Chapter Text
Since Uriel and Castiel had come to earth and watched the Winchester brothers complete the trial, there had been a subtle shift in his brethren that Castiel had noted since returning back home. Heaven was suddenly dull in a way it never had been with its clinical lights and shiny waxed floors. It clashed with the brightness of earth, to the plethora of colours and creatures that inhabited the world. He had never considered one more enjoyable than the other but as angels rushed to and fro around him Castiel suddenly longed to see earth's splendour once more.
Castiel had always been a warrior, that was one of his main orders in this age and his brothers and sisters had followed him for eons without question, trusted his skill and guidance to bring forth victory. So when had that their thoughts changed? There was no denying that angels often trusted their commanding officers over their own instincts. The humans in his charge may find that concept strange but Castiel was created to follow orders, so had his siblings. Free will amongst angels was not a fathomable concept, that was humanity alone, you had no right to question an order no matter how much you may think it is wrong.
Dean's commentary lingered in his mind, sunk his teeth into him and infected him with doubt, that was the foreign emotion that rattled around him, it sounded eerily too close. "Of course you have a choice. I mean, come on, what? You’ve never questioned a crap order, huh?" Dean had argued, fire in his green eyes as he eyed the angels before him. It was not only the oldest brother that haunted his thoughts, Sam Winchester was equally as distracting. Sam's eyes were just as spirited, except the sight of his wavering reverence was disheartening to spy. The sight of it lingers, taunting him with a memory that would never fade no matter how many years passed.
The sound of his siblings spoke around him, ethereal frequencies that were a familiar sound since his creation, he tunes them out as he settles deeper in his thoughts. Those amongst his brothers and sisters were beginning to look at him suspiciously, a sort of paranoia seeping into their thoughts when they noticed his lingering attention on the Winchester brothers, talking amongst one another as if there was more to his observations than just duty to carry out his Father's will. It reminds him all too well of another time he had come to earth, a hundred years before the Winchester's souls were even a consideration, to the unwavering faith his siblings had in him then.
He can feel the curious stares, the despondent commentary as they spoke hushed to one another. It troubles him, deeply so, that he had not returned to earth for weeks now, preferring to turning gaze away from the humans who had begun to 'get under his skin', these words the Castiel of before would not have understood such a turn of phrase. But his charge had shifted his thoughts, forcing him to see things from a perspective he would not have once considered. Even away like this their presence haunts him, memories and conversations filling his head with noise. Still, as he stays away the Winchester boys continue to hunt, a common ritual that comes to pass like the sun rising and setting, it was inevitable. The monotony of heaven, the familiarity of his previous self seem to just begin to settle into his old life when the facade is broken by Sam’s voice that calls to him, a prayer that only promotes guilt within Castiel.
"Glory to thee Castiel, he who heralds the glory of God."
Castiel stills, the warmth of his name spilling from Sam's lips setting his nerves alight. The mans words are reminiscent of the passage he'd read on seraphim and Castiel cant help but pause to listen to his prayer, no matter how much he should ignore it.
"I hope that things are better where you are, that whatever keeps you away is not causing too much trouble. I wish that I could say the same, things have been... rough... since the raising of Samhain. I’ve getting these dreams… these… visions. And I don’t know what to do Castiel! I’m seeing demons doing terrible things and I… I think I’m there with them.” Sam pauses, voice shuddering on an exhale. "I want to have faith, truely I do, but Deans ran off again and I… I just need you.”
His grace flares, at conflict with the bounds of his human vessel.
"Oh, Castiel." Sam sighs, and Castiel can almost feel the sensation of air like something tangible, a warm exhale against his neck as if Sam was at his side and not miles and miles below him. "Sometimes I dream, of fire and blood and I don't even know if it is my mum or Jess or somebody else entirely burning above me screaming. How messed up is that? That this is something so commonplace in my forsaken life that I cant even identify who it is. How crazy is that?"
"You told me that if I couldn't pray to God then I can pray to you. Well, this is me praying to you Castiel. I think there's something rotten inside me, this poisonous thing." Sam spits the word like a curse. "There is no other reason for it, for I could never tell Dean but sometimes... sometimes I crave it- the demon blood, it must be that for what else could it be? For how do I know how sweet it tastes? I was fed it long ago, a bastardisation of communion and yet sometimes I find myself longing for it. And how monstrous is that?" A confession, tearful and hollow settles over him.
"Well, since you left Dean has been running himself ragged, guilty for the fate we've wrought upon humanity. He's angry... but that's nothing new. He thinks you've abandoned us, that it was inevitable that you would leave us and I argued against him on it, that you wouldn't do such a thing but Dean has never had faith, I think we both know that. Anyway, he won't speak to me, hell, anyone about it. I know he's moments from crumbling under the pressure of it all, but I don't think Dean knows how to get close to anyone, not really." Sam's voice, the words settling over his shoulders and neck in a mock caress. "It's always been that way, but he's been angry, a shadow to his former self, and I wonder how long he's been this way. You know... since he made that deal to swap places in hell... well, I don't think either of us came back right."
