Fic: Teacher, Teacher
Title: Teacher, Teacher
Author: Safiyabat
Rating: PG-13 (swearing)
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Crowley, minor OCs
Word count: 5,890
Summary: After the events and conversations of "The Purge," both Winchester brothers decide to take on independent work to cool down. Dean is hurt and angered by Sam's words, but Sam's hunts start to raise concerns in parties acquainted with both boys.
Spoilers: Mild spoilers for 9.13 "The Purge," and season 9 in general.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, suicidal thoughts and behavior, mention of rape (not depicted or graphically described), the type of humor one might expect from someone who has spent too much time in Hell.
Disclaimer:I own my mistakes and most of the dialogue. The Winchesters and their friends belong to the CW and I make no money from the many horrible things I do to them.
Please note: This is my first time posting fan fiction to LJ or to the ohsam community. If you want to read this on AO3, please click here.
[Spoiler (click to open)]
Dean staggered over to the kitchen table. He wasn’t sure which sensation was winning the war in his body: exhaustion or pain. With the stupid First Blade still in the wind - well, current - whatever - he was taking whatever jobs came up and being the best hunter on the planet didn’t make getting thrown through windows by a poltergeist any less likely or any less painful. At least when he’d had Sammy around Sammy’d taken an equal number of the shots - not that Dean had really “let” him, it just worked out that way. And at least Sam had been around to do something crazy and off the wall to solve the case and get rid of the baddy if Dean was the one getting bashed around. This time he’d managed to avoid any kind of serious cuts or anything; he’d managed to wrap himself up at the scene just fine and now there were just bumps and bruises and whatever to deal with. And his body wasn’t exactly young anymore. It didn’t bounce back like it had when he’d been twenty.
“Cas!” he bellowed. Maybe the angel was at home. Maybe he wasn’t. He didn’t know. He’d never known with Castiel. The guy hadn’t ever stuck around. He wasn’t interested in being part of the family business; he was only interested in Heaven and fixing things upstairs. Still, maybe he’d be around. Lord knew Dean could use a friendly face right about now, and he wasn’t about to seek the bunker’s other inhabitant. “Cas?”
The bottle of Jack hadn’t moved from the place he’d left it, right on the breakfast table. He poured himself a glass. The volume of the liquid in the bottle hadn’t changed anyway. Of course Sammy was too good to drink his booze now. It wasn’t like the kid had ever been above a little Winchester anesthetic before, right? And while Dean wasn’t going to bring himself to call the kid - not after the things he’d said - maybe he’d come when he heard Dean calling for the angel. Then they could have a nice drink together, and Sam would figure out that he should be more appreciative of everything Dean had done for him instead of resenting him for saving his damn life, and everything would go back to normal.
Cas appeared after several moments. He squinted at the glass of whiskey. “Hello, Dean,” he greeted. “You seem injured.” He looked around. “Where is Sam?”
Dean frowned. “What do you mean, ‘Where’s Sam?’ I left him here at the bunker.” He shook his head. “He’s probably sulking in his room.”
“I do not sense another living presence within these walls, Dean.” He got himself a beer from the refrigerator. Ever since he’d been human the angel had developed a taste for beer, although he seemed to prefer those sissy “craft” beers Sam liked. “Perhaps you should call him.”
“Nuh-uh. You weren’t here, man. You didn’t hear what he said to me. I’ll call him when pigs fly.” He drank deeply from his glass. If Sam didn’t want Dean saving him, that was what he would get.
“Well, technically pigs do fly when they are shipped on international cargo flights -” Cas stopped when he saw Dean’s glare. “You did not wish for me to be literal. I understand. The rift between you is only a benefit to your enemies, Dean.”
“This ain’t my fault, Cas. He’s the one who’s sulking and being a dick. If he apologizes and thanks me for saving his life, it will all be okay.” It wouldn’t be okay, of course. He’d said some awful things to Dean. How could he say that Dean hadn’t been the one suffering when Dean had gone to Hell for the ungrateful son-of-a… well, for Sam? Or that Dean hadn’t been the one suffering when Sam had been without his soul? He’d been soulless, he wasn’t capable of suffering! Or that Dean hadn’t suffered to put that damn soul back into his body - with his soulless ass fighting him the whole time? Dean had had to watch Gadreel kill Kevin! How was that not suffering? Sam got to live while Kevin - poor little Kevin, who Sam had already abandoned once - had died.
