Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7324768.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Castiel, Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Charlie_Bradbury
  Additional Tags:
      secondary_character_-_Charlie, Fake_Marriage, Angst_and_Humor, Suicidal
      Thoughts, Suicide_Attempt, Suicidal_Ideation, Date_Rape_Drug/Roofies,
      Drug-Facilitated_Sexual_Assault, Infidelity_in_a_fake_marriage_situation,
      Voice_Mail_fix-it, Adam_fix-it, Torture, Past_Torture, Torturer_Dean,
      Memories, Memories_of_torture, Memories_of_Committing_Torture, Memories
      of_rape, Memories_of_Committing_Rape, Prostitution, Insinuation_of
      Statutory_Rape, Memories_of_The_Cage, memories_of_hell, Podfic_&
      Podficced_Works
  Collections:
      Supernatural_and_J2_Big_Bang_2016
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-28 Words: 33467
****** Fake It Till You Make It ******
by kisahawklin
Summary
     The boys work a case on a gay cruise.
     Charlie books two of them in the honeymoon suite.
Notes
     How does a fluffy fake marriage piece have rape and torture warnings,
     you ask? Because I simply cannot do Supernatural without adding in
     the history, and there's too much there for them to ever be truly
     fluffy. Someday I'll be interested in doing AUs, but I hope you'll
     bear with me until then. I promise a happy ending, at least, and a
     well-earned one.
     Thanks a million to my alpha readers, nitpickers, and betas, the
     flailosaurs, especially saekhwa, alpacapanache, calypsid, and
     moriavis, and, as always when it's Supernatural, clavally. Thanks
     also to my artist, kuwlshadow, for not one, but two wonderful pieces
     of art, which you can find on_LJ, on_AO3, on_deviantart, or on
     tumblr.
     ETA: There is now a lovely podfic too, by accrues, [podfic]_Fake_It
     Till_You_Make_It
                                      ~~~
"Why do I have to decide which one of you to marry?" Cas asks, and Sam just
smiles as Dean's mouth drops open in disbelief.
Sam rolls his eyes and answers with, "You're the one getting married. Don't you
want to pick who your husband is going to be?"
"No." Cas grimaces. "Neither one of you is satisfactory husband material, so if
I must get married, you two can fight over who gets the privilege of marrying
me."
Dean's practically bug-eyed now, and Sam takes advantage of his slack-jawed
look of horror to say, "Rock, paper, scissors," and puts up his fist.
"No way," Dean says, focusing his attention back on Sam. "Sparring."
Sam agrees, and gives Dean one of his best smirks. That wipes the smile right
off Dean's face, and Sam raises an eyebrow to make the most of it.
They don't spar much anymore, and back when they did – years ago, now – Dean
always beat Sam. Not because he was actually better than Sam, though he's sure
that's what Dean thinks, but because Sam never brought out the big guns. He
wanted to learn from Dean's fighting style, and the very last thing he wanted
to do was give away his own tricks.
So Dean doesn't know that Sam trained at a mixed martial arts gym while he was
at Stanford. He doesn't know that Sam spent a lot of time learning how to
wrestle and make use of his long arms and legs. He doesn't know that Sam is
actually aware of the exact armbar to pull Dean's weak shoulder right out of
its socket.
Sam smirks a little harder.
"Oh, Sammy thinks he can take me," Dean crows, putting his fists up and dancing
around. He's such an idiot – he's a terrible boxer, and Sam can take a hell of
a lot of punishment in the form of blunt blows from Dean's fists – especially
since Dean would never go all out on Sam's ass unless he was in serious danger
of losing – which he won't know he is until Sam surprises him with it.
Sam just puts his hands up, flat handed, and blocks the first flurry of punches
before taking a jab on the chin. It throws his head back and he reels backwards
aways, out of reach of Dean's short arms. He debates letting Dean wear himself
out throwing punches, but they do actually have a fair amount to do before they
leave, and they can't be late.
It takes four more flurries and six landed punches for Dean to throw the one
Sam is waiting for: a haymaker with his left. Lightning quick, Sam leans back,
karate chops Dean's elbow, and has his arm chicken winged behind him and right
at the point of popping out of the joint. He almost wishes he could see Dean's
face – he's sure it's a priceless look of surprise. "Give up?"
