angel you’ve set on your useless, traitorous son.” She sniffed.
“He is useless,” Sam muttered. “I’ll give you that much. Say, how many other witches know that one, anyway?”
“Can’t be more than five or six these days,” she admitted after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll admit that I’ve been out of the loop, what with being driven underground and all that, but there might still be a few out there who have an idea.”
Sam thought about it for a moment. James back in Saint Louis was an option, but he was pretty new at his craft and had fled the city anyway. Don and Maria Stark, though, they’d been playing this game for a long time. Patrick, the witch with the cards, might have an idea but it wasn’t his style of magic and Sam had no idea how to get in touch with him anyway. Well, not without a lot of spellwork and driving.
He went through his contact list and found Don’s number. “Sam Winchester!” Don greeted, tone jovial. “It is good to hear your voice! After the Leviathans disappeared we figured that was the end.”
Sam chuckled softly. He’d only died - what, twice since then? It got hard to keep track these days. “It’s good to hear from you, too. How’s Mrs. Stark?”
“She’s well, she’s just organized another charity auction. It’s going to be a blast!”
Sam winced, hoping that it wasn’t meant literally. “I hope it does go well. I had a question about a spell.” He described the spell’s effects to the ancient witch.
Don sucked his teeth in thought. “I haven’t seen that since Rowena MacLeod was still kicking around,” he said. “Nasty work. No counterspell, of course. What’s this about?”
Sam described what was happening in Ravenna. “I think I’m going to have to go in there and track down the witch, but I’d rather not become a ravening swamp monster myself. Is there a way to protect myself from that spell long enough to get in close?”
Don hummed. “Let me poke around a little bit and I’ll get back to you, okay, Sam?”
Sam smiled, a real smile of relief and gratitude. “Thanks, Don.”
When he hung up he got up from his chair and stretched a little. He still had to figure out a way to track down the witch themselves, but he didn’t need to do that right away. Not if he was going to wait for Claire. Another quick workout would be okay, maybe a little yoga would help him regain his equilibrium.
When he’d finished that, someone came knocking at his door.
He sprang to his feet, gun at the ready. Most practitioners didn’t have a gun loaded with consecrated iron bullets within arm’s reach during their practice, but then again he didn’t know of many other practitioners who had a long line of creatures looking for his hide to claim as a pelt. Then again, the subject hadn’t come up when he’d been studying formally. “Who is it?” He flattened himself against the wall behind the door.
“Sam, it’s me,” came Dean’s tense, impatient voice. “Open up.”
Sam sighed. Dean. Of course. He opened up the door and stepped back, gun still at the ready while Dean showed himself to be neither possessed nor a shifter. “Sam, what the hell,” Dean demanded, flopping down into one of the chairs by the table. “I mean really, what the hell?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Sam told him, putting the safety back onto the gun. He hesitated and then holstered the weapon.
“You just walked out, man. Just took off like - like whatever.” Dean shook his head. “I mean first you go AWOL from the bunker, then you’re not answering your phone, and then Cas shows up and you just go stomping out in a huff like you’re fifteen again? What’s going on here?”
Once upon a time, Sam would have given a kidney to get Dean to talk to him, but those days were long gone, had been since before he’d gone to Stanford. “I told you, Dean. I was doing something for Jody.”
“You don’t just go off on your own, Sam!” he insisted, running a hand through his hair. “I mean -“
Sam rounded on his brother. “I’m thirty-two, Dean. You either treat me like I’m an adult or I’m out, I’ve been telling you this for years. It’s been obvious I’m not an equal in your eyes, so I’m going to go off and do my own thing for a while.” He forced himself to exhale slowly and kept his hands loose and limber by his side.
