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Sam’s left shoulder aches. All in all, it’s hardly a high price to pay for coming out of a scrap with Lucifer still breathing, but it’s a dull, painful reminder that they’re going against the old enemy again. Sometimes it feels like they’re playing one of those whack-a-mole games that were all over the arcades that Dean had taken to him when they were kids. Every time they hit one mole, another one pops up and there isn’t really a way to win, just to last.
Sam eases himself on to one of the two beds in his and Dean’s room. It’s quite a step up from the motels they usually frequent. But then again, Sam should have probably seen it coming. Crowley would hardly spring for anything less.
“You’re in pain.”
Sam jumps, accidentally jarring his shoulder worse than before. He forces his grimace into something resembling a smile for Cas, standing in the doorway. He doesn’t know how he does that, moves like a ghost.
“It’s nothing. I messed my shoulder pretty bad hunting a wendigo like ten years ago, and then again a few years ago and now it really feels it whenever I’m doing something stupid.”
Like trying to hold back Lucifer’s power, for example. Sam knows that he was going easy on him—if Lucifer had wanted to, he could have shattered both of Sam’s arms with a thought—but there’s something about it that brings a grim smile to his face anyway. It feels like a tiny victory in a sea of losses.
“Where’s Dean?”
He shrugs. “I caught him with some of the cucumber water from the lobby. I don’t think he wants to admit how good it is.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “And that’s Dean. You want to come in, or are you just gonna watch?”
Cas takes a few hesitant steps into the room; at Sam’s encouraging nod, he enters fully and walks over to the bed. Before Sam can protest, Cas lays his hand on her shoulder and sends a small trickle of Grace to ease the pain.
“Thanks, Cas.”
Cas doesn’t quite look at him. “It was the least I could do.”
Sam has seen the same look on Dean’s face too many times to not recognize it. Sighing, he shifts aside so Cas has room to sit beside him on the bed. Cas perches like he’s going to flee at any given moment.
“This isn’t your fault.”
There’s a reason that Cas and his brother have been drawn together from the very start. They both take the world on their shoulders, regardless of how little or how much they had to do with breaking it.
“If Lucifer was still trapped in the Cage, he wouldn’t be out there killing people. Every single person he takes early is on me.”
Sam shakes his head. “If we’re going to be playing the blame game, I’d say that the person who let him out in the first place wins.”
As far as Sam is concerned, he’s paid his dues in blood, tears, and humiliation, but if he can help Cas alieve his guilt somewhat, he’ll do what he can.
Cas looks miserable. “I was the one who let you out of the panic room.”
“And if you want to get technical like that, you would have never gone to the Cage in the first place if I hadn’t been stupid enough to think that God would bother talking to me.”
At that, he offers Cas a crooked grin and gets the barest hint of a smile in return. Sam knows what it’s like to go around in circles in your head, wishing that you had made a decision differently, but he also knows that it doesn’t do anyone any good, least of all yourself.
Cas changes the subject. “How did you hurt your shoulder?”
“I was holding the doors open for the people to get out.”
Another smile, this one brighter than the first. “They all got out.”
Sam nods. “Yep.”
They sit in companionable silence for a long while. In a weird kind of way, it’s nice knowing that there’s someone else who knows what it’s like to have Lucifer rooting through every part of you. Not that Sam would have wished that on anyone, let alone Cas, but it’s still oddly comforting.
“You’re strong, Sam Winchester,” Cas says, completely out of the blue. “I took on your hallucinations. I know exactly what you went through under his hand.”
Sam no longer has the hallucinations, but he still has the memories, like having the bullet wound but not the bullet. At the reminder, his hands convulse in his lap. If Cas notices, he doesn’t let on.
“Yet you can still fight him.”
Sam glances sideways at him. “You’re strong, too. Being possessed by him—”
Cas lets out a humorless laugh. “I highly doubt that our experiences were similar. He didn’t hurt me. The only thing that imprisoned me was my own misery.”
“Sometimes the worst pain is the pain you cause yourself. You threw him off more than once. You survived. That’s something.”
Cas still looks doubtful, but Sam tries to shake as much tension off of the conversation as possible. He pulls the menu off of the bedside table and waves it under Cas’s nose.
“Want to order up a spell?”
He glares at him, but Sam can tell that it’s in mock anger. “No one understands my humor.”
Sam nearly chokes on his laugh. “Wait, that was a joke?”
Cas rolls his eyes to the heavens, as if he’s asking his Father what he did to get stuck on Earth with so many idiots.
“Like I said.”
Sam cracks up. Cas just looks at him, utterly bewildered.
“Why is that funny but my jokes aren’t?”
Sam shakes his head. “You’re right, Cas. You’re an underappreciated comedic genius.”
Some of the tension has eased in Cas’s shoulders, and he seems a little lighter. Sam can’t take the burden of guilt from him, but at least he can do this.