tsukumo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acrobatically) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2015-09-30 08:42 am
acrobatically) wrote in bakerstreet2015-09-30 08:42 amthe picture prompt meme.
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acrobatically) wrote in bakerstreet2015-09-30 08:42 am
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Hey. Hey, just don't move unless you have to. I was only teasing about the floor before.
[ Sam reached out, putting his hand on Castiel's shoulder, trying to force him to stay mostly still. Maybe Cas didn't want his worry or his pity, but he wasn't going to slip through without it, not given the state he was in. He was going to be fussed and fretted over whether he liked it or not, and then Sam was going to dry clean everything that he was wearing as many times as it took to get the blood out. Not that he thought the shirt would ever come back from it.
Very carefully, and avoiding one of the messes on the floor, he bent on a little closer, putting his knee down on clean tile. It was a pointless gesture, since when he tried to get Cas up he'd be covered in blood anyway, but--well, clothes were just clothes. He'd live. ]
Put your arm around me.
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it takes some effort to get his arm slung over sam's broad shoulders, but mostly because he's doing his best not to jostle the wound at his side that he's clutching with his free hand. at this point, it's paramount not to let any more grace slip away than is absolutely necessary, lest he bring his inevitable end even closer than it needs to be. but he's leaning his weight against sam soon enough, grasping at his shoulder with sticky fingers; too bad his shirt is like to be stained after this. the perils, he supposes, of being a winchester, and having an angel to call a friend - if one of the three of them isn't busted up and bleeding, something is very wrong. ]
Still.. my apologies. I hope I haven't interrupted you.
[ only castiel could apologize for interrupting someone's day to bleed all over their kitchen floor. unusual doesn't even begin to cover it. but look, manners are important, okay. ]
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When Castiel's arm seemed even a little bit secure across his shoulders, Sam instantly bent in the rest of the way, wrapped his own arms tight around the smaller man, and lifted him up to his feet. Sort of. Castiel was sticky, slippery and wobbly, but mostly with the life drained out of him, and the strength too, he felt like a sack of rice, all ooze and dead weight. ]
I'm the one who should apologize. [ He tipped his head very carefully to the left, so that they didn't bump faces, then began the slow process of escorting the wobbly angel to the nearest bathroom, where there would be an abundance of medical supplies, running water--everything he needed to at least start patching him up. ] Especially since, if you can't heal that up, I'm going to have to put in stitches. You think you're up for that?
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it takes all of his effort just to stay on his feet, and nearly all of his weight is rested on sam; it's shameful, and embarrassing, and he tries to focus on other things. like talking to sam. and supporting his own weight as best as he can. ]
Yes, that's fine. I can handle it.
[ sutures are a drop in the bucket, really, when it comes down to it, and angels are built sturdy; he can withstand a great deal of pain. castiel inhales sharply, his hand on sam's shoulder bunching in his sleeve and he puts all of his effort into shuffling his feet forward beneath him. one, two, one, two. ]
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[ Castiel held him tight, and Sam pretended not to notice, even as he grimaced into the angel's hair, leading him through the corridor, blood dripping, with only the sound of their haggard breathing in the air between them. The bathroom wasn't far, and when they got back to it, Sam was ever more careful, trying to settle Castiel on the closed lid of the toilet. He drew back slowly, finally getting a better look at Castiel's wound. Or at least, his squelchy, sticky red fingers stuffed against his ruined shirt. ]
Alright. Alright, I'm just going to get a better look. Don't move your hand yet.
[ His hands closed into their own fists on either side of Castiel's, digging into the once white fabric. He pulled hard, ripping it open a little wider. ] Ready?
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but dammit sam, that's his only shirt. :( ]
Yes.
[ once the fabric is torn away, castiel leans back and pulls away his fingers, sticky with cooling, drying blood. the wound itself would normally cause him little enough trouble, for it would be easy to heal had he the means with which to do it, but alas. the gash sits just below his ribcage, a clean slash several inches long. on any other creature one might expect to see spilling guts and unsightly gore, but all that seeps through is blood and the white light of his own energy, himself beneath the meat of his vessel, and it is dangerously dim, far less vibrant than it should be, and flickering like a dusty, dying bulb.
castiel frowns, his brows drawn together, swallowing around a dry throat. ]
I assume it's nothing you can't manage.