A huff of air, an exhale or a sob breaks the steady cadence of his tone. ""Will it feel like this forever? It seems like I can do nothing more than make the wrong decisions time and time again. Are you angry? Do you hate me? Is that why you won't answer my prayers? I understand, I truly do. I am surprised a being from the Heavens has put yourself through hell to deal with me." A laugh, choking as he seems to notice the doubled edge to his prior words. "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean it so literally."
Something foreign aches in Castiel's chest, something he'd come to learn as longing sparking within him. He gazes outwards, down toward the shiny floor wordlessly as if he could see the man speaking to him, silently pleading that Sam would understand that he cannot come. Things need to play out between the Winchester brothers as God commanded but that didn't mean it didn't settle like guilt to hear Sam's prayers whisper on the air, knowing that they would remain ignored. Yet, how could he face him again? Knowing that Sam had faith in him and he simply abandoned him like the rest of his garrison. Angel's didn't need to pray, they didn't need to plead to forgiveness, so why did he find his head bowing, ancient words for forgiveness on his tongue? The emerging silence settles uncanny. It was never silent in Heaven but it was now, the very world around him devoid of sound in the wake of Sam's desperate prayer and the knowledge he would not return it.
His avoidance of earth continues for seconds, then day or weeks or years, Castiel doesn't know, time simply moved differently in heaven or perhaps he was just unused to keeping track of something so trivial as time. As an angel such concepts of time meant nothing but his brief encounter with the brothers had soon shown him the hidden intricacies of it. Perhaps it was just their short lives that had them so caught up in the concept, to narrow the seconds and minutes into something more. Castiel understood the need for day and night, and why the Winchesters would be displeased if he came to them at night when they slept. Although, perhaps he didn't need to worry about such societal things with them now, he had not heard anything from Sam nor Dean since he had retreated to heaven following the raising of Samhain. It strikes him now that perhaps his failure to head Sam's prayer had finally severed that trembling thread of faith Sam had held onto all these years.
Although it seemed that sound had slowly made its way to continue around him, when it came to Heaven at least, for throughout his absence from earth he angels continue to whisper conspiringly amongst one another, pondering the direction the Winchester brothers took without him. 'He's an abomination.' They say to one another as if to confirm the contradiction of his actions, to remind themselves of his inherent evil. But it made no sense to him, for even at this distance he could sense Sam Winchester's soul and there was nothing evil about it, for all he could sense was kindness, such empathy that filled him to the brim despite every harrowing case and death and pure violence. That was his strength, his hope... his faith that never goes away despite the situations thrown his way.
In truth Castiel had made it clear to the curiosity of his brethren that he and Dean were closer when he had first gone to earth, that the righteous man's brother was simply a figure to aid their higher purpose. Although, that was not true, was it? for even if he and Dean shared a profound bond from raising his from perdition Castiel had recently come to the realisation that perhaps he didn't like Dean as much as did Sam. Dean was often arrogant, blinded by hunter code to see the shades of grey the world was prone too unlike Sam. As much as Dean challenged him and got on Castiel's nerves he respected Dean, he had given him a taste of choice, to understand the concept of free will. But that didn't mean he didn't find himself drawn to his younger brother more, toward the kindness and inherently good choices the made in a bid to do what is right. Where as the other angels in heaven liked Dean more for being Michael's true vessel, for being 'good' in that divinely blessed way that in no way mirrored his non-existent faith. They did not seem to understand that the things Sam may be lacking in comparison to Dean did not make Sam any lesser. Heaven and most of his garrison cared not for the likes of Sam, the younger brother who was destined to become Lucifer's vessel, despite his moral compass and devout faith. They didn't see past the layers of Sam, they didn't see him beyond the stain of the demon's blood to know that despite his destiny there was more to the man than wickedness, not like he was beginning to see.
Then one day he heard it after weeks or months of distance, he wasn't quite sure how long for time was hard to track up in Heaven for mere seconds here could be a millennia below. Still, the soft hesitance filled with undeniable reverence caught his attention.
"Castiel. I call upon thee."
He was still in heaven surrounded by his brothers and sisters as they worked on a way to prevent Lilith breaking the seals of Hell and bringing about the Apocalypse, and yet he stills, his grace thrumming and flaring out at the call of his name. His grips tightens on the edge of his trench coat, a motion that captures the puzzlement of his garrison, as his vessel's hands knuckle white with the force of it. It bound him in place more than Holy Fire, rooted in place as the strain of guilt weighed heavy upon him.
"Castiel... I... I don't know if you can hear me, what is it like in Heaven? Is it splendour like humanity has ever seen?" Sam ponders, his curious voice settling on Castiel's shoulders like a caress. "I suppose it doesn't matter. I don't even know if praying even does anything anymore, if you would even listen to the likes of me." A sigh, filled with weight on young shoulders pauses his words momentarily. "Regardless, on the slim chance that you are listening, well, I hope that whatever keeps you away is going well, I hope the searching is fruitful. I am praying for you, for what little that does."
The reminder of such faith, even in his absence has Castiel's will falter. He had promised himself not to be strayed but here he was, buckling under the knowledge that his absence had not broken what little camaraderie had began to forge. Almost compulsively, he turns his head away, tilting like he could see into the Motel the bothers were staying in this time. "He is calling to me." He states abruptly to his siblings, not waiting on their responses to teleport from the room with a swift unfurling of wings.
