Chapter Text
Sam isn't doing much of anything. They'd just finished a hunt, Dean went out to celebrate, leaving Sam to do whatever the fuck he wants. What he wants is to play bubble shooter in peace, but a strum of energy crackles and a fluttering of wings ruin those plans. It's not Castiel, he knows before he looks at the angel that it's not the usual culprit. Besides, Dean isn't here, Castiel wouldn't show up now.
Uriel stands near the door. His suit is crisp, untouched by the flight here-- much different from Castiel's windswept everything. Uriel's vessel's head shines under the room's yellow lighting. The lighting highlights the round edges and sharp lines of the possessed body. His eyes look hollow and Sam realizes he's staring. He doesn't know if he should stand up to address the angel or not. He commits and stands at attention, their last interaction brushing the front of his mind. Sam shoves it down, least the angel is reading his mind.
Uriel isn't doing much other than staring him down too. It's familiar in a way he grasps easily. Castiel still has his staring problem, but it's normal now, unfortunately. But instead of inquisitive, it's contempt swirling in his eyes. It makes his already dark brown eyes impossibly darker, nearing black. Angels don't seem the emoting type, so any emotion they show is fascinating, especially on someone like Uriel. He's dangerous yet mesmerizing.
"Castiel has taken an interest in you, Samuel," Uriel sneers. His handsome face contorts in disgust. The words drip with venom. Sam snaps out of his reverence, being insulted right.
"You sure? I mean, seems like he likes humanity in general," Sam replies. Uriel scoffs, anger coursing through him in hot waves. The air crackles, electricity snapping under grace. He came here in a foul mood. Does he want a fight? Sometimes Dean does shit like this, instigates until he gets his desired reaction. Sam has long since learned to ignore the man when he's in his moods. That doesn't feel like an option here.
"Do you know what it is you are implying here? Are you under the assumption that you know my kin better than I?"
No? Not all... Sorry? All inadequate answers to the accusation being laid at his feet. He doesn't know how to calm a storm in a bottle. He could barely keep his cool around his own father.
"No, not at all. I can't imagine he'd really want to focus on me..." Sure you don't have the wrong Winchester? Sam doesn't say that aloud, he already feels a sharp current in the air and he likes being alive. Uriel scoffs again, face morphing, and wow Castiel has competition for creep of the year; Uriel's vessel is not at all bad to look at, but the way the facial muscles don't know how to react to what is happening to it is frankly disgusting. His face crumples and scrunches, those deep, anger filled eyes could almost trick him into-
"Finish that sentiment and I will not be held responsible for what befalls you." All distorted humor that gathered in his face drains. Sam blinks at him, fighting the urge to say something stupid. He has to remind himself being alive is good.
"I don't know what you are talking about, Uriel. I have no control over Castiel," Sam states meekly. He rolls his hands together-- he doesn't know when he'd clasped his fingers together, but he makes no move to right it. It's suffocating him, the power in the air. Uriel calms himself, the grace retreats and Sam realizes belatedly that he was being held by it, that it was not just around him but touching him. His skin tingles where the grace was.
Uriel flexes his hands, his face smooths out and he is now just a man who doesn't know how his face looks when he's not concentrating on the expressions. His vessel's brown eyes find Sam's hazel and they are devoid of light and soul.
"I don't believe you. Whatever it is you are doing or saying, stop it. Castiel is much too important to Heaven for you to be what interferes."
Sam is still wrapping his head around Castiel being swayed by him that he nearly misses the rest. Uriel is gone when Sam looks at where he once stood. The room is dark, the only light now coming from the street lamps. He doesn't have much time to process what happened when Dean bursts through the door. Impeccable timing as always.
"The hell, why are you just standing in the dark?"
"I was checking if the power is out or we needed a new lightbulb," Sam lies. It's not his best... or close, but he doesn't know how to tell his brother an angel knocked out their power because he was so pissed at Sam. That wouldn't help his hatred for angels.
Dean stomps his way into the room. He fiddles with a lamp and yup, all gone. Fabulous.
"I should have stayed out."
"Yeah you should've," Sam murmurs. Dean turns to face him, he can't make out his brother's face very well, but he knows based purely off the silence Dean is fuming. He imagines the spark of anger there, the downturn of his brow and thin line of his mouth.
"Shut the fuck up."
Sam tries for innocence, softening his features in hopes of Dean getting a bit of streetlight and seeing him. No such luck. Dean grumbles his way into the bathroom. He comes right back out.
"The bag in here?" He tries to keep up the anger, but he's too tired or drunk. Both?
"Yeah."
Dean heads back over to the entrance, using the little bit of light to guide him towards the zipper.
"Throw me one?"
"No, bitch."
Sam rolls his eyes. Dean tosses the flashlight to him before he is back in the bathroom. He doesn't have the heart to correct that action. Sam settles back on the chair and it is more than a little satisfying to hear Dean squeak. Someone forgot you need power to have hot water. Sam tries to keep his laughter silent.
After the fastest to date shower Dean's ever had, he emerges from the bathroom. He's shivering and slightly pink. Sam holds in his laughter as best as he can, but wow he looks stupid. If he could, Sam would definitely sneak a picture but his phone is across the room and Dean would kill him.
