Chapter Text
Dear Castiel,
You probably don’t remember me. My name is Sam Winchester, and you saved my life a few days ago. I was in the Shurley building when Lilith took it out.
Of course Castiel remembered. It was his specialty, being the first one into burning buildings and reaching out. His power was detecting souls, which let him know how many people were in there, whose injuries were too severe for them to be saved. He directed his brothers and sisters to where they were most needed. The group had established procedures – emergencies first, then children or anyone who needed a little extra assistance, then whoever was left. Castiel only ever took one person out – the last one who could be saved.
He was well-practiced in making his choices. Often, there just wasn’t time to think about it, to consider who he wanted to be in his arms when he left and the press started taking their pictures. It was nearly always someone in their 20s to early 40s, in good physical shape, relatively unwounded. So Castiel and his rescuee were fairly reliable in making for photogenic subjects, and the press loved publishing those shots.
Sam had been different. He’d chosen to take Sam himself, last, before he’d even chosen who to direct the first angel in to rescue. No one had questioned it, Sam certainly fit the profile of a last survivor by the angel protocols. Castiel had wrestled with the decision about whether to confess, but in the end, he kept quiet. It’s not like there was anyone who didn’t get saved because he’d wanted to be the one to save Sam.
Anyway, I’m a reporter, and now that I’m back at work, my boss is insisting I write a series of articles. What it was like being in the building, about the Angels in general. Which is only fair, it’s news, and that’s my job. But he wants me to write about you. I know you hate talking to reporters and hate having the spotlight, so I fully expect and support you telling me to go away and never contact you again. But I have to ask: if I promise to keep it as minimally invasive as possible, would you give me an interview?
Castiel sighed. Of course he’d choose a reporter, the one time he actually chose someone. At least Sam seemed to be aware that he was asking for quite the imposition.
I honestly can’t remember if I said it or not that day, so in case I didn’t: thank you for saving me. I can’t imagine what this country would be like without you and your teammates.
Sam Winchester
Castiel’s first instinct was to completely ignore the email, and the second instinct was to reply with a no. It’s how he always handled reporters. But there was a small part, just big enough to where Castiel couldn’t ignore it, that wanted to see Sam again, and this would be a good excuse.
Still, a long-standing policy of caution was also impossible to ignore. Thankfully, there was Google. Castiel could find other articles of Sam’s that could have involved interviews. There was no way to tell how he behaved during the interview, but skimming through Sam’s writing left Castiel with the impression of a journalist devoted to the truth, and weren’t they all, but also to portraying his subjects with respect. He brought up faults when relevant, but it seemed that Sam respected boundaries.
Dear Mr. Winchester,
I am not accustomed to interviews. If you will forgive me if I do something I shouldn’t, or if I must leave suddenly for work, then I am willing to speak with you. When and where would you like to meet?
Castiel
When Sam turned in his article about his experience with the Shurley building, Bobby was pleased. “What’s up next?”
“Well, I’ve reached out to Castiel, but I really don’t expect him to even bother to answer me. So I’m going to start on the Angels. Maybe I can slip some questions about Castiel in there, but you know they protect him.”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Castiel likes you, boy. You’ll get your interview. Out of that whole building, he picked you to save.”
“I’m a low-priority rescue. If you’re right, I’ll ask him how he picks the order, but I seriously doubt he picked me because he likes me.” Like a lot of people, Sam had spent some – okay, a lot of – time fantasizing about being rescued by an angel. Sam had usually imagined Gabriel, because of the glittering golden wings, or Castiel. He couldn’t ever say why he was particularly drawn to Castiel. No one knew anything about him, and in the fifteen years the Angels had been around, he couldn’t find any documented case of Castiel using a halo.
Actually being rescued had been an experience Sam could never have been prepared for. Even Dean’s teasing about seeing an angel carrying a moose couldn’t take away the memory of being carried by something that powerful. He’d never have dared send the email if it weren’t for Bobby’s insistence. So when he opened his email to find that Castiel had agreed, he could have died from the shock.