[ sam and dean, he knows, have stitched one another and themselves up more times than he can care to remember, and castiel trusts him with this, to know what to do, quickly, cleanly, and efficiently. ]
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The wound was pretty bad. Angel or human, it didn't matter. It was bad, and without intervention, what was left of Cas would bleed out through it, leave him frail and human and helpless.
So Sam reached up, touching the edges of the wound, grimacing as he tried to just for a second hold everything in a little longer. It was the flickering that scared him the most. Sam's brow creased, his concern if anything doubled. He was worried, and Castiel should be more concerned. ]
Just put your hand back for a second. [ He urged. The muscles in his jaw jumped, and Sam pulled himself back to his feet quickly, heading over to pull down the first aid kit. Winchester first aid was a little more heavy duty than the usual kind. There was everything, from needles to holy water, a half dozen drugs that had been stolen from hospital trolleys, and who knew what else. Sam started by taking out one of those needles - a shot of morphine - holding it between his teeth while he peeled open the next item, a suture kit. Maybe painkillers wouldn't help but...Castiel was in pain, and he would try anything.
He settled back at his feet, looking up earnestly, and moved his hands toward Castiel's belly again. He couldn't tell him when to pull away, but he'd be ready to put in his stitches the second he had a chance. ]
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following orders is a nice easy default for castiel. though he might have, over the past handful of years, proven to nearly every angel in heaven his ability to not do as he is told, when it comes down to it, angels are built to obey. so when he's exhausted and wounded he's more than happy to comply with any direction sam leaves out, a breadcrumb trail to total acquiescence. he doesn't have it in him to be ornery right now, which is really for the best, considering they need to get through this quickly.
it's a good thing he trusts sam completely.
once sam is settled onto his heels, castiel dips his head in accordance and peels his fingers carefully away from the wound again. the breath he takes is deep to calm himself, to keep his focus and remain steady. ]
I'm fine, Sam. Go ahead.
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Sam leant in, concentrating. The needle was sharp, but it would still hurt. Still, Castiel trusted him, and that had to be for the best. Focusing, brisk and earnest, biting down on the tube in his mouth, Sam worked hard and fast to close the wound, starting with three large stitches that would stop Castiel immediately bleeding out while he tidied up and finished the work. He was relying, maybe, on the fact that if Castiel had some grace left it would keep him from being overwhelmed by an infection.
He didn't give up on his work, and only when the wound was safely closed did he sew the thread through itself and snap the dissolvable thread with his fingers.
Only now did he lift the tube out of his mouth, and explain himself. ]
You still with me? This is morphine - you've had it before - it'll help take some of the pain away. You're you, so I have no idea how much to give you, so I'm just going to empty it, okay? But first--first we have to get you out of that coat. There's not anything else I need to sew up, is there? You're good?
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once he's finished, however, castiel exhales in a sigh that is more than a little relieved. what matters most is that the wound is closed, his fading grace sealed safely away behind his skin again. he's lost more than he would like to admit, but not all of it, and he is still alive and breathing which is about as much as castiel can feasibly hope for. idly, he brushes his fingers over the stitchwork; it's neat and tight. ]
I'm here, yes. [ another breath to slow his blood, and castiel lifts his eyelids and shifts to sit a little further forward, already beginning to shuck off his stained coat as gingerly as possible. ]
But no, there's nothing else you need to worry about. Thank you, Sam.
[ you know - bumps, bruises, cuts and scrapes, the usual scrappy injuries they're used to dealing with - nothing sam needs to fuss his pretty head over, now that the worst is dealt with. ]
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Without a word - without really even looking Castiel in the eyes - Sam moved his hands to Castiel's chest, working the buttons of his shirt open. To be fair, he'd already ripped a great big hole in it, and whoever Castiel had been fighting had done the rest. He was apologetic as he went to work, head still somewhat bowed. It was hard to see Castiel looking so outwardly dreadful--it only went to remind him how terrible he felt, albeit not with such blatant wounds. ]
I'm uh... I'm sorry about the shirt. I'll find you something of Dean's to wear, once I'm sure you won't ooze all over them.