“So you don’t care where he is right now?”
“Nope.”
Cas met his eyes, pulled out his phone and dialed the second number in his directory. Then he placed the phone on speaker.
Sam picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Cas.” He sounded like crap.
“Hello, Sam. Did I wake you?”
“No, I just got back to the motel. What’s up? Are you hurt?”
“No. I am at the bunker with Dean. We noticed you were missing and wondered where you were.”
“Just finished up a case. Vengeful spirit out in Oklahoma, lynching victim. Sad.”
“You worked a case. By yourself.” Dean couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice. Getting the kid to work a case - any case - at all was like pulling teeth, so the idea that he’d just gotten up after getting crushed by the pishtaco and the storage shelf seemed a little farfetched.
“Yeah. I did.” His voice cooled by about ten degrees. “You got something you want to say?”
Dean blinked. “I’m just surprised you even wanted to, Sammy. It’s not like you give a shit about the job.”
“Will you be coming back to the bunker now, Sam?” Cas queried, glowering at Dean. Angels did not kick other people under the table, but if they did Dean was pretty sure that his shin would be black and blue right now.
“Nah. Caught wind of another case. Think I’ll see if there’s anything to it. Call me if you need anything, Cas.” The line went dead.
“What the hell?” Dean asked after a moment. “Since when does Sam want to hunt? And Sam can’t hunt by himself, everyone knows that.”
“Why do you think Sam is incompetent to hunt alone, Dean? You’ve hunted alone before. You’re hunting alone now. Why do you think he is not competent to do the same?”
“Because he does dumb things, Cas. He gets himself stabbed in the back. Or he gets talked into working with demons.” Cas cleared his throat and glanced at Dean’s arm. “Shut up. That’s different. I just don’t trust him out there alone, okay?”
“And yet you trusted an angel you had never met to take over your brother’s body, mind and soul.” He tilted his head to one side. “I must confess that I have some concerns myself about Sam being alone right now…”
“See? I’m not the only one.”
“I am concerned about your brother’s state of mind, Dean. We spoke at some length after you abandoned him when he expelled Gadreel -“
“I didn’t abandon him, geez. I walked away for his own good.”
“…As you say. We spoke at some length and while he appeared to accept the truth of my words, some of his later behaviors have been inconsistent with a man who accepts that his life has value no matter how many times he has screwed up.”
He sat down and drank from his beer. “I worry for his safety, Dean.”
The hunter tried to ignore the cold feeling that overtook his skin. “Yeah, well, don’t get too uptight about it. Sam doesn’t tend to risk much when he doesn’t have anyone watching his back. He’s not going to really risk dying when there’s no one to beg him not to.” He’d meant for the words to come out sounding like tough love, but they didn’t even sound like that to someone who’d grown up with John Winchester’s brand of affection. “He’ll be fine, and he’ll come crawling home with his tail between his legs before you can even really miss him.”
“I miss him already, Dean.” Cas touched his forehead with two fingers and the pain from his bruises and his cuts evaporated. “You should rest.”
Dean had a second glass of whiskey. It didn’t stop him from dreaming of Alistair that night. Funny - he hadn’t dreamed of “Picasso-with-a-razor” in years, but ever since Sammy had opened his big mouth he couldn’t stop. This time, though, Alistair wasn’t the only one with white eyes.
The next day Dean got up, enjoyed a nice bacon-y breakfast and started looking for a case. Castiel joined him in the map room. “Are you planning to go out so soon?” he asked.
Dean shrugged. “Crowley’s no closer to finding the First Blade now than he was yesterday. No reason to let the grass grow under my feet.”
“I thought you enjoyed setting up a home here, Dean. You should enjoy it.”
“It’s not the same.” He sipped at his coffee. If anyone would understand it would be Castiel. “I was… I guess I was setting up a home for Sammy, you know? The kid always wanted a home, our whole lives. But nothing I do is good enough. He said so, you know? When we met Dorothy and lost Charlie. Said he didn’t even want a home anymore.”