Without thinking Castiel finds himself in a dark parking lot near where Sam's call had come from, the streetlamp he had teleported under rains down a flurry of sparks as the bulb bursts from the force of his presence. His grace sparks fresh in the air, power thrumming too strong in his borrowed veins. His true form pushes on the confinement of his human vessel, wishing to be free to wield the true extent of his power. It has Castiel pause, staring out into the encompassing darkness with a furrowed brow as it dawns on him just how reckless, how emotional such a response was. He shouldn't be here, it was illogical, a waste of time with the threat of the end hanging over them all. Yet he does, drawn to the summoning of a man many in heaven would deem unworthy of life. Well, it wasn't even a summoning was it? Not like Dean who only bothered to speak to him when he needed aid like Castiel would drop everything and run just because he called with a quip of 'Castiel I pray to you to bring your feathery ass down here.' It struck him then in the dark parking lot that Sam had not even requested him, he'd merely wished to converse with Sam.
Well, it was too late now to turn back. Something like shame heats his skin, a muscle memory action for his vessel but foreign to a being such as him. Instead he turns his attention toward the dimly lit motel, spying a figure kneeling through the cracks of the curtains. Through it he can see Sam bowed by the side of his bed, his hair curling around his brow where he dips it downward in concentration.
Vaguely Castiel can feel the remnant of prayer crackle along his vessel's skin, the scent of ozone sharp. It has his borrowed muscles ache, wanting to move to shift such thrumming energy that Castiel calls upon as he makes his way to the door of the motel Sam was within. Staring at the woodgrain a strange sort of hesitance has him pause before the door that separated him from the Winchester brother's within. It was his last chance to turn back, to pretend that he had not felt such traitorous feelings for humans, that he was as cold and unfeeling as he had always been. Still, his hand raises only to disengage the lock and let himself in, silent as the weight of his actions lingers as he enters.
It takes Sam a moment to spot him but the reaction as he comes to a realisation that it was not Dean who had come back to join him but something else. Sam straightened gingerly from his slump kneeling at his bedside on the dirty stained motel carpet, filled with such surprise to the sight before him. He rubs at his eyes attempting to wake himself up properly and yet Castiel remains before him.
"You came." Sam whispered, the words soaked in disbelief, his tone quiet as if speaking any louder would somehow dispel the image before him.
'Weakness.' The angels had hissed in heaven, but Castiel cannot hear such blasphemy now at the sound of Sam's voice finally before him. The sound of it did nothing to sooth the wild flare of Castiel's grace, the act compulsive as he seeks to sense Sam's soul before him only to find it as bright as he had when he left it last. He had heard Sam's prayers, all of them, in his absence and he so bitterly wished to express the extent of such longing for it but finds himself at a loss to convey it. "I heard your prayers." Castiel states in lieu of explanation. "I thought I would... 'check in', as you humans say."
A smile graces Sam's lips, wide enough that it makes the dimple in his cheek deepen. This time it is not despair that has him duck but a sudden bashfulness making him curl in on himself. "On me? Well... I am honoured to be worthy of your time."
"You are more than worthy of that." Castiel states, simple fact like the sky was blue.
The smile fades ever slightly, with a reason Castiel can only vaguely grasp on why. "You would be one of the few to think such things." Sam mutters.
It seems that only Dean had ever viewed Sam as something precious, that he was something worthy out of the billions of other people in this Earth. It settles on him then, in an outdated motel that this care he held for these human brothers goes against everything Castiel was meant to stand for, what heaven stands for. Perhaps he had always known this and had decided to ignore the significance of such care, he knows what his orders are and it was'nt this. He was meant to a soldier, a hand of God to enact His will and yet Castiel considers such disobedience against Heaven and what it stands for, for two mere mortals. As his gaze met the hazel light of Sam's he knew this was all his choice, that he will choose Sam Winchester anyway no matter how damned it made him. Perhaps that was the turning point, the moment his blind faith had began to warp, but that was for hindsight to consider.
"I am sorry I was unable to come sooner." Castiel says aloud.
Sam ducks his head as his eyes drop downward. "It's alright, you're here now." He soothes gently.
He's not sure how true that was, how deserving he was of Sam's forgiveness, especially when Castiel spies the strain of previous hunts upon him, it marks Sam's tanned skin in a mottling of yellow and blue under the harsh motel lighting. It draws him closer to the man, and instinctively his hand outstretches, fingertips grazing against Sam's brow before he can truly think of it. He can feel the heat of human skin, the thrum of blood beneath and atoms that part to make way for him and his grace flares, caressing against skin and soul as he heals him.
"Thank you, Cas." Sam whispers after a moment.
Castiel nods in acknowledgement, pondering the casual shortening of his name that Dean was more prone to use. "You are welcome." He replies.
"We have a case tomorrow." Sam states, his voice cutting into the quiet of the motel, as if to distract himself with a new line of thought. "Dean's out investigating but I reckon that's just an excuse so he can go to the bar alone and get laid."
"Do you wish for me to join? On the case?" Castiel prompts. He can spy a well-worn book on demons near Sam's side, and Castiel eyes it with quiet curiosity before returning his gaze back toward Sam.
"As much as I would love the assistance, I don't think everyone would take to you so well." Sam says.