[ It was a painful pang of a thought, that Dean would be insistent that Castiel borrow his clothes, but outraged if he got even a speck of blood on something he liked. Sam washed the pain down by forcing himself to think on his concern for his friend instead. ]
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but castiel keeps his counsel, because there are more important things to worry about right now, and because somehow he's sure that sam doesn't want to hear it. not to say that that has ever stopped castiel in the past, he's like as not to say his mind any time he thinks to, regardless of what anyone might not want to hear, but there is a time and a place for everything. right now he needs to focus on remaining conscious, and on leaving sam to his self-appointed tasks.
without complaint he shrugs out of his ruined shirt, tugging it away where it sticks to healing scrapes and dried blood, but as promised there is little enough left to be overly concerned with. nothing at least that should require sutures, or immediate attention. but castiel's gaze is fixed on sam, and all of his worry is writ clear on his face, in his eyes. as with most things, castiel can't help but feel personally responsible for everything that's happened with dean, and by extension, the loss that sam is feeling now. if he hadn't been so foolish.. if he weren't always so foolish.. ]
Truly, Sam. I appreciate this.
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Every day was a series of little impossibilities that Sam overcame by simple determination. He'd lived through this pain before, and it had made him into someone he didn't recognize, but this was different. Dean was out there, and he was becoming something else, something they'd fought against their entire lives, and which Sam personally hated with a vehemence he otherwise only reserved for archangels. Worse, so far there was nothing that Sam could do about it. If he didn't fix it, if he couldn't save Dean, then he didn't deserve to be able to save himself.
The name hung like a weight around their necks, and so Sam had to focus on Castiel just to stop his navel gazing dragging him under. Maybe they'd lost too much this time, he didn't know - maybe there was no way back - but he could fix up this angel with the broken wings and put him right. Castiel might have made mistakes, but--
Sam reached up and lay his hand on the back of Cas'. He knew how guilty he felt, how much it was eating him up inside. He felt responsible, and maybe he should, but everything was just so much bigger than them. They hadn't asked for any of it. ]
It's okay. Any time. It makes me feel useful.
[ He took a breath, exhaled it as a mirthless and yet somehow sarcastic sigh, and then offered Castiel the quirk of a half smile. ]
You look like you'd fall over if you took a shower, so I'm just going to...wash most of this off by hand. Just concentrate on not falling over, you can do that once I get you to bed.
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perhaps because moving forward is sometimes the only way to stay on your feet. give up that momentum and you will collapse, broken and unable to be fixed, so you have no choice but to forge on, because giving up would mean certain annihilation. that is the only reason he can fathom, at least, perhaps because it is his reason.
the warm weight of sam's hand rouses him from his thoughts, and castiel's blue eyes flick toward his face again, and the barest, warmest hint of a smile curls at the corners of his mouth, weary though it might be. these winchester boys really are something else. but then again, that's only to be expected. ]
I think I can manage that much.
[ dean.. they can worry about that mess later, when there's time, when castiel has the energy to do a little more than wallow in his own guilt and uselessness. speaking of which, he's already reaching for a small towel to begin wiping his hands clean. ]
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Considering the amount of blood Castiel was soaked with, the water would need to be changed in no time, but Sam knew from past experience that getting the blood off felt good. There was something cathartic to it, really: it felt like peeling off a layer of the hurts that had been left behind. All those little missteps and mistakes that had happened when blades were drawn could be washed away, and then at a certain point the ache became an ache of survival, an ache of still being alive, and having survived your enemy despite their very best efforts.
Sam, ignoring the efforts of Castiel's independent streak, set about cleaning the blood from his back, just the same way as he'd done dozens of times before, and just the same way as he would have expected to be done to him. The only difference was that this was an angel covered in blood, not a human being, a fact that slipped his mind too easily sometimes. He had depended on Castiel's powers so much, but at the end of the day, despite them, Castiel had still been just another member of the Scooby Gang. Now that the angel in him was oozing out through all the cracks, he was almost more pitiful than Sam had ever known him to be, if only because Castiel knew how it felt to be human, and still strained against everything to hold onto just a slither of his diminishing grace. That, more blatantly than anything else, told him that Cas didn't want to be powerless again; didn't want to be like them.
But his bloodied clothes were testament to that spiral. Somehow, usually, they'd get angel-dry-cleaned, and he'd step out of nowhere looking shiny and new, but not this time. This time the marks were staying, and the bloodstains would have to be soaked out with saltwater, and the wounds that peppered Castiel's back, and bled a little when Sam ran his washcloth over them, would have to heal the old fashioned way. ]
You'll be alright. [ He murmured, absently, concentrating on his task. ] You have to be.