Dean’s eyes narrowed as he rose from his chair. “Last time you ‘did your own thing’ you got Charlie killed. I don’t think you really get to ‘do your own thing’ anymore, Sammy.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Charlie made her own decisions, Dean,” he said. “Don’t think that I don’t hate myself about her death, because I do. But she chose to leave the factory when she knew she was being hunted. It’s not like she hasn’t been on the lam before.” Dean opened his mouth to object, already red-faced, but Sam stopped him by holding up one hand. “And Kevin didn’t even get that honor, did he? Or are you going to blame me for that one too?”
Dean doubled over, like he’d been punched. “Is that what this is all about? Really?”
Sam sighed. “Like I said. It’s about being an equal. I’ve made mistakes. Sure. I own up to them. You’ve made mistakes. Cas’ made mistakes. You never, even when you were at your angriest with him, stopped treating him like he was on your level. Neither of you ever saw me that way. I was either a useful tool or an obstacle - or a burden. And hey - your feelings are yours, and they’re valid for you and I’m not going to sit here and beg you to view me differently. But I’m also not going to sit here and let you put me down. I’ve been waiting all this time for some kind of redemption or acceptance from you and it’s only gotten worse. Maybe this is what we need to get better.”
Dean’s face went stony and impassive. “Don’t you go bringing Cas into it. He’s been your biggest ally. After that whole thing with Amelia -“
Sam laughed, bitter and dark. “What, when you faked a distress call from the woman I loved?”
Dean waved a hand. “Right. That.” No guilt, nothing. Sam might as well not have bothered. “When you stomped off like a jealous child about it. Then. It was only because Cas forced me to work with you that we ever saw each other again.”
“Yeah, you made that pretty clear, Dean.” Sam opened the door. “I’ll see you around, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes bulged. “You’re kicking me out?”
“What, you thought I’d want you to stay after that?”
“I’m not leavin’ you on your own, Sam. You do dumb stuff when you’re on your own.” Dean grabbed his arm.
Sam deflected and gently shoved his brother out the door. “Give me a call when you’re ready to talk like we’re both adults, Dean,” Sam sighed, and closed and locked the door behind him.
Back to Chapter Two -- On to Chapter Four
Author: safiyabat
Artist: chasingparallax
Characters & Pairing(s): Sam/Castiel; Sam, Castiel, Claire, Dean
Rating: M
Word Count: 32,417 / 5,490 (chapter)
Warnings: show-level violence, depression
Summary: Sam opens up and comes to a decision.
It would take Cas eleven hours to get from the Bunker to Goshen, assuming that his wretched Caddy hadn’t sprung an oil leak and died by the side of the road or something. “I wonder why Dean hasn’t sat him down and tried to explain basic car maintenance to him yet,” Sam mused as he and Claire barreled down the highway, past yet more corn. “I mean the guy isn’t incapable of learning.”
“You sure about that?” she asked him, raising an eyebrow. “Everything he knows, he knew from the moment he was created. Do we know that he’s ever learned anything new?”
Sam snorted. “Sure we do. He learned to take the stick out of his ass sometime after drinking an entire liquor store not long before the world ended.” He stretched out his neck. “Or didn’t end. You know.”
“Not really. I mean, we could tell that something stopped because there weren’t any more earthquakes where there shouldn’t have been earthquakes but you know.” She shrugged. “Dean said that Castiel saved the world.”
Sam meant to stay quiet, he really did, but he gave a bitter little laugh anyway. “Yeah. Okay. I was dead by that point, so I missed it.”
She shuddered. “You know, you think I’d get used to that whole ‘revolving door’ thing that you’ve got going on but no.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” He sipped from his coffee.
“If it worked like that for the rest of us, I’d still have parents.” She looked out the window.
“I get that.” He sighed. “I lost mine too. At the same time, I don’t know anyone whose life got better when they came back. I know the world would have been better off - no Apocalypse, for example - if I’d just stayed dead the first time.”
She gaped at him. “So there’s nothing in all that time since then that’s made it worth coming back?”