Dean struggles and tries to throw Sam off, all completely expected, which is
good, because Dean would've thrown his own shoulder out of its socket if Sam
hadn't carefully followed his movements. Also expected is the pissy, "You
wouldn't."
Half an inch is all it takes for Dean to grumble, "All right, all right. You
can have Cas. I'll go stag." Sam releases his arm and feels a twinge of guilt
when Dean starts massaging the shoulder. At least until Dean says, "Neither one
of you would be believable as a single gay guy anyway," and Sam's left
wondering if that's supposed to be an insult.
On his way out of the main room, Dean tosses over his shoulder, "I'm a way
better lay, Cas. You don't know what you're missing."
"Fake married, Dean," Sam yells, but he knows Dean's flipping him off from the
hallway. Seriously, what the hell.
                                      ~~~
They leave after packing a couple of overnight bags and putting a call in to
Charlie for passports, credit cards, and two state rooms on the sold-out
Atlantis cruise leaving in four days.
They stop over at Charlie's long enough for her to invite herself along – since
Dean's room has an extra bed anyway. "Another set of hands never hurt," she
says as she throws her suitcase in the trunk. Sam even offers her shotgun,
sitting in the backseat with his soon-to-be-husband.
                                      ~~~
Shopping is a nightmare. Sam hates the whole idea of the kind of clothing
they're going to have to wear. Charlie gets the veto on all of their outfits –
all of Dean's, half of Sam's, and almost none of Cas's. Which is weird, because
Sam had really been expecting Cas to pull a muggle clothing nightmare out of
the racks of the ubiquitous department store they're in.
But Cas, it seems, has a knack for vacation clothes. Linen trousers that
Charlie rolls up so his ankles show, board shorts that aren't horrendous, and
polo shirts in pastels that set off his eyes. Charlie even approves his bathing
suit, which is barely enough material to cover him and leaves nothing to the
imagination.
"That's what they're all wearing in the pictures, Sam," Charlie says when she
nixes his fifth pair of trunks. "You have to flaunt it if you got it."
"I'm married," Sam says, throwing the trunks on the couch. "I don't have to
flaunt it."
"And that," Charlie says, "is why no one would ever believe you were gay if you
didn't have Cas."
He can hear Dean snickering under his breath, and in retaliation Sam gives a
hearty "Hah!" when Charlie sends him back to the racks looking for any clothes
that aren't made out of neon or garish Hawaiian prints.
                                      ~~~
Roughly half an hour after Charlie and Cas sit the Winchesters down on the
couch, asking their sizes and bringing back several outfits for them both to
try on, including speedos in a variety of colors and styles, Sam and Dean each
finally have a week's worth of vacation clothes, including a black fullish-cut
speedo for Sam and one not-completely-garish Hawaiian shirt for Dean.
Sam lets Dean check out and waves off their questions as he heads back into the
center of the store. He's not sure they'll have what he needs, but he hopes
there's something close.
                                      ~~~
They get to Miami late the night before the cruise leaves, and Sam's too tired
to make the kind of fuss he'd been planning to get Dean's goat. Instead, when
Dean and Charlie head out for a drink, he hands over the plain silver band he
bought.
"Here," he says, dropping it into Cas's palm. "We're going to need these if
people are going to believe we're married."
"Hmm," Cas answers, looking down at it. He stares at it a long time before he
says, "Thank you. This is thoughtful."
Sam shrugs and puts his own on his ring finger. It's heavy and weird, and it
freaks him out a little. "Wait," Cas says. "Give it here."
Sam takes it off and hands it over. It looks bigger, more real when Cas takes
it.
He piles them together in his palm, and then he looks at them. Looks through
them. Sam knows that look. "What are you doing?"
Cas smiles enigmatically and whispers a few words of Enochian over the cheap
metal. The bands glow blue briefly and settle down to a blue-tinged silver. Cas
holds out his hand and Sam stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before
Cas rolls his eyes and grabs Sam's left hand.
"With this ring, I thee wed," Cas says, slipping it on Sam's finger. There are
two distinct sensations, one a zap of electricity that Sam recognizes well
enough as spellwork – a quick glance at the ring flaring briefly blue confirms
it – and another that Sam remembers very well from when he realized he'd
married Becky while he was under a spell. He chokes down the disappointment
about his second marriage being just as fake as his first and takes the ring
Cas is offering him on an open palm.