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and then he had pulled dean winchester from the pit, and learned through him and his brother what it meant to fight, to think for yourself, to embrace the foreign idea of choice, and free will. and even still after having met them, it took time for him to come to respect mankind, to understand that their flaws were not what damned them, but what made them vibrant, that their short lives were not a curse, but a blessing. it is terribly boring and lonely to know eternity. to live a short life is to burn brightly and strongly and that, he thinks, is perhaps the better end of the deal. but knowing all this, castiel still had not understood. until metatron stole from him his grace and cast him to the earth with his brothers and sisters and he had known at last how it truly felt to exist as a human, to experience food and love and intimacy and pain as they do. there are many reasons castiel clings now to his grace, but none of them are lack of love and respect for mankind, and he has the winchesters to thank for it, for pulling the wool from his eyes.
he sits in thoughtful silence while sam tends to his scrapes, while the water in the basin grows pink, and with his hands as clean as he's able to manage now he stares down at the bloodied towel in his hands until sam speaks again, in distracted murmurs. and then a sound moves in castiel's throat, something like a breathless laugh though there is no mirth in it. ]
I'll be fine, Sam. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere any time soon.
[ of course, he cannot promise that. none of them can. they play a dangerous game and castiel has always been reckless with his own life, expendable if it meant guarding the winchesters, but putting his life on the line is not so easy now as it had once been. family, dean had called them, and said that they were all they had. and now that castiel has forever damaged his relationship with his angelic kin, now that kevin is dead and dean splintered away from them, should castiel die sam would be alone and that, he thinks, he cannot abide. dwindling grace or no, for all their past mistakes, sam does not deserve to be alone. ]
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The words - the reassurance - was something he didn't expect either, especially given that he hadn't made any kind of request to that end. He hadn't asked Castiel to stay, at least not beyond telling him he'd put him to bed, and yet it was as though the angel knew the ache and the loneliness in him by heart, or could maybe feel it through his fingers. Shoulders stiff as iron, Sam brought the cloth back to the basin, running it under the tap as he pulled the stopper out, before coming back around to crouch in front of Castiel again.
He ignored the water dripping down his arm as he spoke to him. ]
And neither am I. I know you don't think that you can ask me for help--that you think, somehow, you have to fight your battles alone, but what goes for me goes double for you. I was always... I was always independent, you know?. I can look after myself. God, I can live without Dean, even, if I have to - [ This time his voice genuinely strained on the name. ] --but that's not who you are. You may have been different to the others, but you were always a part of something, and now there's just you. No backup. No powers.
[ He grit his teeth again, muscle setting in his jaw, and then, with something almost reverent, semi-biblical in the gesture, brought the damp cloth to the graze on Castiel's left cheek. ]
I'm not going anywhere. If this thing doesn't kill us, I'll always be somewhere you can find me.
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thankfully it isn't in his nature to pry, so more often than not they get away with it undisturbed, but this is a little different, and more often than not, sam is more receptive to comfort than dean, so he likes to offer what he can, when he can.
but now here's sam turning it all around on him now, and aren't they just a couple of sad, pathetic fools trying to prop one another up. had castiel possessed a better sense of humor he might have laughed about how impossibly difficult they are. instead he's just reminded of how astonishingly gentle sam is, as a person. castiel cares for both of the winchester boys, but he doesn't often have time with sam alone; every time he does, he finds that sam is always surprising him. a hunter as a boy, raised on the road and never provided a proper home and yet of the two dean is the rougher one, the harder one. there is a kindness in sam that is truly bewildering, and incredibly, terribly rare among his type, and castiel can only hope that he never loses it. his voice is softer when he speaks again. ]
Understood.
[ castiel can't help but agree, when sam is being so painfully forward, and despite it all he is not wrong. from the first moment he can remember existing, castiel has been part of a unit, a single cog in the great machine; angels were not designed to think for themselves. he's grown accustomed to his solitude, but it would be a lie to say that he does not cling to sam and dean for fear of feeling useless, pointless, scrap metal to be discarded. ]
We are family, then. Dean has said that to me, more than once, but I suppose I haven't.. taken it seriously.
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And family-- ]
That's right. We're family. More than that, we're a family that fights together.
[ And a family that fought together stayed together.
The misery wasn't quite so bad, now. The tension in his bearing seemed to finally be relaxing, and so Sam carefully resumed his ritual, cleaning the rest of the blood from Castiel's face with careful strokes. As he cleaned him up, his efforts became more tender, and he shifted his position slightly on the ground, putting one knee down to take his weight and awkwardly bumping his own chest against Castiel's knee.