"Laugh it up dickwad," Dean grunts.
It would affect him more if Dean hadn't just done his best impression of a drowning bird. Sam grounds himself as well he can. Dean sulks in his bed, huddled up in his bedsheet. It doesn't take long for the manbaby to fall asleep.
Sam gets into bed at not too long after. He was reading a nature guidebook, but his flashlight was dying and they had yet to go on a shopping run, so he threw in the towel. Speaking of towels, he'd nearly slipped on his inconsiderate older brother's discarded towel. If Sam broke his neck like that, Dean would never hear the end of it.
Now that he's in bed, all he can think about is his conversation with Uriel. He couldn't make much sense of what the angel told him. He turns to face Dean, maybe he should tell him when he wakes up. But he didn't want to hear the inevitable stupid comments on the contents of the conversation. Sam isn't getting far in the one sided debate he's having with himself and drops it for the time being. There will be plenty of other sleepless nights to mull over it. That is if Uriel doesn't kill him. Sam is about to face the opposite wall to pretend and sleep when he notices Dean's face moving.
It's subtle in the dark, but there. He goes from peaceful to agonized in seconds. Sam's about off his bed when he hears the rustling of feathers and it's Castiel in the room. He presses his fingers to Dean's temple and he relaxes. How Sam hadn't noticed Dean not having nightmares anymore, he isn't sure. He wasn't always asleep when Dean got back from his nightly excursions. Castiel meets Sam's gaze, snapping Sam out of his thought. The angel's eyes are the only visible light in the room. He doesn't know how Dean could hate being stared at by Castiel, his eyes are beautiful. Not the time.
Sam feels the angel's eyes travel along him, which is new and strange. Castiel tenses and the air shifts around them. Sam can't help recoiling. He pays that no mind, walking around Dean's bed. He stops short between the edge of the bed and Sam. Sam doubts he needs to be closer to see him better.
"Uriel was here. What did he want?"
"Uh... how- never mind." Sam folds his arms around himself. He's used to the constant eyes, but this feels different. "I don't know what he wanted."
Castiel frowns. Even in the darkness Sam sees the strange shifting of Castiel's face, feels the intensity of those dark blue eyes. Sam does his best not to squirm. Self consciously, Sam's hand rubs at his collar bone.
"Sam." Castiel's voice crackles.
"Honestly, man, I don't know."
Castiel is in front of him in a blink. He presses his warm fingers to Sam's forehead, although they hover for a second, as if he doesn't know where to put them. He heals the physical wounds left by Uriel's grace. Up close and personal, Sam sees the shifting of Castiel's eyes-- weird as it is, it calms him. He wonders if Uriel had gotten as close as Castiel is, it would have the same effect.
"Do you need sleeping aide as well?"
Snapping out of his trance, Sam shakes his head.
"You don't have to."
"That's not what I'm asking."
Sam sighs tiredly. Castiel's grace flows through him again, and wow, this is nice. When he was younger, sometimes he'd have a hard time sleeping and to calm him down, Dean would sit with him (might also be because they didn't have car seats) and hum along to the radio. He would sing too, but only when Dad wasn't around. Now, a much older Sam can faintly hear his brother humming. He can't grasp the song now, but it's familiar and works wonders. He slumps on the bed, too tired to adjust himself properly.
Of course, this is when the power turns back on. The overhead light and the lamp Dean switched on blink to life. He buries his head in the mattress, falling asleep like that.
When he wakes up he's groggy and dazed. Sunlight streams in through the half closed blinds. He flips over and nearly has a heart attack. Castiel, who could never be out done in a creep competition, is in the furthest corner of the room. Sam's side of the room, the one not touched yet by the light. Sam buries his face in his pillow.
"I startled you."
"A little. Do you know the chairs are free use?"
"I don't like them."
An angel of the lord doesn't like wooden chairs. Who knew they had seating preferences? Sam rests his face on his pillow, turned towards the angel.
"Standing in dark corners is not the only option you have... you can sit on my bed."
"You're in it."
Sam nods slowly. "I didn't say you have to get into bed with me, just sit at the end. Believe me, it'd be better for you. If Dean saw you there he'd have shot you."
"It wouldn't have hurt me."
"That's not-" Sam sighs. He's too tired for this shit. "Just sit down Castiel, please."
Castiel emerges from the darkness, most of his creep factor melts away when he steps into the light. Angels really shouldn't be shrouded in darkness, he doubts they know how fucking crazy they look. He sits at the end of the bed stiffly. Castiel's body is ram rod straight. Maybe he should get into bed with him.
Sam sits up in bed, pulling his legs to himself to give the angel more room.
"I don't mind if you sit on the bed when I'm sleeping, but I don't recommend using Dean's when he's in it." Sam smiles at the back of Castiel's head and isn't acknowledged. He looks at the Tv screen for the first time and it's some cowboy show, is that channel even available on their shitty motel cable? Sam decides Castiel needs more hobbies other than channel surfing. He hopes angels don't play dress up.