"By everyone, you mean Dean." Castiel notes. .
Sam smiles, a rueful thing as his attention flicks toward the empty car spot outside. "He holds a grudge easily." Sam says.
Castiel stares outward through the motel blinds, taking note of the absence too. "He left you here." He observes.
Something short of a snort leaves Sam at his words. "Wouldn't be the first time. Dean's the brawn in our investigations, at least, that's what he claims." Sam replies, fingers grazing over the spines of books he had piled upon the table. "He thinks because I have a hunger for knowledge that I wish to do the research alone but that isn't true. Sometimes I wish I had aid, it would make things a lot simpler."
'Why not ask?" Castiel enquires.
"Have you seen, Dean?" Sam retorts, shaking his head at the thought. "That man does what he wants, his way or no way. That is just the way it always been."
A silence settles between them, and Sam's fingers tap against the spines of the books he had across the table, an anxious tick that he struggles to hide. "Why did you come?" Sam's asks when the quiet is too much for him to bare.
Castiel's head tilts, cocked to the side as he tries to make sense of Sam's words. "Your prayer called upon me." He says in stilted confusion.
There is no anger on Sam's face like there would have been on Dean's when faced with his social misconduct, there is only patience. "That's not exactly what I meant. I meant, why come to my call? And why now? Why not weeks ago?"
He should have expected such a question, still, Castiel pauses to consider it. "I have no agenda for being here, Sam. I simply... wished to be." He admits.
The confession flashes shock upon Sam's features. "You don't owe me anything." He says at last.
Such words seem disconnected to their conversation, what did Sam owe him? Castiel couldn't seem to follow the path of his thoughts. He tries to gather his thoughts, hoping that he could convey the guilt he felt to stay away for so long. "I am sorry for staying away for so long, but I thought that it would be for the best. I can see now that I was wrong."
Across from him Sam's brow creases in thought, confusion replacing the previous shock that had stirred him. "You... What do you mean you thought it was for the best? For who?"
The flash of headlights through the window cuts whatever words were about to spill from Sam's lips. They both turn to hear the rumble of the Impala, the shine lighting up the room in a harsh light. With the blinds drawn as they were, it was no doubt that Dean would spy his figure here if Dean had the thought to look. As the engine cuts off, the room is once more shrouded into half-light with only the lamp at Sam's bedside giving the room light.
A moment later door swings open as Dean enters, his back turned as he struggles to stagger in unaffected by booze. Upon the table Sam was slumped next to the pages of the books he had scattered rustle with nothing to do with the air that enters with Dean's arrival. There's no logical explanation to have them flip open to passages Sam had merely skipped over hours before and dismissed entirely. Amongst the rustling of paper Castiel's wings unfurl, the tell-tale of wings in flight sounding as he leaves the Winchester brothers once more.
"You're back early." Sam notes, rising his gaze from the books littering the table in hesitance, attempting to wrestle the frustration Castiel's disappearance wrought within him.
Dean glares out toward him at the sound of his voice, oblivious to what he had missed. "The bar was a bust, Sammy, so, I don't want to hear nothing about demons or the likes, at least not until tomorrow. You hear?" Dean snaps, frustration making his words sound far more cutting then usual.
"Loud and clear." Sam sighs, glaring down toward the book now open upon the table, gaze caught on a passage of Lilith that lay waiting, mocking him with the knowledge that every moment they waited for seals would continue to break.
Castiel finds himself called back to earth sooner than he expected. It began with a prayer whispered to him, the words not quite tangible as if blocked by something unseen. "Castiel! Oh please, forgive me! Castiel!" The plea cries out, the faint sound of wavers before going deathly silent.
He pauses at the unsettling sound, unsure if it was Sam familiar voice crying out to him or something else entirely that had attempted to pray to him. Regardless, it has Castiel hesitate, waiting for a heartbeat or two as he ponders reaching out to Dean. But as he begins to question if he had heard anything at all his name is called upon once more.
"Castiel! Get your ass down here now or so help me! We need you!" Dean's voice jolting him from his task on searching for seals, the sound settling over him like lightening. Normally Castiel would ignore such spiteful words, but it is the shakiness that seems to infect his tone that causes doubt to creep in to Castiel's mind that something was terribly wrong.
The sound of wings signal the arrival of Castiel, although neither brother seem to give it much mind as he arrives. Dusk had cast the sky in hues of red and purple reminiscent of bruises, an uneasy sight as the sun began to slip below the horizon. Against the darkening sky the silhouette of an old church remains, it seems the Winchester's hunt had led them to a churchyard, the grey mottled headstones around them cluing him into the fact that they currently stood in an old cemetery attached to sacred ground. A few crumpled bodies clue in the fact that their had been a conflict prior to his arrival, more a success toward the Winchesters than the demons they faced in the bodies laying still in the churchyard.
One particular demon stands brazen amongst the rest, her dark eyes turning to Castiel's arrival before it slides toward Sam's bowed figure. She laughs, the sound of it ringing out at the scene before her. "Oh the irony, that the vessel of Lucifer would pledge himself to an Angel of the Lord! Not to the Morningstar or God himself but to some angel. It is truely pathetic. This is the one said to lead us to Paradise? No, I don't think so."