Cas holds up his left hand and Sam takes it, almost deciding to play this off
as a joke, giving Cas a sideways grin and lining up something sarcastic to say,
but the intense look on Cas's face stops him. Maybe there's something in the
spell that requires the words. He schools his face and hopes Cas ignores the
way his hands are trembling when he slides the ring on. "With this ring, I thee
wed."
The spellwork flares again, hot enough to scorch his ring finger, and Cas
smiles up at him. "And what God has united, no man shall put asunder."
The sarcastic little smile slips out, then. He's pretty sure God doesn't want
anything to do with him or Cas, and there are a whole lot of men who could put
it asunder, himself first in line.
Still, it's more than Sam was expecting for a fake marriage just to be sure
they could get onto a gay cruise. It's just that he's gotten married twice now,
and he's always been a bit of a romantic – he'd wanted to do it once, the right
way, the flowers and the priest and the whole nine yards.
Sam chalks it up to being caught off balance about the impromptu wedding
ceremony that just happened in their shitty, ocean-themed motel room. That has
to be the only reason that Cas surprises him so thoroughly with a kiss, a solid
press of his lips against Sam's, not overtly sexual, but certainly not
platonic. He can feel the heat rise in his face; he's not one of those guys
that never sees it coming. Mainly because it only happens if he goes after it
aggressively.
Maybe that's it. Maybe he's never had someone kiss him first.
"Uh," he says, not moving because he's not exactly sure what he's supposed to
do with that. "You do realize we're only pretending to be married," Sam says,
"right?"
Cas looks up at him, squinting. "Yes."
Maybe the kiss was part of the spell too, then. He shakes it off and turns the
band on his finger a couple of times. "What does it do?"
"It's a tracking spell," Cas answers. "Tap the ring twice and you can tell
where I am, roughly how far, and I'll know you are looking for me."
Sam tries it – always best to test stuff like this before you need it – and is
rewarded with a warm feeling rising up in his chest that points straight at
Cas, thumping away like a heartbeat, steady and fast. "And it goes both ways?"
Cas nods. "Tap once to end the signal."
Sam does, and watches Cas curl his left hand into a fist and tap his ring
twice. There's a different feeling this time, something more urgent, and again
it points straight at Cas. He's not even sure how he knows, but if Cas were
miles away, he'd be able to run right to him.
"Nice. Thanks, Cas."
Cas smiles, genuine and happy, and it stops Sam in his tracks. Cas almost never
smiles, and never so uncomplicatedly. "You're welcome, Sam," Cas says. Sam
closes his eyes a little, tilts his head. He feels like he can almost hear
Cas's genuine happiness. "Is there anything else I should know?" Sam asks.
Cas's smile drops, and so does the feeling of happiness. There's a feeling of
regret, maybe. No, that's too strong; chagrin. "What?"
Cas clears his throat. "It's a side effect of the tracking spell," he says,
looking down at his left hand. "There's some emotional transference, sometimes,
between the bonded subjects."
Sam rolls his eyes. Of course there is. He makes a note to keep a lid on all
his strong feelings. "It's fine, Cas," he says, and smiles as he can feel Cas's
relief like a rapid in a river. "It's probably good anyway, while we're on the
cruise, to help keep an eye on each other."
Cas grins again, the bright happiness making Sam smile, too. "Thank you for
being my pretend husband."
Sam's not really sure how to answer that one, so he says, "I'm gonna hit the
hay. We have to be up and on the road by seven."
                                      ~~~
Sam wakes up when Charlie knocks on the door in the morning, probably looking
exactly as sluggish as he feels. Dean's up and dressed, but in regular clothes,
not the semi-stylish things they bought at the mall yesterday.
Charlie and Dean go off to get breakfast and Sam showers and puts on shorts and
a crazily tight-fitting t-shirt. Honestly, why not just go naked? Nothing is
left to the imagination. It seems to be a theme.
He stares at the mirror for a while, weirded out by what he looks like. Who is
this guy? He's gotten familiar with himself in suits, the FBI and other law
enforcement personas he uses, they're a part of him. This guy, though, he
doesn't know who this is, and it's a little disconcerting.
"Stand up straight," Cas says from behind him, and Sam jumps – he hadn't even
heard Cas come in.
He squares his shoulders. He hadn't even realized he'd been hunching. The man
in the mirror changes, a little more easy-going, a little more confident.