But that was okay--he was able to be a little bolder, cleaning away the blood from one of Castiel's ears before dropping to his chest. The wounds there were all bad in their own right, but particularly the one where that knife stroke had sliced Castiel open. A huge amount of blood had spilled across his belly, soaking the waistband of his slacks, but Sam's sense of boundaries wouldn't allow him to even bring them up. For now, he kept his hands away from Castiel's belly. There was still so much to do, and he hadn't even administered the drug yet, so the cloth went to the crook of Castiel's arm, where he tried to scrub clean at least a small patch so that he could give him the shot. ]
Okay. [ Psyching himself up, he spared another concerned glance for the angel. ] Arm out in front of you, palm up, then make a fist. I'll be as gentle as I can.
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so there's a noticeable change in his demeanor, a slackening of his body as sam works efficiently and steadily, peeling away dried blood and damp alike. and as he works castiel is thinking about his words, thinking about how much dean has talked about it, about family, and how important it is. castiel knows family. his fellow angels were his family. and it is for that reason that he finds it so difficult now to strike them down, why he allowed one get close enough to even deliver this wound to begin with, and in the face of it it still tore at him to kill his own. it is why the guilt still weighs at him tremendously for the slaughter he served up in heaven - for that sin his heart and hands will never be washed clean. still somehow, despite an eternity together beside them, he feels closer to sam and dean, has sacrificed for them again and again and again, and shall still sacrifice for them.
and that is what family truly is, isn't it? family is fighting for one another, against all odds. it is laying down everything you care for and believe in to protect them. it is practicing forgiveness when one of them inevitably stumbles over their mistakes. granted all of their mistakes have been on rather a large scale, but still, here they are looking out for one another despite it all. these thoughts are so warm and sam's company so pleasant that he is very nearly asleep by the time sam speaks again, his eyelids slack and heavy, and he has to blink blearily into his face once, twice, three times before he understands. ]
Of course.
[ right. simple instructions. castiel lifts his arm as instructed, and closes his palm into a fist unhurriedly. he's not worried about the pain. ]
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In some ways, that was sort of...incredibly beautiful, and in others more terrifying than facing any vampire, demon or wendigo. It just wasn't meant to be this way. With everything that was happening, what comfort it would bring him for Castiel to be renewed with his own grace. There was need in his life for the sense of safety that an invulnerable, powerful angel on his shoulder might have offered him, and Sam craved it. Like this, though? Like this it was Sam who needed to protect, Sam who had to be invulnerable, and if Castiel was going to be on his shoulder at all, then it would be because Sam was carrying him someplace, weak and defeated. Sam didn't resent that - couldn't - because like Dean said, they were family, and there had been more than enough times when it had been Castiel's strength that carried him through instead. ]
The morphine will make you feel numb, and tired. Don't worry. You'll be good as new when you wake up. [ They both knew it wasn't true, so Sam didn't bother to look up as he spoke.
Carefully, Sam pulled the paper wrap off the needle, then the plastic cap, before moving both of his - slightly pink - hands to Castiel's arm. He was better at doing this the hard way, jamming it into his forearm and bruising muscle in the process, but that was more because a little pinprick was nothing compared to the usual stabbing and slashing they usually endured. For Castiel's sake alone, he found the vein and delivered the shot with patience and respect, before tossing the thing in the trash, and then immediately he was up, cleaning his cloth and coming back to fuss over the angel's chest and arms, earnestly intent on cleaning up at least enough blood that he could dress the still oozing wound.
But that might have to wait. With the drugs in his system, it was only a matter of time until clean up duty became put the angel to bed duty. Considering how far he'd crashed already, Sam was ready at any moment to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Cas before he fell flat on his face. After all, wasn't that what they all did best, when they weren't falling themselves? ]
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the stuff hits the ground running in his veins, solid as a truck, and there's a rush of icy coldness for only moments before it's replaced with soothing warmth and weightlessness and ease. immediately his entire body begins to loosen up as he unwinds, his arm slack in sam's grasp before he's even withdrawn the needle. he's swallowed entire canisters of aspirin before, but nothing compares to this stuff - humans are certainly creative, aren't they? what pain he felt is immediately washed away, and judging by the heaviness of his eyelids it surely won't be very long indeed until a falling angel needs catching.
castiel is quiet and entirely compliant for sure now, and sam's movements seem in slow motion as he jumps back into his task, but you can be sure that castiel certainly isn't feeling any pain right now, and he does not so much as flinch even while sam tends to the rougher wounds - it's as if he may as well not be there at all. except castiel certainly hasn't forgotten him, and he's watching him closely as he works, studying sam's face when he can manage to keep his eyes open. ]
Sam.. [ his tongue is pleasantly thick, and you can be sure he's beginning to slur, every word slow as syrup, as if it's difficult to get them out, because it is. ] .. Sssssam.