His mind raced to find something. “Look, this is kind of a morbid conversation for a car ride, don’t you think? You can’t look at my example and think ‘That’s what’s going to become of me.’ It’s not. You can look at me as a cautionary tale, maybe, but there were other factors at play that don’t figure into your story. So don’t worry, okay?” He tried for a reassuring grin. It probably came out more like a grimace, but whatever.
“Okay. So. You didn’t seem thrilled about having Castiel come along on the trip. Care to explain why?” She blinked guileless blue eyes at him.
He sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“We’ve got five and a half hours of corn. We could talk about the different mile markers, I guess.” She smirked and gestured to the windshield.
“Okay. Cas is a nice enough guy, for an angel, but he’s, um. He’s got his biases.” Sam licked his lips. “He’s not a big fan of me going out or doing much without Dean’s supervision and he thinks Dean’s always right about everything. I’m just not sure that I’m up for that right now.”
She hummed out a little noise of acceptance. “Okay. Is that all?”
Sam inhaled deeply and tried to let it out slowly. “It’s not enough?” He squeezed the steering wheel and let go. “A while ago Dean did something to me, something terrible. And when it all blew up on us, on me, he walked away and left Cas to clean up his mess. Dean, uh, he helped an angel to possess me against my will and then ordered that angel to erase my memory so I didn’t know.”
Claire choked on her coffee. “Jesus!”
“Right. So he left me alone, recovering from torture and the possessions, and the whole time Cas just… just wanted me to call Dean. All the time, nagging me to call Dean. Didn’t care about what I was going through, or that Dean was the one who took off, or any of that. That - I mean it was nice enough of him to stay with me, I appreciate that. But it really drove home that he’s not here for me, he’s not my friend, he’s Dean’s friend. You know? Like, I’d thought that maybe we’d made some progress since all that crap back when. But I guess not. Kind of stupid of me to think anything else, really. I mean, the day we met I knew what I was to him and I’ll never be anything else.” He glanced away and avoided a crow feasting in the right-hand lane. “It’s okay. We’ll need backup.”
She swallowed hard and looked straight ahead. “Oh.”
This was why Sam didn’t open up to people. The response was always something like, “Oh.” Well, that and he didn’t have anyone to open up to. The hell was he thinking, anyway, blabbering at a teenaged girl like that? So they had a few things in common. That didn’t make them friends, or anything like that. God, she must be so disgusted even being in the same car with him right now. “Not a big deal.”
“Kind of is. That sucks. That wasn’t fair! I mean, I wouldn’t expect him to understand what it’s like to be possessed or to have to deal with having been possessed.” She shuddered with her whole body. “They think it’s a frigging honor. But he’d have known about the lying, about the memory crap, right?” She was wrong, technically - Castiel had been briefly possessed by the Leviathan he’d devoured, but Claire didn’t know that and Sam didn’t see a reason to enlighten her. It wasn’ the same thing, not at all.
“Dean did it to save my life,” Sam chuckled mirthlessly, “even though he knew I didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be saved, didn’t want to be saved that way most of all. And in Cas’ head, that made it all okay. Dean wanted my body alive at that point, so whatever he did to ensure that it lived was A-OK.”
“You’re still pretty angry.”
“I’ll probably always be angry.” He shook his head. “For all the good it does me.”
She blinked and turned to face him. “But who are you angry with? Dean, or Cas?” She took a deep breath. “Because it seems like Cas was kind of shitty about it, but he’s not the one who did it.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m pissed for different reasons. I’m pissed that Cas didn’t care. I’m pissed that he acted like I was just throwing a tantrum - like I didn’t matter, like it was only what Gadreel did that mattered. Like if Gadreel hadn’t turned out to be a traitor it wouldn’t have been a problem that Dean handed my body, my mind and my soul away to someone else. But,” he sighed, “it’s probably not right or rational for me to be upset about that. He’s always going to support Dean in anything Dean does, without question and I have to accept that.”
