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Sam wakes from a deep sleep, flailing and short of breath. Cas's words echo in his ears.
And the departed shall remain and the remains shall be the departed.
He brushes his hair off his face and gets out of bed. There's no way he's going to be able to sleep any more tonight.
He finds Cas poring over books in the library, just where Sam had left him a few hours ago. He looks up the moment Sam crosses the threshold and frowns severely. "Are you all right?"
Sam shakes his head, working to get the word part of his brain working. He hates the way his brain takes so long to come online now, like it's trying to bury itself under everything. "I was Lucifer's vessel," Sam says, because that gets to the meat of the problem and doesn't require more words than he can manage.
Cas bolts out of his chair, at Sam's side in a second, and then uncomfortably close but not doing anything.
"No, Sam, it wasn't like that with Lucifer." Cas lifts a hand like he wants to touch Sam, but he doesn't really know how. They're not good at this touching thing – something Sam's going to fix, if he can.
"How do you know?"
Cas does set a hand on his arm then, squeezing his forearm gently. "Because I am the one that put you back together when you came back from hell. There was no grace in you, and if there had been, I would have expelled it before breathing life into you again."
Cas grimaces. Sam knows he feels bad for bringing Sam's body back without a soul; he knows it's a fresh wound because of Dean and Gadreel's deceit. Sam's glad to hear it, anyway. "You're sure?" he asks, because he can't help it, the feeling of Lucifer is still with him like a bad taste in the back of his mouth. He hasn't had dreams like that in years.
"I am certain," Cas says, giving his forearm another squeeze before letting go. "I would never have allowed it."
Sam sighs, relief finally settling in. "Thanks." The confusion on Cas's face is priceless. Sam's never thanked him for bringing him out of the cage – the insanity too close for Sam to appreciate what Cas had tried to do. He and Cas, always the best of intentions, never the right results.
Before Cas can feel any worse, Sam yawns and stretches ostentatiously. "I'm gonna make some coffee," he says, wandering off toward the kitchen. "Want some?"