"I've always wondered why you don't stand up straight," Cas says. "Is it
because you think it makes you less intimidating?"
Sam shrugs. "I don't do it on purpose."
Cas hums thoughtfully. "Where are Dean and Charlie? We should leave soon."
Sam takes one last look in the mirror, still wondering who this guy is, and
turns to around to grab his stuff. He stops in his tracks. Cas is in white
linen pants, rolled up to expose his ankles, and a light blue polo shirt, and
boat shoes. His hair is artfully mussed, and he's wearing a pair of aviator
sunglasses. He looks like someone off the pages of a travel magazine. "Wow,
Cas. You clean up nice."
Cas tilts his head and Sam just laughs. "Never mind, it just means you look
good. Very gay, good job."
"Thank you," Cas says, dead serious. "You look sufficiently homosexual as well.
Let's get breakfast, husband."
Sam just laughs, packing up his clothes and toiletries into the rolling
suitcase they bought. It's weird, that suitcase, not something he's ever owned.
He had no need for anything but duffels and backpacks, and having a suitcase
makes him feel more like a normal person than he has in years.
Dean and Charlie get back with coffee and doughnuts – seriously, why Sam let
them get breakfast is beyond him. Still, he takes a doughnut – no reason they
should go to waste – and sucks down half his coffee in one go.
When Dean exits the bathroom, he's dressed similarly to Sam, shorts and a tight
t-shirt, and Charlie is dressed… well, like Charlie.
"Where is your costume, Charlie?" Cas asks.
Charlie smiles and hands Cas a doughnut. "I don't need a costume – I'm actually
gay."
Sam takes the cup of coffee Dean offers him and smiles at Cas's confused nod.
He has a feeling he'll be explaining that one to Cas later.
"Let's go," Dean says, "don't want to be late for your honeymoon."
"Ha ha," Sam says, at least until he gets a look at the sheepish look on
Charlie's face. "What did you do?"
She mumbles something and shrugs, and Sam stares at her harder. "What?" she
says. "The couple that had the honeymoon suite was doing some really bad stuff.
It's not my fault they got arrested off an anonymous tip."
Sam doesn't even want to know what she did to secure a room for her and Dean,
so he just shakes his head and leads the way to the car, playing jigsaw puzzle
with the luggage to get it and their regular bags to fit into the trunk.
                                      ~~~
The honeymoon suite is huge – perfect headquarters for their hunt. It's nice,
Sam supposes, though he's never been on a cruise before and isn't quite sure
what non-honeymoon accommodations look like.
He and Cas unpack, Cas carefully folding and hanging their clothes (weird –
this whole thing is just so weird) as Sam piles the reference books onto one of
the coffee tables in the living room.
He's just finished putting up the pictures and articles on the wall across from
the gigantic TV when there's a knock on the door and Charlie and Dean sweep in.
"Sweet!" Charlie says, scoping the place out and whistling when she sees the
gigantic tub, complete with bubbling jets. It's still not big enough to fit Sam
without him scrunching up a bit, but it's big enough that it might be worth a
try. "I'm coming over to borrow your tub," Charlie says, and Cas looks at Sam
like he's not sure that can actually be done.
"Anytime, Charlie," Sam says.
"So, let's go over this so I can get to the pool and start working on my tan,"
Dean says. "How many are we talking about here?"
Sam goes to the wall, looking over all the pieces he's collected. "There's no
way to know for certain," he says, but he points to the top row of young men
dating back to 1993. "Thirteen dead over twenty-two years, mostly in the first
decade. Once I realized they were connected, though," Sam points to the rest of
the wall, a huge map of overlapping social media posts, "I started looking for
other stuff, and found all these… weird things."
There are tales of losing time, of disorientation, of a deep sadness that took
months to shake off after the cruise.
"And?" Charlie asks. "It sounds like you have a theory."
Sam shrugs. "Not really. Some of the men that died were single and others were
in long-term relationships, even married in some cases, and the symptoms people
display afterward are all over the map. It's all guesswork, really."
"Well, at least Charlie's safe," Dean says, and she rolls her eyes. "But we
don't know what this thing is hunting – singles? Couples? And what's it looking
for?"
"Don't know," Sam says. "I can't find any connection between the vics except
this cruise and the fact that they're gay men – which, considering this cruise,
is hardly a news. Maybe Charlie can find something more substantial if she digs
into their histories more."