Despite such confidence, it seemed that the demon had no devout followers of her own, for the few demons that linger nearby switch their attention from the brothers to the newcomer, many stilling in fright at the sight of an angel before them. Instantaneous they begin to smoke, thick clouds curling to the sky as they vacate their vessels in a bid to escape the wrath of an angel. Dean's blade sinks into the gut of the closest demon at their distraction, taking the slim advantage for what it is. Castiel's own hand raises, taking a step and then two before his hand settles upon the main demon, and she shrieks at his avenging touch, nails clawing at his hand as his graze burns her up from the inside with a deadly glow until she slumps dead at his feet. Castiel spares her a mere glance before his blade sinks into the next closest demon, the metallic shine of his blade caught in the lowlight as he works to kill as many demons as he could.
With the main threat gone, Castiel turns his gaze to toward Sam kneeling shakily on the ground, his hands clawing at Dean's legs and shirt like he could convince him. There was no need to ask just what has happened, Castiel could sense the addition of demon blood was running through his veins, such power and strength. 'I crave it.' Sam's words echo in his his head, a taunting thing. Sam had prayed not long ago to warn Castiel of the urges hell tempted him with, the fear that he wasn't strong enough to stave off such craving. Spying him now, blooded and kneeling, Castiel cant help but feel part of why this had gone so wrong, maybe if he had come this could have been avoided? His vessel's stomach lurches with the thoughts, the acidic taste of bile burning before Castiel wills it away.
"If only I could use it how it was meant to be used, if only I was stronger..." Sam utters to himself, lost the the throes of demon blood running within him.
Dean looks at his brother with despair, hands gripping at his shoulders hard. “This isn’t you, man.” Dean argues. "C'mon, you can fight this! Just for a little longer."
Sam wipes the back of his shaking hand against his mouth, wild eyes caught on the blood as it smears. “Oh but it is. This has always been me, Dean, you’ve just been too blind or ignorant to see it!” He cries out, the words bursting from him in a mix of anger and despair. "I can try all I like but I cant escape what I am made up off! There is no washing it clean or burning it from me!"
Dean's anguished gaze lifts only to spy Castiel watching. "Oh, so now you show up." Dean spits, eyes alight with fury as he channels his emotions elsewhere and it seemed that Castiel would be the target now. His fists bloodied where he'd been grappling the demon and Castiel wonders how much of it was the creatures and how much was Sam's that strained his skin.
It draws his down to where Sam is lax in Dean's knuckle white grip, the flannel of his shirt scrunched in the tight hold Dean has upon his person. His head lolls against his shoulder, casting his half-hooded eyes toward Castiel in silent curiosity. There's a stream of blood trickling down from his nose, evidence of his delve into demon-blood induced power. There was no other reason for why Sam looked beaten, like Dean had attempted to subdue him himself, for even if they had fought demons, Sam's use of his powers would make physical fighting pretty useless.
"I am here now." Castiel retorts, eyes narrowed as he takes in the scene before him with cool indifference. "I was under the impression that this was a routine hunt."
It would have been the tone or the attitude that did it, but Castiel's words only sets Dean off. “Oh yeah? By who? It sure as well wasn't me!"
Oh, so Sam didn't speak of his arrival that night at the motel. He ponders this with silent questioning, noting that Sam was staring at him in turn.
Dean is oblivious once more, his anger still burning hot. "Well, do you always turn up fashionably late? You’re a god damn angel, not like it takes hours for you to join us like us mongrels. Are you purposely such a jackass? Huh? Shit, maybe it comes with the job description. What’s going to happen when you fly away this time? Whether it’s another war or some patent bullshit, you’re never here when it matters!"
Sam laughs, a bitter bark of pain like a yowling dog. "I prayed all those and yet you come running when God's righteous man rings the bell. Oh, I see how it is. I guess it couldn't be helped, huh? I know what the angels think of me."
Castiel's mouth fattens, a glare cutting into his stare at Sam's cutting words. He looks at him, truely looks Sam kneeling at Dean's feet and spies how wound up he was with tension, a sudden eagerness that mirrors the deranged glint in his eye. He could almost sense the desperation, the want for Dean to consider throwing another punch, craving the feel of knuckles against his skin as if it could beat the so-called wrongness from him. Such thoughts turn his vessel's stomach, to hear such terrible thoughts passing through Sam's mind. The pain of it was the knowledge that perhaps once he would have agreed that Sam was not deserving of salvation, that he was alighted with the righteous path.
Dean shakes his head in mirroring disagreement. "This was a routine hunt but things changed, Cas. So I called you but now I wonder why I bothered. It is inevitable when you fly off to do who knows what in Heaven and you don’t come back, that I am left here with this. Tell me... you say you follow the righteous path, but where does that leave my brother? Like this.”
Sam laughs at his brother's words, a frenzied thing. "You speak like this is a new thing, Dean, but you just don't get it. I don’t just have demon blood in my blood, oh no, that would be too simple, the demon blood is my blood. There's no escaping that, you can try to burn it out of me and finally purify it but it'll still be there. It's part of me."
Dean's hand balls into a fist, tight and angry before he loosens it with a shake of restless energy. "It doesn't have to be. You have a choice, Sam, it doesn't have to be this way, even if they think it is." He argues.
