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Sam waited under the thin sheets, eyes cracked open. The sheets did nothing to keep him warm, but they did hide the fact he wasn’t actually sleeping. Either way, Dean didn’t seem to notice. He just carried on drinking, glass after glass of whiskey until the bottle was nearly done. It made Sam wonder just how much he drank when Sam wasn’t there. Dean did everything he could to bury his sadness and anger.
Eventually, the last drop was spilled and Dean seemed drunk enough to sleep. He stumbled his way from the table to his bed, tripping and cursing as he did so. When he fell onto his bed, it took all but twenty seconds for him to start snoring, and Sam knew he’d be hung over in the morning. Sam waited another five or so minutes before climbing out of bed.
Dean would be pissed if he found out what Sam was going to do, but Sam was out of options. It wasn’t like Dean was the type for therapy. But there was still one way Sam could make his brother happy. Sighing, he pulled on his burgundy hoodie, picked up the tin box he’d already prepared, and set off.
There was a crossroads two miles from the motel; he could walk there in half an hour.
The air outside was cold, and a chill settled in Sam’s bones. Sam just gritted his teeth and carried on. He didn’t need to be warm, didn’t deserve to be. He was aware of how stupid this move was, but he couldn’t live with Dean so depressed. Ever since their Dad died, Dean had been a blend of anger and alcohol. Sam just wanted his big brother back.
He reached the crossroads faster than he thought he would - obviously his subconscious was eager to get this ordeal over with. There wasn’t anyone lurking in the darkness, no cars or noise. There was, however, a single street lamp lighting up the pathway, which meant Sam could see where he was digging. Carefully, he flipped open the rusty tin lid, cautious not to pull it off its hinges. Everything he needed was inside; the black cat bones, the butter coloured yarrow flower, his latest ID card (Brandon Flowers - Sam’d gotten his way for once).
Kicking some dirt aside, Sam dropped the tin into the dent he’d made. It fit in the hole almost perfectly, and so he pushed the dirt back over it, burying it. Holding his breath, he waited. Silence.
And then a figure appeared in front of him.
The guy was hard to see in the dull street light - all Sam could make out was the tattered trench coat the demon was wearing. As he stepped closer, the demon was revealed to have dark, messy hair and captivating eyes. Well… he did have to kiss the demon, Sam supposed - and he certainly wasn’t going to object to kissing it when it looked like that.
“Sam Winchester,” the demon spoke slowly, clearly. His voice was gruff and deep, taking Sam off guard for a second. “I wasn’t expecting you to make a deal.”
“Neither was I,” Sam retorted smartly. He wanted to prove himself to the demon, seem impressive and brave, just like his big brother. “Now, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.” Sam made himself look as though he were impatiently waiting for the demon to say its name, and not scared out of his mind - he couldn’t look weak, couldn’t be the little boy everyone thought he was.
“Forgive me, I’m Castiel,” the demon said as proudly as a courting bird, as if he was presenting his plumage to Sam. “Now, what is it you want to buy?” There was no foreplay, no flirting. Not like Dean said there’d be. Castiel seemed to be straight to the point, not teasing like the other demons. It was mildly petrifying.
“I want my brother to be happy,” Sam growled out, trying to be as threatening as the demon. The tears that were rolling down his cheeks, however, undermined that attempt.
“You want Dean to be happy?” Castiel snorted in disbelief. He wore an amused expression…. until he saw that Sam was deadly serious. Then his face looked very concerned. “You do know that, if you make a deal with me, you die at the end of the ten years. Horrifically.”
“I don’t care! I want to die, okay?” Sam ranted. “I don’t care if I get ten years, five years - Hell, I’d die right now if it meant Dean could be happy.” He was out of breath by the end of his rant, panting heavily as he stared at the demon. Castiel glared back, so utterly confused that he almost looked cute. Almost. The weight from Sam’s shoulders seemed to slip away as he regained his breath, a weight he didn’t know what was there.
The feeling was soon replaced by fear, and Castiel strode towards him silently. He looked angry, but Sam couldn’t imagine why a demon would care about a deal this much.
“You said you want to die. Why do you want to die?” Castiel questioned. Sam gulped. He wasn’t supposed to say that. What if Dean found out? His jaw hung open dumbly, and he gaped at the demon for a few seconds. Castiel didn’t seem to have the patience to deal with him. “I asked you a question, Samuel.”
“I wasn’t supposed to say that,” he muttered sadly, avoiding eye contact with the demon.
“But you did,” Castiel all but growled. He took another step towards Sam. “Why do you want to die?” Before the end of the sentence, Castiel was pressed against Sam, stood on his toes so their eyes were level. There was a mad look in them that made Sam want to beg for mercy, forgiveness, anything.
“I- I don’t know, everything would just be easier if I were dead,” Sam stuttered, backing away from Castiel very slightly - not enough to provoke the demon, but enough so that he was comfortable. “I mean, I’m obviously not normal. Not with these stupid premonitions. Who sees people dying? Me! Every night, every time I go to sleep, I just dream of people dying. That’s not normal!”
“And that means you should die?” Castiel huffed in an almost tired way.
“I know this is tied to the yellow eyed demon, don’t bullshit me!” Sam yelled, pushing Castiel away. Castiel barely moved, but Sam knew that he had moved even that littlest by choice, so that Sam wouldn’t hurt himself. “If I die, all this goes away, right? No more premonitions, no more demons, no more constant hunting. Dean gets to be happy, Bobby gets to be happy, Ellen and Jo get to be happy.”
“And you?” Castiel prompted gently.
“I’ll be where I deserve to be,” Sam sighed. Shaking his head sadly, Castiel placed a kind hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Everyone’s lost faith in me - Dad, Bobby… even Dean.”
“Sam… you do not belong in Hell,” Castiel admonished. Sam’s eyes flickered up to meet the demon’s. He was expecting to see glowing red eyes, thick like blood. Instead, his gaze was met by the brilliant electric blue eyes of a creature that could only belong to Heaven.
“As an angel, I can assure you that your place after you die is in Heaven, and that you probably deserve your Heaven more than any other human I have ever seen,” Castiel said softly, placing both hands on Sam’s shoulders and letting the ghost of a smile play across his features. “And I can also assure you that your place while you live is on Earth, loving and defending the people you just listed to me,” Castiel continued. Sam’s shoulders fell as he listened to the angel’s words. Somehow, he couldn’t help but believe them.
“You are not ruined, Sam. And you will find a way out of this.”
"I don't know wha-" Sam started, lip trembling slightly. He pulled away from Castiel's grip, a little unsure of himself. "Thank you."
Smiling, Castiel offered a parting hug, gentle but firm at the same time. “I will see you soon, Sam Winchester.”
“Where are you going?” Sam panicked, clinging desperately to Castiel’s trenchcoat.
“I’ll be back,” Castiel promised, prying Sam’s fingers away as he spoke. He stood back, and a bright light surrounded him, like an alien spaceship. Sam knew it was Heaven calling him back, and a euphoric feeling washing over him. A second later, Castiel disappeared with a distinct beat of wings, leaving Sam alone under the dim light of the street lamp.
By the time he got home, Sam felt better about himself, about Dean. Somehow, he knew they would be okay.