Charlie shakes her head. "I did not invite myself along on a cruise so I could
sit inside and hack Facebook."
"Of course not," Sam answers, giving her his best charming smile. "You can sit
at the pool and hack Facebook."
                                      ~~~
In the end, Charlie decides to hack in a deck chair overlooking the ocean. Cas
goes exploring and leaves Sam to wander down to the pool to see how Dean's
getting along.
There's a throng of guys in the shallow end of the pool, maybe picking teams
for water polo, since the nets are set up. Sam would join in, but he's not
feeling up to wandering around in his teeny tiny swimsuit yet.
It takes a minute to realize they're not picking teams. They're surrounding
someone, paying rapt attention, vying for his affection. Sam has a bad feeling,
and it only takes another minute before the crowd shifts and Dean becomes
visible at the center of the tempest. Sam sighs and rolls his eyes.
Of course Dean's holding court in the shallow end of the pool. Of course he is.
Sam just shakes his head and grabs a chair, opening the book he brought along
and using it as cover as he scopes out their surroundings. His eyes keep
returning to his brother, who is obviously getting pretty drunk in a hurry,
which scares the hell out of Sam because it takes a fifth for Dean to get a
buzz these days.
He decides he needs to protect Dean from himself and wanders over, crouching by
the side of the pool.
"Sammy!" Dean yells, wading through the crowd to meet him. There's a distinct
"aw shucks" sound from the guys surrounding him. "This is my brother, Sammy,"
Dean says, and all the faces surrounding him light up again. "None of that,"
Dean says, purposely misreading the looks, "he's married."
Sam can't help but roll his eyes again, but he waves hello to Dean's harem and
gives them a tight smile.
"Have a drink!"
"I think maybe it's time to lay off the drinks, Dean," Sam says, even though he
knows the straightforward tactic will never work. Dean calls him a party pooper
and his entourage makes loud noises of agreement. Dean pushes away from the
side of the pool, his followers closing the gap behind him.
Sam sighs. Looks like he's stuck at the side of the pool with Dean until Dean
passes out or gets bored. He grabs a lounge chair and pretends to read his
book.
"Must get tiring, being your brother's keeper."
Sam laughs. "Nah," he says, glancing up to see a young man, dripping wet and in
very little clothing grab the chair next to his, "usually he's my keeper, so I
don't mind."
"Oh really! I wouldn't have pegged you for a party boy." The man's eyes twinkle
and Sam would think he's being hit on except for how he's pretty sure the guy
had been one of Dean's groupies two minutes ago.
"Oh," Sam says, letting it all hang out because no one on this boat could
possibly understand what he and Dean are to each other or the way they keep
each other sane, "I'm not. That's not the kind of trouble he keeps me out of."
"I see." The guy looks chastened, and apologizes. He smiles through the
awkwardness and sticks his hand out. "Jing," he says, shaking Sam's hand
firmly. "Li Jing. Nice to meet you…"
"Sam," Sam answers, leaving the last name off. He doesn't want to fuck up any
story Dean might have going, and there's no way they're actually using the
aliases from their passports.
"Well Sam," Jing says, smiling, "I was actually going to try and use you to get
to your brother, but since I see you're pretending to read a Nightside novel,
maybe I'll just have to get to know you, instead."
                                      ~~~
Sam's pretty sure he's going to have to take Dean off this ship in a
wheelbarrow. It becomes obvious he was playing drunk when he climbs out of the
pool to hit the buffets, not wobbly at all. Sam should've known.
Dean eats roughly half his weight in rangoons before he even gets serious about
eating, and by the time he's packing away a huge dish of froyo, Sam's ready to
throw up just thinking about the amount of food he stuffed down his gullet.
He's always a little amazed that Dean hasn't started getting flabby with the
way he eats and doesn't exercise unless he's hunting down monsters. He's
actually starting to get worried for his brother's health, and the fact they're
old enough that it's a concern warms Sam's heart a little.
Cas joins them as Dean's eating dessert and Sam is swallowing his nausea,
ignoring a full plate of food that he spreads around with his fork and leaves
behind on the table when they get up to go back to the stateroom.
