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Sam winced as he eased his shirt off, taking a moment to examine his wound again. Still charred, still smelling very slightly of burnt flesh. Cage memories threatened to surface, but Sam forced them down. This was the worst part. The smell, the visions, they all dragged his mind to his time in the Cage. He kept his eyes open while he pulled on a sleep shirt and got under his covers. Though he felt optimistic for the first time in months, he still dreaded going to sleep. He stared up at the ceiling (don’t think of Jess, don’t).
He jumped a little when there was a gentle knock on the door.
“Sam?”
Sam’s heartrate quickened. He took a deep breath. “Come in, Cas.”
Castiel tentatively opened the door, stepping inside. He hesitated, then pushed it shut. Sam’s throat went dry. Cas hadn’t been in his room since before he and Dean had locked Jack in the Ma’lak box. A part of him had thought Castiel might never come back, and Sam wasn't inclined to blame him.
Castiel didn’t say anything, and seemed to be having a hard time meeting Sam’s eyes. Sam swallowed. “What’s up, Cas?”
“I’m sorry.” Castiel exhaled sharply. “I knew it was dangerous. I shouldn’t have probed your wound.”
“Hey--” Sam sat up, instinctively reaching a hand out to him. “I was on board. You didn’t make me do anything.”
“I know,” Cas said reluctantly.
Sam stood up. He was trembling slightly, but he walked up to Cas and placed his hands on Cas’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault.”
Castiel met his gaze, and covered one of Sam’s hands with his own. “I’m sorry I left without saying good bye.”
Sam shook his head and dropped his arms, turning back to his bed. “I get it, man. There’s a lot...a lot that happened. I didn’t blame you. Hell,” he let out a hollow laugh. “You have every right to not want to be around me.”
Castiel took one of Sam’s arms and gently pulled him around. “I’m not angry with you, Sam.” Now Sam was having a hard time looking Cas in the face. “I was. But I—I understand. I wish you hadn’t done it. But I understand.”
Sam’s throat was dry again as his eyes met Castiel’s, relief coursing through him. “Do you...do you want to stay? Watch Netflix?”
Castiel hesitated. Sam's stomach clenched. He desperately wanted to tell Cas about the dreams, about the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a full night’s sleep since the last time Castiel had stayed with him, but he didn’t. Sam wanted Castiel to stay because he wanted to, not out of guilt. Sam never wanted that.
“All right,” Castiel said finally. “If that’s what you want.”
It might have been entirely in Sam’s head, but he rather thought that there was a faint hint of relief on Cas’s face. He hoped so. They both stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then Castiel slowly slipped his trench coat off. Sam returned to his(their) bed, settling in on his side. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of Castiel’s pillow, and couldn’t stop sleeping on one side of the bed. When Castiel had removed his shoes and jacket, he, somewhat cautiously, sat on top of the covers next to Sam.
Sam turned on his TV, trying not to touch Cas. It had never been this uncomfortable between them. Regardless, Sam already felt more relaxed than he had in months. Castiel blinked when Netflix came up, and it showed that the last program watched was the last program he and Sam had watched together. He opened his mouth, then shut it, not looking at Sam. Sam flushed.
“So, uh. Next episode of The Great British Baking Show?”
Castiel nodded. It was a program that they both found soothing. How kind the contestants always were to each other was wonderful to watch.
Not fifteen minutes into the episode, Sam’s eyes were beginning to droop. Every once in a while, he caught Castiel shooting him a surreptitious glance, but he tried to ignore it. Cas would speak when he was ready to. Thirty minutes into the show, Sam accidentally leaned on Castiel’s arm. He started to pull away, but Cas’s fingertips on his cheek held him in place as surely as if Cas had grabbed him.
“You don’t have to,” Castiel said softly. Sam looked up at him, and for the first time, there was no uncertainty or hesitation in Cas’s eyes.
“Okay,” Sam said, his voice cracking.
Castiel carefully moved his arm so that it was draped over Sam’s shoulders. After a moment, his fingers moved up and ran through Sam’s hair.
Sam shuddered, and every bit of tension left in him was expelled. Very few people had ever stroked Sam’s hair, and no one had for many years, until Cas started staying in Sam’s bed at night. Sam hadn’t even realized how attached he'd gotten to it, to Castiel’s presence, until it was ripped away from him.
“It was never about you, Sam.” Sam looked back up at him, but Castiel was staring at the screen, and his body had tensed, fingers stilling in Sam’s hair. “I just can’t...I can’t be around someone who hates me.”
“Dean doesn’t hate you!” Sam protested, trying to sit up, but Castiel’s arm tightened and held him down. Sam didn’t resist.
“He acts like it.”
“Dean’s just upset right now—”
“He’s always upset,” Castiel said flatly, and Sam couldn’t argue. He turned his face into Cas’s stomach.
“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled, and it was so very, very true. He knew how his brother treated Castiel. It was how he treated everyone who pissed him off. And Sam couldn’t begrudge Cas for not wanting to deal with it anymore.
The stiffness in Castiel released, and he started stroking Sam’s hair again. Sam closed his eyes, relishing in Castiel’s warmth, pleasure from Cas’s fingers in his hair emanating through his whole body. He could feel a little bit of grace flowing into him, healing his emotional and spiritual wounds. Not entirely. Sam doubted they'd ever be fully healed. But it was enough to let him relax. Fuck, how had he managed without this? Well, Sam thought sleepily, he really hadn’t.
“I’m sorry I left you, Sam,” Castiel whispered. Sam was too far gone to respond verbally, but he squeezed Cas’s hip.
I’m sorry too.