There's no questioning just who 'they' was, it was heaven and heavens plans. Dean never was devout, not like Sam who considered such divine word as worthy of following. Much like Castiel had, once upon a time, a hundred years before free will was even a thought for heavenly beings.
Castiel steps closer, shoulders back as shifts to tower of the brothers despite his vessel's average height. His thoughtful stare is harsh, the blue of his gaze piercing in that all knowing way. Sam's eyes turn to met his, his gaze flickering toward where Dean watched silently seemingly content to stand back and observe with the tentative trust he held Castiel too. Sam's head bows, spine curved like a dog awaiting punishment, his teeth bared in grimace at the angel's approach. Castiel can hear the thoughts that clattered around in Sam's head like he was screaming it, convinced that Dean will let Castiel has come to put him down with savage blow ofter blow until he is nothing more than an aching bloody mess. It seems to crescendo as Castiel reaches out, and 'Oh God-' Sam's voice echoes in his head in time with his flinch as Castiel's fingertips graze the delicate skin of his temple. Wether the flinch was from the blasphemy of Sam's thoughts or from Castiel’s outstretched hand he doesn’t know.
Something shy of a caress has him move a stray stand of hair from Sam's vision, head tilt to observe the man still kneeling before him. The blood clears from him in a flash of grace and Sam slumps forward, collapsing into Castiel, not for the sheer exhaustion his body faced but for the simple fact that if he was still standing he’d fall hard, falling onto him and then all apart if not for Castiel's steady presence. Castiel can sense it, his soul not smothered by the power of demon blood trying to stay above it, his golden soul begging and pleading to not drown beneath the taint. Pride fills him, an assurance that Sam Winchester was good despite what heaven and his brethren may think, it took strength to be tempted such as this and remain fighting despite the odds.
Castiel takes in the sight of Sam before him, the foreign emotion in his chest finding words at last. "There was a line I had heard once, many a millennia ago. 'You have faith, and I have actions,' Then show me your faith without any actions, and I will show you my faith by my actions." He says.
At his feet Sam laughs, head thrown back with the force of it. "The gospel of James, how ironic." He says on a sigh.
Dean watches uneasily, impatience having his temper flare. "This chick-flick moment meant to make things all rainbows and sunshine or something?" Dean snaps.
"Why not? It seems like you're doing a fine job all on your own." Castiel states coldly, ancient anger reflected in sky blue eyes as he flicks his attention toward the older Winchester. "You still haven't informed me how this came to be, boy. So just what happened to have 'this', as you like to state, be the outcome?" He demands.
Dean's teeth grit in something like a snarl even as his eyes downturn in guilt. "It wasn't just one demon, there was at least four and one of them was pretty fricken adamant about feeding Sam his blood." He reports.
Castiel returns his gaze to Sam. "He's addicted to it." He says, a statement more than a clarification.
Dean turns to follow his gaze, his unaffected facade crumbling the harder he tries to hold onto it. "I failed. I failed him like I always do." He says, eyes burning with tears that have nothing to do with the welt building on his face.
Castiel lets the words of Dean's anguished confession settle while he considers what to do next. The only sound that follows is the call of nightfall, the cheeping of crickets that sing and as pleasant as earth often was the stench of lingering sulphur twists whatever remaining joy lingered, a simmering anger settling with him as he muses over the presence of demon's near his Father's holy place of worship. As he stares out into the darkness Castiel finds himself no longer wishing to stay here a moment linger and on impulse Castiel wraps his hand around Sam's bicep, his other hand reaching out to hold Dean's shoulder as he teleports them to the motel room.
A bitten-off exclamation sounds and Dean stumbles as they land, "What? Gah! You son of a bitch!" He cries, a shade or two pale from the travel when they shift into the motel.
Castiel has no real concern for the eldest brother, his attention turned toward where Sam remained curled upon his vessel's slacks. He watches silently as Sam remains kneeling for a moment before slowly lumbering to his feet under Castiel's supportive hold. The human gesture of his hold upon Sam's shoulder is equally comforting as it is a warning, his fingers flexing slightly as he felt the coiled muscle beneath Sam's flannel as he hold the man beside him.
"Well? Can you fix this?" Dean demands once he swallowed down the nausea the 'angel travel' had caused.
Castiel considers it silently, for there was a way, a way even he was unsure the consequence of. A moment then two passes before Castiel heaves a sigh, an unconscious act as he tilts his head in observation. "Perhaps, but I do not know the true risk of doing so." He confesses.
"Will it fix him?" Dean prompts, that familiar glint returning to his eyes.
Castiel considers it, before nodding slow in confirmation.
"Then do it." Dean urges.
"It could kill him," Castiel warns. "Such a cost is too high." He continues. 'Nothing is worse than losing you.' His thoughts scream, catching sight of Sam's face in the shoddy motel lighting.
Dean swears. "Would you prefer he go out into the night and slaughter innocents? He wouldn't live with himself if he knew we just let him do it because of our inaction." He argues.
Power skitters along Castiel's skin, fires along his vessel's nerves as duty and care war with one another. "I will ask him first, if he agrees then I will do it but you will leave me to complete it. That is my one condition." Castiel relents, the light dying down in his eyes as his grace settles.