The angel thought about it. “I don’t believe that was intended as a slight on you, Dean,” he said after looking off into the distance for a moment. “He has tried to establish homes before, correct?” Dean nodded. “And they’ve been taken away from him, not in good ways, correct?” He nodded again, gripping his coffee cup. “Indeed, you once forced him to commit to a nomadic lifestyle, did you not? When you reunited after you feigned a distress call from his former mate to pull him off a case and then blamed him for leaving the case.”
“I didn’t -“ he objected, but Castiel gave him a hard look. “Okay, but look. He got Martin Creaser killed -“
“From what I have heard it is Martin Creaser who got Martin Creaser killed. You are fond of holding others’ sins over your brother’s head. Why is that?”
“Damn it, Cas, if he’d just trusted me -“
“But Dean, you gave him no reason to. You deliberately hid Benny from him when you knew that Sam would have been the first person to embrace the one who had helped you in Purgatory. Even I know that Sam would have been Benny’s biggest supporter and I am not prone to giving Sam much credit.” He smiled gently. “You hid them from one another for your own reasons, not because of Sam.”
He turned away from Cas, but he couldn’t deny it. Not now that the words were out. “Maybe,” he rasped. “Doesn’t matter now, does it? Benny’s dead. I killed him to save Sam, and he doesn’t even appreciate that.”
“You expected Benny to return with Sam as he returned with you.” Now Cas raised an eyebrow. “It is only when he elected to remain in Purgatory that you felt it was a major sacrifice. What cases have you found?”
He turned back to the screen, grateful for the distraction. “There are a few fun-looking candidates. We got what might be drugs down in Louisiana, but might be voodoo. That could be fun or it could just mean cops. That’s no fun at all. We’ve got a bunch of noise complaints from empty houses in Austin - probably ghosts, but nobody’s dying so not as exciting. We’ve got a bunch of mysterious fires up here in Iowa - could be demonic. Could be an excitable firebug. And we’ve got hikers at a national park in Arkansas getting attacked by a ‘giant snake thing.’ Sounds like we’ve had a few deaths, it is venomous.” He waited for someone to comment on the SAT word, but Sam wasn’t there to tease him. His heart fell.
Cas asked him to call up that story, which led to more stories. Apparently this “giant snake thing” really was an issue. The venom was alleged to be hallucinogenic, because some of the survivors insisted that the animal had more than one head. “Is that a… hydra?” Dean wondered.
“I have not seen a hydra since before the birth of Christ, but it does sound like one has sprung up in Arkansas. This is a very dangerous creature, Dean.”
“So come with me, Cas.” He gave his friend his best winning smile.
It was returned by said friend’s best long-suffering sigh. “Of course, Dean. It would be foolhardy to let you go alone.”
They spent the rest of the day researching hydrae. Evidently they were damn hard to kill. A certain type of sickle was ideal and they even had one in their inventory, except it was freaking Sam’s, he’d even brought it with him to Stanford and he’d taken it with him wherever he’d gone this time. So they had to rely on other cutting implements and hope for the best. Angel blades trumped everything of course, but Sam had even dipped into that stash. The guy must look like a porcupine wherever he was now.
It took Dean and Cas two days after finding the case to reach Hot Springs. They went into the town in the typical FBI guise, interviewed victims (“Don’t worry, ma’am. Every detail is important, no matter how ridiculous it sounds.”) and took down statements from hunters and scientists who had tried to track the creature. Then they went into the Ouachita National Forest and sought out the area with the most sightings and attacks.
They were met there by a ranger. The ranger would probably have fit the definition of “hot” had she not been stuck in the universally-unflattering ranger uniform. She was tall and dark-haired, with dark skin and her arms crossed across her chest. “You must be Dean,” she greeted with a little smirk.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins. “And you are?”
“Ranger Alissa Martinez, United States Park Service. You’re probably here about the hydra.”
“That doesn’t explain why you know who I am.” “The guy who took care of the hydra said you’d probably be by. Said you’d be driving a sixty-seven Impala and that he’d count it as a personal favor if I wouldn’t look in the trunk.”