“You don’t, though,” she said after a second. “You don’t need to accept it. It’s wrong. If you’re supposed to be friends -“
“That’s the thing, though,” he said. “We’re not. We keep acting like we are, but at the end of the day he’s here for Dean, not for me, and if it weren’t for Dean we’d never see each other again.” He blinked a few times, surprised by how much it hurt to say that out loud.
“You talk about him like you had a crush on him,” Claire smirked.
“Maybe once.” He shrugged. “It’s long gone. I’ve known better for a while.” He shook his head. “Look, the whole thing is complicated and kind of unbelievable. Can we just… I don’t know, ignore it?”
“Yeah, like that’s done you so much good?”
“Not like I’ve had a lot of choice.” He glared.
“But it hasn’t gotten you anywhere. You’re not happy, anyone with eyes can see that.” She bit her lip.
“I’m fine, Claire.” He forced a little smile. “I’ve accepted my life now.”
They got to Goshen and found a motel, booking two rooms so Cas would be comfortable when he arrived. Then, Sam found something approximately the right size and weight as Claire’s Gregori sword and found a secluded spot to show her some things she could practice on her own.
Castiel called once he’d gotten close enough to Goshen to worry about finding their motel, and they returned to the little hostel to await the angel’s arrival. It didn’t take long, although he frowned when they handed him the key to his own room. “Why have you wasted money on a second room, Sam?” he frowned. “I don’t sleep. I’m an angel.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re still in a body, and you take up space. These rooms aren’t huge.”
“Then you can have a room to yourself and leave Claire and I to ourselves. We have a lot to discuss before I bring her back to the bunker.”
Sam crossed his arms across her chest. “I told you before. It’s Claire’s choice to go back to the bunker or not. You don’t get to make that choice for her.”
“With all due respect, Sam, you’re not a father. You wouldn’t understand.”
Claire snorted. “Neither are you. At least he’s not faking it. We didn’t call you here because of daddy issues, okay? We called you here because of a job.” She nodded to Sam. “You want to show him what we found?”
Sam felt the corners of his mouth twitch in appreciation. Claire had a lot of steel in her spine.
He launched into an explanation of what his research had found and the different possibilities for a cause. “I’m leaning toward a really big poltergeist,” he said at the end. “I’m not going to rule out demon, though. What do you think?”
“I think that we should bring Dean in on this,” Castiel replied immediately, pulling his phone out and dialing. “Whatever this is - and it does not sound like something familiar to me, so I am inclined to agree that it is a poltergeist - it is well outside something that you could handle, Sam. You need to let Dean take care of the larger hunts -“
Sam felt himself shut down, a physical process that sent little twinges across his jaw. He shouldn’t have let this happen. He shouldn’t have let Claire call Castiel. He should have just steered them away and messaged Dean about the hunt and been done with it. “I’m heading out,” he said. “Claire, I’ll pick you up wherever.”
Cas reached out and grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”
Sam knocked the hand away. “You’d rather work with Dean on this. That’s fine, I get it. But I’m not going to sit around and get stuck in the motel room or told to wait in the car like when I was ten.” He pushed past the angel, grabbed his duffel and the laptop, and went out to his car.
“Well that’s just awesome,” he overheard Claire say to Castiel. “There goes all the research, jackass. Would it kill you to treat him like a person?”
Any response was lost as he closed the door and started up the engine.
Sam drove until he hit Nappanee, far enough away that he could breathe again but close enough that he could get to Claire if she needed him. Not that she would, he reminded himself. She’s a tough kid. The last thing she needs is something like you holding her back. He found a motel and settled into it, adding angel warding to the usual salt lines and devil’s traps as part of his personal routine ever since Gadreel. At least, it had been part of his routine when he could get away with it, when he could avoid Dean catching him or when he knew he didn’t need to allow Cas in.
Then, he sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. What the hell had that been about anyway? It wasn’t like Cas’ feelings were unknown to him. He’d known what Cas thought of him ever since the day they met, and while he’d occasionally deluded himself into thinking that things might improve between them he’d always known, deep down, that he was just an adjunct in the angel’s view. And that was generous.