Dean seems to sense the power Castiel wrested with yet remains unbowed in the face of it. "I'm not leaving him." Dean argues, defiant.
"If you wish for me to heal your brother I cannot have you here to distract me." Castiel says. Dean remains silent in stubborn refusal and Castiel ignores him instead to have his grace flares out, skirting over Dean's figure before it settles on Sam, slowly caressing him an action he hopes is soothing. "I don't have much time, tell me what happened." Castiel orders, straining beneath the weight of overpower the demon blood wrecking havoc upon Sam's body.
As his grace sinks into Sam's skin he's momentarily lucid, a familiar brightness to his eyes as he meet Castiel's eyes. "They feed it to me." Sam admits on a shiver. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Cas, please help me."
His head nods, once. "I can try, Samuel, I have not attempted nor heard of an angel try this before." He admits.
Sam heaves a shuddering breath, deflating before his eyes. "Whatever it is... Do it."
"Are you sure? This... This could be fatal, Samuel, I cannot guarantee your safety." Castiel informs.
A laugh huffs out of Sam, bitter and hopeless. "Better to kill me than have me cause chaos for hell."
It felt as if an angel blade had stuck him, the ache in his chest something tangible at the thought of his death. "I will not let them have you." Castiel vows.
Then his gaze shifts toward where Dean lingered, cutting a glares toward Dean, with an ultimatum upon his lips. "Either drink yourself to oblivion or I will do it for you." Castiel pauses, a dry sort of amusement pulling at him with his next words. "The choice is yours." Whatever semblance of understanding had lingered tentative between them snaps with his words.
Dean stalks forward, seething as the words settle upon him. "If you think for one minute that I am leaving Sam, then you're real damn stupid, Cas!"
Castiel's hand raises watching as Dean's face grows slack with cool indifference, spying the moment of understanding flashing in his green eyes as he watched the familiar motion of the angel's hand, the memory of their first meeting flashing to the forefront of his thoughts as Castiel brought him unconscious. A second later and he's faltering, legs unsteady like a newborn deer and with Dean unconscious on the bed, Castiel turns to face Sam.
Sam's eyes are bright, lucidity flickering for a moment as he meet Castiel's primordial gaze. "Do it, Cas." He urges once more.
The man tenses as Castiel retrieved the angel blade from within his trench-coat, a twitch in his jaw that betrays his nerves as the blade shines in the lowlight. Although, with practiced ease the angel blade does not shift toward Sam but rather sliced across Castiel's own palm, the sting a mere hint of pain as his blood wells up across his palm. Perhaps it would have been more suitable to do cut elsewhere, maybe further down or at his wrist where his grace often pooled but it was too late for that now. He can feel blood drip down his palm where he had cut, warmth sliding down his wrist where it leaks out of his hold.Across from him Sam stares at the sight in stunned disbelief, his face half in shadow under the shoddy Motel lighting.
Castiel offers his bloody hand outwards, his face betraying none of the hesitance and desperation that wars within him. "An offering." He simply says. Oh how far he had fallen, he nearly flinches at the stray thought, his hand trembling for a moment before he steadies it. He has to have faith, faith in these brothers that they could do what Heaven couldn't, that their path is just and their cause righteous.
Something sharp cuts into Sam's expression, maddening, a mix of anger and bitterness and loathing that Castiel is unsure wether it is directed at himself or internally. "You'd have me swap once vice to another." He snaps.
"It is no vice." Castiel states softly.
Sam's hazel eyes grow calm as his tension wanes, the expression disarming as an angel blade. "So this is what you had in mind... Is this a part of Heaven's plan?"
No, it is not. The words rest on his tongue, yet he finds himself reluctant to say it. Free Will was a concept his Father reserved for humanity, it was something to be punished for when it came to his heavenly children. And yet, Castiel continues to hold out his wrist toward Sam in silent offering, not bold enough to confirm and speak the words into being.
Sam seems to sense that this was Castiel going rogue, giving pity on him to not outright demand answers from him. "If we're going to do this... I need you to he honest with me, Cas."
Oh, his resolve was something to admire. Not many would remain so iron willed, to easy swayed by temptations, especially with demon blood still threatening to bring him back under. It is the reason that Castiel had found himself so fond of them, these human charges he had be told to observe, to carry out his Father's will.
Castiel looks away, casting his thoughts back to a time where prophets walked the earth, to have Sam understand without damning himself to throughly. "What was it that my Father's gospel spoke of? that we may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith, both yours and mine."
"You wish for me to have faith?" Sam asks, always so quick to see what others often couldn't, always one step ahead.
Something almost a smile pulls at his vessel's lips. "I know you are devout, Sam," Castiel says softly, "I am asking you to extend that faith to me. Just know that what I plan to do will aid you." he continues, it is true but not quite what Sam was asking.
Sam simply eyes the bloody palm before him with a thoughtful frown, the hint of hope that may have been doused at the sight before him. "Alright, I trust you." He say at last, his unspoken words, don't make me regret it, settle heavy between them.
"Thank you." Castiel says at last.
A laugh shy of hysterical leaves Sam in rush of a breath. "Don't thank me just yet," He mutters bitterly. "I'll bring ruin yet."
"Peace, Samuel." Castiel soothes.