Charlie's napping on the couch when they get in. Dean picks up her legs, sits
down, and drapes them over himself. She wakes just enough to grin sleepily at
him and then snoozes a bit while they talk about what they saw on their first
foray in the wild.
Cas was on the staff, checking out anyone that'd been around since the
mysterious deaths started happening, which was, according to Charlie's notes:
three musicians, two nurses, two IT guys, five chefs, six bartenders, three
people in human resources, four below-decks workers, one porter roughly as old
as Cas, and the casino manager.
"None of them are supernatural in any sense," Cas says, "except I think the
porter might actually be Methuselah."
Sam rolls his eyes.
"Well, I don't know what the thing is looking for," Dean says, "but I talked to
about fifty different guys today and all I know for sure is that I'm a handsome
devil." He smirks at Cas. "It's probably good I didn't marry you, there's no
way Sam would've been that popular."
Sam sighs. He's really not in the mood for Dean's cutesy antics, and this whole
misadventure has made him a little melancholy, thinking of the marriage he'll
never get to have, not with they way their lives go. He looks down at his
wedding ring and twists the silver band a couple of times around his finger.
"Well," Charlie says, yawning and stretching, "The only connecting thread I
found was that the married guys were all having marital problems. Most of the
guys who died were being cheated on, some were married to workaholics, and
there was one guy that was screwing his way through the gay population of Miami
while his husband was in a coma."
It's a good catch. "What about the single guys?" Dean asks, and Charlie shrugs.
"They're typical single guys. Most of them dated a lot, a lot of them were on
Grindr. I don't know. Their social media all looked a little pathetic to me,
but what do I know about gay dude culture?"
Sam would venture to guess she knows more than she's letting on, but he keeps
his mouth shut about that. "Maybe the connection is that they were all lonely?"
Dean nods his head thoughtfully. "Damn, means none of us is really good bait."
Sam holds his tongue at that, too. He knows he's lonely, can feel in it the way
the wedding ring has become a comfortable weight on his finger and the way he
overreacted to his fake wedding ceremony. He's pretty sure Dean is lonely too,
but Dean's never been one for introspection and the fact that he has a lot of
temporary companionship makes him think he's not missing anything.
"Well, nothing to do but keep our eyes peeled," Sam says.
                                      ~~~
They hang out for a while, Dean poking through Dad's journal while Charlie
crosses things off on her iPad, Sam and Cas buried in reference books.
"Okay, that's enough of that," Dean says after a couple of hours. When Sam
glances at the clock, it's almost eleven. "I need a drink."
"And I need to go dancing," Charlie agrees. "Who's with me?"
"I don't think so," Sam says, and they all turn to Cas. It takes half a minute
of expectant silence before he looks up from his book.
"I don't dance," he says, and Charlie just grins at him.
"Neither does Dean, but that doesn't stop him making a fool of himself on the
dance floor."
"Hey," Dean says, "I am an awesome dancer," and Charlie pats his arm
reassuringly.
"It's okay, Dean," she says, steering him toward the door, "I'm not easily
embarrassed."
                                      ~~~
Sam takes over looking through Dad's journal, even though he knows it like the
back of his hand at this point, and he and Cas spend a couple of hours in
comfortable silence. Somewhere around two, he feels the tiredness creep in, and
he stands up to stretch.
"Bedtime," Sam says, wandering over to the bedroom door and staring at the bed
that's easily twice the size of what he's got back in the bunker. "What are you
going to do all night, Cas?"
"Will the light bother you if I continue to read?"
Sam can sleep through anything, and the idea of Cas staying in the suite all
night is strangely comforting.
"Nah," Sam says. "Wake me if you find a lead."
                                      ~~~
They go all over the ship in the next two days, making sure they have looked at
every single one of the public areas, most of them twice. If the admiring crowd
around Dean had been of the fairer sex, Sam's fairly certain he would've seen
half the staterooms, too.
But Dean's shy brushoff game is strong, and he never seems to lose any
admirers. He goes off with a guy or two at random intervals, and Sam's got to
admit he's impressed with the way he's leading on roughly two thirds of the
single population on the cruise.
Jing tends to find Sam for an hour or two in the afternoon if he's reading down
by the pool, and they make decent small talk for a while as Jing watches Dean
hungrily.