[ and then that's the end of that, because after a few more moments castiel is tipping forward; here's hoping you have your angel wrangling gloves on, sam. ]
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Either way, the moment Castiel began to slide, Sam abandoned cleaning and threw the flannel into the basin without thinking about the angle, nailing the shot, and his arm opened up, wrapping around Castiel in case he went sidewards while he attempted to catch him with the full length of his chest instead. Sure enough, Castiel fell against him, and Sam exhaled into the angel's hair in relief. It would be easier to pick him up from this position, or at least it would be easier than any position where Cas was a dead weight on the floor.
Shifting most of his weight bearing to the other shoulder, and hyper aware that throwing Cas across his shoulder would risk pulling his stitches, Sam ducked in until his hip was angled against Castiel's, before putting his other arm in under his knees. It was a simple thing, from there, to lift him bodily against his chest. Well...simple for Sam, who had the body strength to do it. No hobbling in exhaustion to the bedroom this time; instead, Sam held him tight, carrying him to the first room with a bed to the bathroom.
It was only as he lay Cas down that he realised that this was Dean's room--which made sense, really, it was next to a bathroom, the closest bedroom along to the kitchen. But now Cas was on the bed, disturbing Dean's scent in the process, Sam wasn't sure he dared to move him again, no matter how guilty it made him feel. Considering how much Cas cared for Dean... God. Idiot. What was wrong with him? ]
Hey. [ He said, carefully, brushing back Castiel's bangs. ] You going to be okay in here?
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Yes.
[ it takes him a few seconds to register the question, and answer; of course he'd be okay in here, it's warm and comfortable and a bed - he's really learned to appreciate those, in recent years. clearly, he hasn't yet recognized the room as dean's, which perhaps is for the best, really, because nobody wants a doped up angel getting nostalgic and maudlin. sam has endured enough torment for one day. ]
Sam.. Sam. [ the effort it takes for him to reach and grab ahold of sam's wrist is less embarrassing than the fact that he has to try three times to do it successfully, but he's got an iron grip when he finally succeeds. words are an effort too, and he trips on them clumsily, but he somehow feels it's important to get them out even while his body is sinking heavily into the blankets that smell nice and familiar. it'll hit him in the morning when he wakes up buried in dean's scent. his voice is like gravel. ]
Lissen.. to me, Sam. This was nice of you. You're a very nice person. I haven't always been nice to.. nice to you. I'm sorry. You're a good person, Sam.
[ so much for not getting nostalgic and maudlin - but at least it isn't about dean. the words just keep tumbling, and he's definitely repeating himself. please someone stop him. ]
I think I muss've thought you were horrible on the inside because.. you were his vessel but I was wrong. You are kind. Thank you, Sam.
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But Castiel was insistent, and his grip was surprisingly firm considering how weak he otherwise was. Hard to remember he was an angel like this, and yet there it was, like a steel manacle. Sam lowered himself down to crouch beside the bed, since it was easier on his back, and easier to listen, too, to what he was being asked with so much miserable desperation to hear. An apology. A straight up, honest to God apology, for all the times that Castiel had doubted his heart, or failed to trust him, or taken Dean on a mission and not him. It had been years, and a long time coming, and there were times - other times - when Sam would have raised hell if he could hear him say half of it.
But now it just seemed sad, especially when Castiel really conveyed his prejudice in straightforward words. Because he was Lucifer's vessel. His hand softened slightly, fingers resting against Castiel's temple because they were held there, and Sam's face twitched through several expressions - sadness, pity, repentance - before he finally settled on one, a grim sort of smile on one side of his face, the other still firm pressed into serious contemplation. ]
The only thing I regret is that we couldn't have been closer. But there's no question of that now. You're family, Cas. Apart from Dean, I count you as my closest friend, and I know that you do too--I know all those things without you saying them, without apologies. Winchesters learn to talk without ever saying a word to each other, and whether you like it or not, Cas, that's what you are. An honorary Winchester.
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