Maybe he was just freaking out because he’d bared so much of himself to Claire. That probably had a lot to do with it now that he thought of it. He’d been exceptionally open and honest with the teen, talking about things with her that he’d never let himself speak aloud before. He’d never been able to speak about this kind of thing with Amelia. Ruby had known about his little crush, but she’d been very quick to point out that “Dean’s angel” wouldn’t see much of a difference between him and her when push came to shove, and as in so many other things, she’d been right. Sam was tolerable only if he were under supervision.
Hell, even a full demon like Meg was better than Sam.
He needed to get himself back under control. This was what came of letting himself think about might-have-beens, think about himself as a full hunter or a full member of the team or full anything of value.
A small, rebellious part of him flared up, prompting him to stand up and start pacing. A moment’s examination identified this part of him as anger, an anger that he thought had been burned away in the Cage or maybe before that. Why should he be the one to be on perpetual double secret probation? Why should he be the one to be eternally exiled to the kids’ table? Sure he’d broken the last seal, but he’d also stopped the Apocalypse, had jumped into the Cage and taken two angry archangels with him. Hadn’t Dean broken the first seal? And sure he’d done it under torture - Sam didn’t blame him for that, not at all. But he’d made a deal with a demon; he had to know that no good could come of that. He’d dealt with a demon again by working with Crowley to find Brady, and then again by working with Crowley to track down Dick, and then again to unmake his own mess and free Sam from Gadreel, and then again by taking on the Mark of Cain. He’d taken on the Mark of Cain - why was it that Sam was the one blamed and never Dean’s motives or judgment that were questioned?
And Castiel - he’d been part of duping Sam into breaking the last seal, hadn’t he? Oh, but he’d just been following orders! And he certainly hadn’t been sorry to see Sam jump into that pit. He’d screwed up on pulling Sam out, he couldn’t have not known he’d done so, but he’d been perfectly willing to let both halves of Sam reap the consequences for Cas’ failure. Then, when Sam had the wall in place, he’d torn it down in a deliberate act of terrorism, and not even against Sam. Like always, it was for Dean. And he’d unleashed the Leviathan against the world through his own hubris.
No one held that against him. Sure, some angels reminded him from time to time, but it wasn’t like they decided that Cas couldn’t make his own choices. Hell, they even kept trying to have him lead!
So why was it that Sam was consistently the lowest and the least? It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be in charge, to rule over anything but himself. He just wanted to be treated as an equal.
The crush? Well, maybe his feelings for Castiel hadn’t dissipated as much as he’d have liked, as much as they certainly should have. Cas had attacked him for no reason other than to hurt Dean; Sam hadn’t mattered to him at all. That should have killed any desire in him for the angel, whether for the angel’s love or goodwill or acceptance. He supposed that these things couldn’t be controlled, not entirely, but he could control how he responded.
What hadn’t been controlled was his response tonight, and he definitely blamed himself for talking so freely to Claire like that. He should know better. It wasn’t like she cared. It had only undone years of carefully paving over his own feelings and resentments and hurts. He needed to get himself under control before he could be expected to function.
First things first, though. He picked up his phone and set it so that calls from Castiel and Dean went straight to voicemail. He’d take off the injunction in the morning, maybe, but he wanted to know if Claire needed help.
Then, he sat back down and focused. He needed to be calm. He could be calm. He needed to be accepting. He could be accepting.
Maybe Claire had been right, though. Bowing his head and meekly accepting the status quo had gotten his brain turned against him in a hostile act, gotten his childhood friend murdered, gotten him left behind when Purgatory swallowed up everything he loved, gotten him blamed upon his and Dean’s return when he followed their agreement, gotten him replaced by a vampire, gotten him hijacked (replaced again, his traitorous brain replied) by an evil angel, and almost murdered twice by his own brother.
Maybe he was the lowest and the least. But no one else was exactly coming up smelling like roses, and submission certainly hadn’t gotten him redemption or reconciliation.