Dean risked a glance at Cas, who nodded. “She’s clean, Dean.” He forced himself to relax a little. “This guy - did he go by Gigantor by any chance? About yay big, yay wide, needed a haircut for the past fifteen years or so?”
“I like his hair,” said Ranger Alissa Martinez, with extra ice.
“Excuse me,” Cas interrupted. “Did you just say that he ‘took care’ of the hydra?”
“He did. Two days ago. I’d just been grabbed by the thing when he rolled up on this gorgeous antique bike and just went at it. Cut off all the heads, torched the remains, and that was it.” Her dark eyes shone more than a little.
“Sam killed a hydra. By himself.” Dean couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “The kid couldn’t even take on a pishtaco a week ago.”
“I don’t know what that is. But yes. He killed it. You don’t need to worry about it anymore.”
Cas frowned. “Was he okay?” “He got beat up a bit,” she admitted. “He had a few busted ribs and I had to pop his shoulder back into place but he didn’t get poisoned, if that’s what you mean. He got bit but it must have been a dry bite.”
Dean bit back a snort. “And he sent you out here to wait for me?”
“No. He saw that you were heading this way by your phone’s GPS and figured you were coming to work the case.” She frowned. “Why are you trying to track him down?”
“We’re concerned for his safety, ma’am.” Cas told her in his best FBI voice. “That’s all.”
She snorted and leaned against the hood of her SUV. “Yeah. So’s he. I asked him why he didn’t go home. He said he just didn’t feel safe there anymore.”
Dean felt his face go red. Cas put a hand on his arm. “This man, did he… make advances to you?”
“Nope. Perfect gentleman. I made some advances toward him, though.” Her cheeks pinked up. “Who wouldn’t? I mean, I was never the princess type but I thought I was going to die and this big strong knight on a modern-day horse comes rushing in and saves me - yeah, I wanted to show my gratitude. And let’s face it, he was pretty. I’d have been interested even if he hadn’t saved my life.”
“But he was uninterested,” Cas persisted.
“He… he said he’d been through some stuff and that he just wasn’t feeling comfortable enough with that kind of thing yet, but thanked me for flattering him. Said he really wished it could be different. Then he warned me about you - “ she nodded at Dean - “and took off. This was the morning after; I made him stay one night up at the ranger station, after some of the hits he took.”
“He probably just saved your life,” Dean chuckled.
Cas stepped on his foot. “Sam has a stalker ex who can be violent,” the angel informed. It wasn’t a lie. “Did he seem… mentally… okay?”
“He seemed sad.” She shrugged. “He didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Thank you for your time, Ranger.”
She stood up. “If you catch up to him, tell him I hope he’s doing okay.”
The men got back into the Impala and returned to their motel. “I don’t believe for a minute that Sammy killed a hydra by himself,” Dean scoffed. “I mean, Sammy? Come on.”
“Dean, Sam was bred and engineered to lead Hell’s armies. You should have more faith in his abilities. Perhaps it is your lack of faith that holds him back. Regardless, that is not my concern right now. I am more concerned that he thought taking on a hydra alone was a good idea. I didn’t think you could take on a hydra alone. I was concerned about your ability to take on a hydra with an angel at your side. Sam went in there alone, and left with injuries the next day.”
Dean paused. “What are you saying, Cas?”
“I’m saying that Sam may be looking for a hunt that he cannot finish. I am very concerned for him right now.”
Dean looked away. The thought made him ill, physically ill. After everything he’d done to keep that kid alive, for him to just be throwing it all away like that - “Why would he do that? I mean, seriously - why?”
“The only way to find out is to ask him, Dean.”
He took his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. Then he put it away. “He says he wouldn’t save me. Well, I’m done saving him. He told me that I’m only okay with making the sacrifice when I’m not the one suffering? Fine. No more suffering for poor little Sammy.”
Cas stared at him for several minutes. “Very well. Let us return to the bunker, then.”
“Screw that. Let’s find another case. I didn’t get to kill anything this time.”
