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Sam’s trying so hard to stay quiet, even though he knows there isn’t anyone around to hear. Dean was in the motel room talking to the angels, and the angels... Well.
Angels.
He’d never been a particularly ardent devotee to his religion or anything when he was young, but with the way things had been of late, he’d felt himself drawn to it more and more. He didn’t really have much to hope for these days, but that was exactly what religion had given him: hope. There was still a tiny sliver of hope that maybe there was something benevolent out there, that maybe there was some entity that didn’t think Sam was evil for what he was. For what had been done to him as a child and what he willingly did now.
Sam wanted to be saved.
Somehow, in Sam’s head (and he should have punched himself for thinking so optimistically when he knew how things always went for him), he’d thought that it was a clear-cut line: if God and angels didn’t exist, he would go to Hell. If they did, he’d surely have a shot at salvation. Well, that went down in flames.
He’d been waiting for forgiveness his whole life, ached for it in his bones, and cried for it at night. He’d prayed. So much. Never when Dean could see or hear him, but Sam prayed all the damn time. Every time he drank demon blood to save his brother and the rest of the world, he prayed for someone to understand and tell him that it was all going to be okay. For those long months without Dean, he’d prayed at least five times a day, choking back tears and begging for a sign that this was the right thing to do. Getting Dean back had seemed an awful lot like that sign he’d asked for.
And then meeting the angel who saved his brother! Tripping all over his own words like an idiot (way to take the Lord’s name in vain right in front of his kid, dumbass), excitement and awe bubbling up to override any rational thought that might’ve made a good impression. And he needed to make a good impression. He needed to be held in at least some regard by this creature, or what was the point of it all?
But then…
The way Castiel had stared at Sam’s extended hand, only taking it after a long while, as though it pained him to do so.
“Sam Winchester. The boy with the demon blood.”
Demon blood.
That really was all that mattered at the end of the day, wasn’t it? That was all there was to him in the eyes of Heaven. He was nothing if not damned and it had taken him this long to realise it. How stupid he’d been. He should have known. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions and all that. Laid out in black and white like that, he should have known.
But Sam hadn’t known, hadn’t realised, and that was why it hurt so damn much right now. He hadn’t been able to stay in the room with these creatures who reviled him, not when they were really there for Dean, and he’d needed the time alone. Couldn’t let Dean see him cry like a fucking sissy over the revelation that he was going to Hell.
Sam curled in on himself in the backseat of the Impala, biting into his own wrist to stifle the sobbing, but unable to muffle the wild gasping for air. He had to get his shit under control. There just wasn’t an option. Eventually Dean would wonder where he was, maybe after the angels had taken off, and while at least they wouldn’t be there to witness his shame, Dean would still know. Would know just how much Sam had banked on the love of Heaven that just wasn’t there. Dean already made fun of Sam for praying in the first place, for believing in the first place and being all religious and shit when Dean had abandoned it all years ago. Dean found his hope in other places and couldn’t understand why Sam had to turn to God for it. That was all well and good for Dean, but Sam… Sam needed this. His faith in a power that would listen and understand for once had turned around and kicked him squarely in the gut and now he was busy kicking his own ass for not seeing it coming.
Sam wished he could lie down on the floor of the Impala, like he used to when he was a kid, but he was just too enormous now to manage it. It would make hiding from Dean a whole lot easier right about now.
He’d buried his face in his knees and the pathetic sniffling had finally calmed a little when the knock on the window came. Sam would have jumped a foot in the damn air if there had been a foot in which to jump inside the cramped Impala.
His heart started beating wildly as he realised that Dean hadn’t come found him.
It was Castiel.
Oh no. No, no, no, no. He couldn’t take condemnation right now. He couldn’t handle a lecture or explicit statement of what he already knew. Maybe later, he’d be strong enough, but not right now. His immortal soul would be just as damned a week from now as today. He hadn’t realised he was doing it, but he’d started wiggling away from the car door. Somehow, Castiel had taken that as permission to enter the vehicle and opened the door to slide inside, looking very uncomfortable as he did so.
Sam was busy trying to hold his breath because he knew, he just knew, it was going to hitch and sob and do all of the shit he’d been trying to hide by coming out here if he let it go.
“Sam?”
Sam’s eyes widened and darted all over the angel, wondering if the assault was about to come. God, but his chest felt like there was a gaping black hole in it.
Castiel looked a little morose now in a way that he hadn’t looked before. “Give me your hand.”
He was scared to do it, but when an angel of the Lord tells you to do something, you’re inclined to listen.
Castiel gently took Sam’s massive hand in his own (he didn’t even flinch away from Sam’s touch like he thought he would) and examined the bleeding teeth marks around the meat of it. His frown became disapproving. “You must not hurt yourself in this way.” He breathed out quietly and Sam watched with a spark of awe as his skin knit itself together in the space of seconds. Castiel released his hand and Sam pulled it back in towards himself.
“…Thank you.”
Castiel’s eyes widened slightly from their normal squint. “This is unexpected.”
“What is?”
“You thanked me. Your brother never did such a thing.”
Sam snorted wetly. “He’s like that. He keeps waiting for the strings attached to strangle him. I’d like to thank you for that, too, though. Bringing him back, I mean. I know you didn’t do it for me or even for him, but… yeah.”
There was a quiet smile on Castiel’s face and Sam could feel his eyes start to burn again. His face had to be a splotchy reddened mess right now and all could wish for was for the angel to leave him alone before he started fucking crying again.
“It occurs to me, Sam, that you have misinterpreted my remarks.”
…What?
“Angels rarely communicate with the spoken word in Heaven, instead relying on a communication of thoughts and emotions. It is impossible to offend without meaning to do so as there are no multiple ways to interpret a sentiment, as there are in human tongues. Please forgive any comment I have made to offend you, and understand that it was not made in an antagonistic fashion.”
Sam had to be blushing to the skylights. Did an angel really just apologise to him? More importantly, Castiel didn’t hate him? Sam couldn’t help the sudden rush of oh please, oh please that washed over him. He couldn’t take it if he had his hopes crushed underfoot again. He couldn’t fucking take it and he silently begged Castiel to understand that and not mock him with any perceived kindnesses if they weren’t whole-hearted.
Castiel’s expression was serious, though, as he took Sam’s face in his hands and kissed Sam’s forehead gently. Sam, reeling in shock, almost didn’t catch the angel’s words. “You are loved, Sam Winchester. Only Father Our Lord can decide who is saved, but you love, and are loved. Do not think that counts for so little.”
Sam sniffed and was helpless to do anything but nod. There was that small smile on the angel’s face again, soft and quietly beautiful, and then he was gone.
When Sam cried again, this time, it was for the desperate hope and joy that filled him.