He couldn’t sleep, of course, but then again Sam and sleep had never been on the best of terms. He went for a run at the earliest point that he thought he could get away with it, then he went out for coffee and settled in to figure out next steps.
First he texted Claire. What’s going on? You need a pickup?
Nah, she texted back. Dean’s on his way. We’re going to try to track down what’s wrong here in Goshen. Seeing as how I’m the only one who’s seen the research and all. These losers know NOTHING. A moment passed and then his phone chimed again. You could always bring the research by. Come join in the hunt.
No. He hesitated over the phone and then decided to elaborate. She deserved more than a two-letter text. Pretty sure they won’t need it anyway. I hadn’t gotten very far. You going to stay with them or do you want me to come get you after that?
She didn’t respond for a while, and for a moment Sam felt that little spike of abandonment. Of course she was going to stay with them. They weren’t outcasts and could function in society. Finally, his phone chimed. Can I decide later?
Of course. She wasn’t rejecting him outright. It was a start.
Since he had nothing to do now that Claire had as good as given the hunt to Dean and Cas, who had no use for him anyway, he decided to try to make a plan for the future.
In theory, he should just go back to the bunker. That’s where he had been before going to help Claire. After the same time, he didn’t think he could do that anymore. He hadn’t felt welcome there in a long time, if he ever had, and even his “own” room hadn’t felt like his since he’d found out about Gadreel. Sure, Dean had killed Death rather than him, (or maybe he’d just slipped or something) but he hadn’t changed in any real way. He had Cas, and probably Claire now. He didn’t need Sam and the reminder of everything Sam was, and now with the Mark of Cain gone, Sam didn’t have anything to offer him. They were both angry with each other.
Assuming that Claire wanted him around, there was a case in New Philadelphia, Ohio that might be right up their alley. He’d see if she picked up on it before he brought it up to her, but it had the added advantage of being near Tuscarora Park. That would probably be vaguely fun for her; he remembered having enjoyed it the one time he’d run off there when he’d been, what, seventeen, that one summer?
If Claire chose to stay with Dean and Castiel, his options were wider. There was a spate of what looked like animal attacks near the West Branch State Park up near Ravenna that looked like one of the nastier demons, probably not someone working with Crowley if he was reading the signs right. It could have been witchcraft too - that spell Rowena had used on the sex worker Sam had met could have caused injuries similar to the ones he was seeing. That wasn’t anything he was interested in getting Claire involved with. He could also take on what looked like it might be a vampire nest up in the Cleveland area, which had the advantage of being in a larger city.
Maybe if he just let himself get out there, enjoy the physical again, he’d be able to banish the ache that talking about his buried feelings for Cas had stirred up in him again.
Then again, people were actually dying in Ravenna. The vampires, if that was what was going on in Cleveland, were attacking people, bleeding them and letting them go. Ravenna seemed like a higher priority. He could hit Cleveland afterward. In the meantime, he replenished his funds thanks to Donald Trump’s campaign chest, snorting quietly at the thought that Dean had forgotten that he knew how to do this sort of thing, and took care of some of the maintenance on his truck.
Eventually he emerged to go shop for some supplies and food. He went through another workout and then did some research for both cases into the late hours of the night.
The next morning he went for a run, as usual. It felt good to fall into a routine, and now that he had a plan of action he felt less adrift. He missed his brother, sure, but things were different now. It was best to just accept what it was and move on. Not that he cared if Dean cut his head off or whatever, but waiting for the blow to fall wasn’t much fun. Maybe they could schedule a date and time or something.
He texted Claire to check in. She told him she was okay, still wanted some time to do the job, and sent him a picture of a disgruntled-looking Cas trying to make sense of the function of a lawn flamingo outside of a mobile home in one of the poltergeist-affected areas. In spite of himself, he laughed.