Something rueful shifts his features into something aching. "Time may forgive me but I won't." Sam utters, pained at the thought of subjecting Castiel to do this for him.
He's desperate, they all are, only this time Dean hadn't run off again getting drunk in some shoddy bar or laying with beautiful woman in a bid to starve a way the despair that settled upon them like a haze, he was knocked out by Castiel's will alone as their deal had stuck. The Apocalypse was breathing down on them, the weight of destiny and fate wearing them down. Maybe that's why Sam agrees even as something like resignation marred the vulnerability of trust. With his mind made up Sam moves to kneel so that he no longer towers over Castiel, suddenly subservient like one would take sacrilege at an altar. Castiel can only stare watching Sam so vulnerable before him and his outstretched palm drips blood into the motel carpet as it spills over the cradle of his palm, despite the fact his hold was steady in a way no human's could be.
Sam settles before him, hunching in on himself in such a tentative action like he wished to hide himself. He's so close now, so close that he only needs fall forward and his face would be against Castiel's hipbone if not for the fabric, and unconsciously Sam sways closer as if seeking warmth or salvation. Castiel can feel the heat of his human body against him where they are pressed together and he's not sure what he expected, but the nudge of Sam's skin against his was enough to distract. It only takes a moment to have Sam's face ghosts against the tips of Castiel's outstretched fingers, urging him to finally do what he planned to with a twisted version of something one could call a caress. Letting Castiel's fingers ghost across his jaw and cheeks, Castiel can sense the skin and bone and soul that resides within him that it forces a breath that Castiel doesn't need from him, a surprised exhale to feel the warmth of human skin.
Sam watches all the while, eyes still oh so soft and trusting, leaning into the touch for just a moment. Perhaps it is the look on his expression or the longing for kindness that Sam cant hide but something tender flares within Castiel at the sight, something foreign and warm heating him. The Heavenly Host he could always hear seems to quieten as if the world outside this hotel room didn't exist, that hell had raised and it is only him and Sam left.
Castiel found himself unable to care and perhaps he'd become lost long ago. His brethren liked to remind him how lost he was these days, that he had begun to deviate from plans, yet as the warmth of Sam's lips touch his palm, hesitant and trembling, he wonders if he was always meant to fall. For why else, when he felt the touch of someone they thought so corrupt, so evil and wicked why did his grace sing?
Blue eyes aglow with grace as he slowly and gently feeds his blood to the human, watching his blood drip onto his lips and along his tongue, and it was overwhelming, his grace reaching out to encase the figure kneeling tentatively before him. The moment he tastes blood Sam arches his back subconsciously, his chests pressed against every part of Castiel he could touch, heated through the layers of his clothes. Sam's eyes flare with otherworldly light, a blue shone that has want surge so desperately in Castiel's chest that he nearly falters with it, at the hunger that threatens to overwhelms him. Castiel's free hand shakes at his side with the force of keeping his hand still, to not raise it to touch the expanse of broad shoulders before him or to tangle his fingers into the soft silky strands of hair and pull him closer. Castiel cocks his head to the side as he looks at Sam before him not just the physical sense of him, but his soul and more.
As his grace dims from Sam's eyes, he seems to regain control of himself and despite the anxious nature of Sam's posture he sends him a smile, a tentative small thing even as Castiel's blood smears red across his lips. "This... Is this allowed?" Sam questions, looking up at him like one would gaze to an idol.
Castiel remains silent, it would be blasphemy to admit it. It was bad enough that he continued to run when the Winchester's called but he couldn't find it within him to regret it, not when Sam's fate could have been much worse without his intervention.
Sam seems to sense it, a bitter laugh ripped from his throat. "Just another thing to add to my list of sins, coercing heavenly beings."
Castiel shakes his head, a tiny movement. "You did no such thing," He denies. 'It was all my blame.' He thought with guilt. "I know now that there is no true righteous path. It's just people trying to do their best in a world where it's far too easy to do your worst." Castiel states, staring down at still Sam kneeling before him.
No, nothing evil could feel this wonderful, no matter what his brethren may think. Sam Winchester is filled with light, so good and pure and just. His grace sings, tendrils of it settling deep into Sam's skin and caress his soul unbidden. For a moment he considers it spying the tint of blue his soul held, that he could infuse Sam with his grace until he would glow with his grace so that his brethren could see nothing other than how brightly Sam's soul shone. It struck him them as he meet Sam's gaze that perhaps that was the foreign emotion curling in his chest, that was what he felt, his so called weakness was love toward God's finest creation. Not just toward any human but towards Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood. Yet Castiel doesn't find any regret in that, not when gifted with such a chance to experience something something so human that not many angels had the privilege to feel.
That night after he left Sam in the outdated hotel and Dean had regained consciousness, he heard Sam pray, the word of Corinthians whispered in his ear like a promise. "No temptation has overtaken you except such that is common to man; but God is faithful, and will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation he will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it."
Shame tints Castiel's thoughts as he considers it, the weight of the other angel's stares prodding and disapproving. Although one desire overrides the negativity, a vow he considers as he weighs up his title of heavenly warrior. He would keep Sam and Dean safe, no matter the cost, that was his cross alone to bear in this unsteady path he has chosen to walk.