They found a series of suspicious deaths amongst undocumented migrant workers in Texas. They drove all the way down to Corpus Christi where once again they worked the case - interviewing witnesses (Cas made a great translator) and talking to surviving victims. They figured out that the nest was operating out of an abandoned barn a few miles outside of town and scouted it out, deciding to attack the next night after stocking up on dead man’s blood. After Dean and Cas returned from the funeral home with their syringes filled they found the motel bathtub filled with severed vampire heads. There were seven of them, all staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Dean let out a stream of obscenities and left a very long message on Sam’s voice mail explaining precisely why this was not an acceptable way of disposing of corpses.
It was only after he’d hung up, while Cas was disposing of the evidence in the way that only an angel’s mojo can, that he remembered back to the last prank war between them, with the itching powder and the super glue and the dreadful laughing automaton thing.
Austin brought an end to the musical houses. Apparently there had been a troop of maenads making merry in an unfinished subdivision. Witnesses said a guy on a motorcycle showed up and had a chat with “the naked ladies,” and they went away somewhere. That was all. The witnesses described the man as “scruffy, and a little beat up,” but “polite and real nice.” “I tried to get him to stay here and at least have a meal with us,” insisted one older woman with white hair in long braids, “but he just said he had to keep moving.”
Even Dean abandoned the pretense of looking for jobs now. What was the kid thinking, just wandering up to maenads? He should have been driven out of his mind by their mere presence, and then they should have ripped him to shreds. They needed to catch up to Sam.
Lawton, Oklahoma brought a case that was trapping people in mirrors. It turned out that was witchcraft. Sam beat them to the punch again, although the last victim said that he’d taken quite the beating before taking the witch out. Evidently he wasn’t resting before moving on, trying to keep ahead of Dean.
Clovis, New Mexico brought a near-sighting and a werewolf hunt. The thing was about to take a chunk out of Dean when a bullet came from out of nowhere, hitting the monster clear in the chest and killing it. Cas got a phone call not long afterward, politely insisting that they stop following Sam. When Cas passed the phone to Dean at his request Sam hung up.
Finally, on what was probably an angel hunt outside of Albuquerque, things took a left turn. Dean had just checked into a motel when his phone rang. The familiar “666” number elicited a groan. “Just what I need,” he commented before answering. “Crowley,” he growled.
“Hello, Squirrel,” the demon greeted in his smoothest voice. “I’m curious - what have you done with your Moose? He seems to be a bit worse for wear these days.”
“He’s a big boy, Crowley. He can handle it.”
“I don’t think he can, Dean. If he could I would hardly be bothering you, would I? Was it your idea for him to take on three angels at once or did he come up with that one all on his ruminant lonesome?”
“What?” Dean would deny until the end of his days that his voice squeaked.
“Right. All alone then. Would you like to explain to me why he felt compelled to take three angels on at once or is there someone else I should be asking? Have you rented him out again?”
The hunter saw red. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”
“No, no, pretty sure I’ve got it. But if you’d like to see the results of your handiwork we’re in the penthouse suite at the Hotel Andaluz.” The line went dead.
Dean looked at Cas. “That was Crowley.”
“So I gathered. What did he want?” the angel demanded, looking up from the television screen.
Dean did not want to contemplate Cas and porn, not again. “He said Sam apparently tried to take on three angels at one time.” Cas rose to his feet, face slack. “Says he’s got him in the penthouse over at some fancy hotel, wants us to come get him or something.”
His friend was halfway to the door. “Why are you hesitating?” he asked bluntly. “He could be dead! He could be worse than dead! Dean, this is Crowley!”
“I know. Believe me, I know.” He rubbed at the Mark on his arm. “But… he doesn’t want to be saved, remember? He thinks I’m selfish.”
“And I think you’re pig-headed. Are you really going to leave your brother in Crowley’s hands? Because I’m not. You can come with me or stay behind.”
Dean sighed. He knew he couldn’t stay away. He grabbed his gear and followed Cas outside. They raced through the streets until they got to the hotel. The place was stunning, had valet parking and everything. There was no way in Hell Dean was leaving Baby with a valet, so they parked on the street around the block and walked in. There was actually an elevator operator, an honest to god guy whose whole paycheck came from pushing the button on the elevator, but maybe that was normal for the kind of guy who took this kind of room because he actually called ahead to make sure it was okay for Dean and Cas to come up before pushing the little button. Crowley must have given his assent, because the button got pushed and the two friends found themselves on their way up.