For his part, he hacked his way into the Ravenna police department system. Incident reports on the attacks showed no regularity to the assaults. Not all of them had been fatal; there had been one survivor, who had escaped the attack by jumping into the reservoir. The young man would be scarred for life; his wounds looked like small claw marks, not the huge gashes of a werewolf or a wendigo. That made witchcraft more likely.
He picked up the phone. “Giant,” Rowena greeted. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Rowena. How are you?” He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth before running a trace on the GPS in her phone. He’d learned, while dealing with the Book of the Damned, that it payed to be polite to Rowena on the phone. Otherwise she’d refuse to cooperate and the call would devolve into a snark-fest that got no one anywhere but angry, and he didn’t have time for that right now.
“Now that I have that book I’m not even bitter about being chained up in that nasty wee factory of yours. And you? Now that you’ve got that ugly mark off your charming brother is life turning out to be everything you wanted?” Sam could hear the sneer in her voice. He wanted to wipe it off.
“We’re fine,” he lied. “Where are you?”
“Why would I tell you that, lad? You don’t get to be a four hundred year old witch by doing stupid things like divulging your location to excessively clever hunters.”
He sighed, unable to argue that point. “Alright. Let me put it to you another way. Are you anywhere near Ravenna, Ohio?”
The witch laughed out loud. “No. Ohio is too rust belt for me. I’ve had enough of decaying spaces ever since you chained me up inside one.”
He couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth twitch up at that. “I guess I can sympathize with that.” He glanced at the screen on his computer. It confirmed her words: her phone thought that it was in Santa Cruz, at least. “Listen. That spell you cast on the sex workers, back when we first met you.”
“Mmm. Oh yes. Delightful little gem. Comes in very handy when you’re in a tight spot. I suppose you’re looking to learn it?”
He blinked. What was with evil, attractive women wanting to mentor him? First Meg, then Ruby, now Rowena. “Uh, thanks, but that’s a level of dark magic I’m not comfortable with. If you maybe feel comfortable sharing the counter-spell, that would be great, though.”
“Counterspell? My dear Behemoth, that beauty is far too fast acting to have a counterspell. Once it’s out there, the victim’s over and done with. Unless, of course, they happen to be an angel you’ve set on your useless, traitorous son.” She sniffed.
“He is useless,” Sam muttered. “I’ll give you that much. Say, how many other witches know that one, anyway?”
“Can’t be more than five or six these days,” she admitted after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll admit that I’ve been out of the loop, what with being driven underground and all that, but there might still be a few out there who have an idea.”
Sam thought about it for a moment. James back in Saint Louis was an option, but he was pretty new at his craft and had fled the city anyway. Don and Maria Stark, though, they’d been playing this game for a long time. Patrick, the witch with the cards, might have an idea but it wasn’t his style of magic and Sam had no idea how to get in touch with him anyway. Well, not without a lot of spellwork and driving.
He went through his contact list and found Don’s number. “Sam Winchester!” Don greeted, tone jovial. “It is good to hear your voice! After the Leviathans disappeared we figured that was the end.”
Sam chuckled softly. He’d only died - what, twice since then? It got hard to keep track these days. “It’s good to hear from you, too. How’s Mrs. Stark?”
“She’s well, she’s just organized another charity auction. It’s going to be a blast!”
Sam winced, hoping that it wasn’t meant literally. “I hope it does go well. I had a question about a spell.” He described the spell’s effects to the ancient witch.
Don sucked his teeth in thought. “I haven’t seen that since Rowena MacLeod was still kicking around,” he said. “Nasty work. No counterspell, of course. What’s this about?”
Sam described what was happening in Ravenna. “I think I’m going to have to go in there and track down the witch, but I’d rather not become a ravening swamp monster myself. Is there a way to protect myself from that spell long enough to get in close?”
Don hummed. “Let me poke around a little bit and I’ll get back to you, okay, Sam?”
Sam smiled, a real smile of relief and gratitude. “Thanks, Don.”