Dean’s senses hadn’t been on this kind of high alert since Purgatory. This had to be a trap. It was Crowley. Crowley had tricked him into taking the Mark of Cain. Crowley had enslaved the Winchesters before; he’d waged war by killing the people they’d saved for no reason other than the fact that they’d been saved. When it came to demons he was usually the lesser of two evils but he was still pretty damn evil. And now Sammy’d gotten himself captured by Crowley, and who knew what the guy wanted with him?
They made it to the door, which opened before they arrived. “Ah. Dean. So good of you to join me. And Castiel. I should have expected that you would succeed to the shotgun position quickly. Dean always did prefer to put his trust elsewhere.”
“You got a lot of nerve.” Dean placed his forearm across Crowley’s collarbone and pushed him into the suite, knife at the ready. “I don’t know where you’re getting these ideas -“
Crowley gestured and Dean found himself flying into the sofa. “Mind the suit, mate. I just got the blood out of it. Been watching you Winchesters a long time, Squirrel. I mean, I’ve been King of the Crossroads for longer than you’ve been alive. Means I’m ambitious, right? So when I’ve got my eye on a job and there’s a rival for it, I want to learn as much as I can about him.” The door to the suite swung shut.
“So you’ve been one of Sam’s creepy demon stalkers over the years?”
“If you want to put it that way.” He shrugged. “As it turned out, though, I would have been okay with Sam as King. Never was a big fan of Azazel, but Sam would have done the job well, I think. He could think beyond the old whips-and-chains, you know? But he turned it down. He turned it all down. Unlimited power, anything he wanted, and he turned it down to be with the brother he loved. Because it would have let you down.” He sneered on the last three words, like he could barely stand to get them out. “And well, what’s gone on between the two of you since then - well, I’m a demon, what do I know about healthy family relationships? My son told Bobby Singer where to find my bones so you two could torch them, and I probably deserved it.
“But what you did to him, in that church and then again in that hospital - well, that turns even my stomach. Or it would. If I had a stomach.”
“God damn it, I saved his life!” Dean seethed.
“And what a life you saved him for, too. You rented him out to an angel, Dean!” At the blank looks on the faces before him, he rolled his eyes. “Ugh. It’s like talking to squid. I mean, really. Don’t even think about squirting ink in here. Two days after telling him he was stupid for thinking you trusted an angel over him you crammed an angel into his very body - you gave his body, his mind and his soul to an angel and told him he was crazy when he started to suspect something was wrong. You knew goddamn well that he wouldn’t be willing to go through that and you did it anyway.”
“For him!” Dean insisted.
“Bullshit!” Crowley yelled. “If you’d cared about Sam’s feelings on the matter you’d have let him go out feeling like he’d actually accomplished something and made you proud, you wouldn’t have been part of violating him yet again in ways that you can’t even imagine and you wouldn’t have told him you would do it again and acted as though he should be grateful for his own violation.”
“Nobody violated anyone,” Dean scoffed.
“Excuse me. Have you ever been possessed? No. If a human takes control of another human and forces their body to do things against their will what do we call that?” He let the silence linger for a moment. “Right. This was the third time this had happened to Sam. And you - you made it happen. And you have the gall to act as though the things you’ve done for Sam give you a right to his person? I’m sorry - even demons don’t pretend that we have a right to anything, we just do things anyway.
“Sam’s life has been one violation after another, Dean, but there was one person he was always able to count on. One person who he could trust behind him, so to speak. And it turns out you were just as willing to treat him like meat as everyone else. Oh don’t you give me that glare. I was in his head. I saw his memories. I saw how often you shut him down to ask the angel to come out to play, so don’t play innocent with me. He remembers everything, Dean. Every minute, every lie.”
Dean had rarely seen Crowley so livid. “So what is it that you want with him?” Cas asked as Dean snarled in impotent rage.
“Ideally? I’d like for him to find a lover and a dog and go live a long peaceful life somewhere far away from my wicked little machinations. I’m afraid that ship has long since sailed, though. Getting him to wake up would be an excellent compromise.”