When he hung up he got up from his chair and stretched a little. He still had to figure out a way to track down the witch themselves, but he didn’t need to do that right away. Not if he was going to wait for Claire. Another quick workout would be okay, maybe a little yoga would help him regain his equilibrium.
When he’d finished that, someone came knocking at his door.
He sprang to his feet, gun at the ready. Most practitioners didn’t have a gun loaded with consecrated iron bullets within arm’s reach during their practice, but then again he didn’t know of many other practitioners who had a long line of creatures looking for his hide to claim as a pelt. Then again, the subject hadn’t come up when he’d been studying formally. “Who is it?” He flattened himself against the wall behind the door.
“Sam, it’s me,” came Dean’s tense, impatient voice. “Open up.”
Sam sighed. Dean. Of course. He opened up the door and stepped back, gun still at the ready while Dean showed himself to be neither possessed nor a shifter. “Sam, what the hell,” Dean demanded, flopping down into one of the chairs by the table. “I mean really, what the hell?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Sam told him, putting the safety back onto the gun. He hesitated and then holstered the weapon.
“You just walked out, man. Just took off like - like whatever.” Dean shook his head. “I mean first you go AWOL from the bunker, then you’re not answering your phone, and then Cas shows up and you just go stomping out in a huff like you’re fifteen again? What’s going on here?”
Once upon a time, Sam would have given a kidney to get Dean to talk to him, but those days were long gone, had been since before he’d gone to Stanford. “I told you, Dean. I was doing something for Jody.”
“You don’t just go off on your own, Sam!” he insisted, running a hand through his hair. “I mean -“
Sam rounded on his brother. “I’m thirty-two, Dean. You either treat me like I’m an adult or I’m out, I’ve been telling you this for years. It’s been obvious I’m not an equal in your eyes, so I’m going to go off and do my own thing for a while.” He forced himself to exhale slowly and kept his hands loose and limber by his side.
Dean’s eyes narrowed as he rose from his chair. “Last time you ‘did your own thing’ you got Charlie killed. I don’t think you really get to ‘do your own thing’ anymore, Sammy.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Charlie made her own decisions, Dean,” he said. “Don’t think that I don’t hate myself about her death, because I do. But she chose to leave the factory when she knew she was being hunted. It’s not like she hasn’t been on the lam before.” Dean opened his mouth to object, already red-faced, but Sam stopped him by holding up one hand. “And Kevin didn’t even get that honor, did he? Or are you going to blame me for that one too?”
Dean doubled over, like he’d been punched. “Is that what this is all about? Really?”
Sam sighed. “Like I said. It’s about being an equal. I’ve made mistakes. Sure. I own up to them. You’ve made mistakes. Cas’ made mistakes. You never, even when you were at your angriest with him, stopped treating him like he was on your level. Neither of you ever saw me that way. I was either a useful tool or an obstacle - or a burden. And hey - your feelings are yours, and they’re valid for you and I’m not going to sit here and beg you to view me differently. But I’m also not going to sit here and let you put me down. I’ve been waiting all this time for some kind of redemption or acceptance from you and it’s only gotten worse. Maybe this is what we need to get better.”
Dean’s face went stony and impassive. “Don’t you go bringing Cas into it. He’s been your biggest ally. After that whole thing with Amelia -“
Sam laughed, bitter and dark. “What, when you faked a distress call from the woman I loved?”
Dean waved a hand. “Right. That.” No guilt, nothing. Sam might as well not have bothered. “When you stomped off like a jealous child about it. Then. It was only because Cas forced me to work with you that we ever saw each other again.”
“Yeah, you made that pretty clear, Dean.” Sam opened the door. “I’ll see you around, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes bulged. “You’re kicking me out?”
“What, you thought I’d want you to stay after that?”
“I’m not leavin’ you on your own, Sam. You do dumb stuff when you’re on your own.” Dean grabbed his arm.
Sam deflected and gently shoved his brother out the door. “Give me a call when you’re ready to talk like we’re both adults, Dean,” Sam sighed, and closed and locked the door behind him.
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