“He’s asleep?” Dean blinked.
“Comatose. Blood loss. And no, I didn’t top him off, before you ask. No demon wants that, me least of all.” He shuddered. “He can kill with a thought, you know.”
“I know, Crowley. I’ve seen him do it.”
“He doesn’t have nice thoughts.”
“Right.”
“I’ve been in his head. Really. They’re not nice.”
“Thanks for that. What happened?”
“Oh. I called him up after I caught wind of the thing in Lawton, and then again after your little werewolf adventure. He mentioned that some angels were trying to coerce a family of vessels into saying yes and he was going to help them. So I did some tracking and found them in time to see Sam killing the last of them.”
“Sam killed three angels?” Cas gasped.
“It’s not as though he had anything to lose,” Crowley pointed out. “I think he snuck up on the first two. He’s very stealthy for a giant ruminant. He’d taken more than a few hits and was bleeding heavily. I bandaged him up as best I could and I brought him here, where I actually did some stitches.”
“You. Did stitches.” Dean snickered.
“I’ll have you know that I was an excellent tailor in my day.” Crowley sniffed. “I’ll let you see him, but fair warning - if I even remotely suspect any funny business you’re both going to find out in fairly short order why I’m the king of Hell.”
He led them into the bedroom and Dean let out a long, low whistle. “It’s too bad he’s out,” Dean commented. “This is pretty swanky, Crowley.” Of course, there was nothing elegant, beautiful, opulent or “swanky” about the figure in the bed. Sam lay still, barely breathing, with a line of stitches up his side. His anti-possession tattoo had apparently been replaced with a few additions - Cas translated them as “no consent for angels; this vessel gives no consent” in Enochian. “They have no force, of course,” he added. “An angel can use whatever means he chooses to convince a vessel to change its mind, whatever the initial answer. But I suppose that they get the point across.”
Sam’s face had taken quite a beating too. In fact, every visible part of him told the story of the fights he’d seen since leaving Dean. The hydra had indeed bitten him, right in the left bicep. The vampires had gotten a few hits in too - there were fist-shaped marks all over his torso and of course the shiners were a good sign. There was a ligature mark on his neck and that just could not be a good story no matter how you looked at it. There were little cuts all over like shards of glass, and bigger cuts that could only come from an angel blade. “I can heal him,” Cas offered.
“He doesn’t want you to, remember?” Dean pointed out.
“You’re an ass, Dean Winchester,” Crowley snarled. “He doesn’t want his life prolonged. That doesn’t mean he wants to linger in a painful bloody coma while his insides slowly leak.”
Cas sighed. “There is an easy solution. Will you accept my word, Crowley, that I will only seek to obtain Sam’s permission to heal him? I will not attempt to pressure him or berate him in any way, nor will I attempt to do anything but heal him.”
“You know I don’t trust your word farther than I can throw you, Feathers,” the demon frowned. “Screw me once shame on you, screw me twice shame on me. But I suppose I have Dean here as a hostage for your good behavior.”
“Hey!” Dean objected, but Castiel’s eyes were already closed. After a moment, he pulled back. Sam’s wounds were cleared up, but his eyes remained closed. “He told me he didn’t care if I healed him or not,” Cas told them, profoundly troubled. “But that he wasn’t permitting anything. He knew where that would lead.”
Dean sighed. “Are you going to blame me for this one too?”
“I had not previously thought of possession as a violation - not when done by angels. We are taught that we honor our vessels, but I begin to see where that might not be the case. Sam… there is no way in which Sam has not been violated by someone or something, and this is just the latest incident.” He leaned against the wall.
Dean rubbed his face in his hands. “And I told him I’d do it again.”
“You did it for the right reasons,” Cas hastened to assure him.
“Maybe. Maybe I was more worried about myself, how I would deal without Sammy, than with what Sammy wanted or needed. I don’t know what to do now.”
“Try not doing anything this time,” Crowley suggested, and if he was a little gentler about it this time well no one was going to complain. “Let’s see what Sam wants to do, when he wakes up. It’s going to take him a long time to get past this, Squirrel.”
“I know. But I’m willing to wait.”