Sam spends his evenings watching shows. Charlie joins him for one concert but
mostly he goes alone. The second night, the music – Ella Fitzgerald, Benny
Goodman, Josephine Baker – hits him hard and he stares down at his wedding
ring, twisting it around his finger and thinking wistfully of his weird bonding
ceremony with Cas.
By the third day, they've exhausted all their avenues and have settled in to
nominally enjoy the rest of the cruise while they keep their eyes open for
anything weird.
Cas likes to walk the decks and stare out over the ocean, and Sam has a
thousand Titanic jokes about that, but they would just fall flat, so he keeps
them to himself.
It turns out Charlie is a gambler, and she spends a fair amount of her time in
the casino and the rest either in Sam and Cas's gigantic bathtub or hacking in
the deck chairs that run along both sides of the ship.
Dean doesn't give up his playboy routine and Sam can't tell if it's because
he's staying in character or if it's just habit at this point. His gaggle of
followers thins out some as they pair off with each other or just realize they
don't have a chance.
There are still enough to play water polo, though, and Sam is sufficiently
lulled into the culture that he puts on his itty bitty bathing suit and joins
in a game. He's a better swimmer than Dean, but Dean's better at treading. He
makes sure he's on Dean's team so they can take advantage of their relative
strengths. They trounce the other team handily, and Sam and Jing have a
friendly rivalry that ends up with a lot of dunking each other under water.
Cas comes down in his ridiculous linen pants and polo shirt and waits by the
bar for them to finish. Sam's still trying to dunk Jing one last time when Dean
gets out of the pool and makes a beeline for Cas, putting their heads together
over something or other on the bar.
"Damn," Jing says, treading water and staring at them. "Guess that ship has
sailed."
Sam chokes, pretending he got a mouthful of water when Jing looks over at him
sharply. He just shakes his head, smiling tightly. "That's my husband."
"Oh," Jing says, instantly apologetic. "Sorry, it just looks like… well…"
Sam smiles at Jing again, sighing. "Yeah. I know."
Sam turns and swims to the shallow end of the pool, grabbing a towel and drying
off as best he can before joining his brother and Cas, putting an arm around
Cas possessively. Dean's eyebrows shoot up and he looks up at Sam, following
the tilt of the head Sam gives to indicate they're being watched.
Jing wanders over, his grin turning wolfish. "Sam," he says. "You've never
introduced me to your husband."
Sam smiles widely, inclining his head at Jing. "Cas," he says, leaning in to
peck Cas's cheek, "this is Jing. Jing, Cas."
"Pleased to meet you," Cas says, holding out his hand and shaking Jing's
firmly. Jing's smile turns a little uncomfortable, and Sam smiles inside as he
thinks maybe Cas is shaking his hand with a little extra angel strength.
"What do you say about lunch, Cas?" Sam asks, and Dean grins because he never
passes up food.
"Sounds good," Cas says, linking his arm in Sam's. "Let's go to Pierre's."
"Ooh," Jing says, as Dean nods enthusiastically. "I haven't tried Pierre's, can
I tag along?"
Cas's smile disappears and he raises an eyebrow at Jing. "Of course," he says,
but it's not very inviting. "Sam and Dean have to change, why don't we meet
there in an hour?"
"An hour?" Jing laughs, his eyes twinkling as he meets Sam's. "Are you one of
those boys that tries on seven outfits before he goes out?"
Sam's about to laugh it off, make a comment about Dean's hair, but Cas says,
"No, he's just irresistible when he's wet and naked," and raises a hand to
Sam's neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
Sam swallows his surprise, careful not to let it show on his face. It's a sweet
kiss, almost tender, and Cas puts his other hand on Sam's neck too, cupping
Sam's jaw in his hands and tilting Sam's head to fit their mouths together
better.
He lets Cas lead the kiss, concentrating on anything except the way Cas has
pulled himself up Sam's body to press their chests together, or the way Cas's
thumb is stroking the fine hairs at the back of his neck, or why Cas knows this
much about kissing.
Jing's watching them closely when Sam finally squeezes Cas's arm and pulls
away. "I don't doubt it," Jing says, his voice surprisingly husky, despite the
playful leer he sends Sam's way. "I bet it runs in the family, too."
Now it's Dean's turn to raise an eyebrow and he finally turns to face Jing.
He'd been staring at Sam and Cas, the surprise on his face completely
transparent; luckily Jing hadn't been looking at him.
"Oh, you're not wrong," Dean says, his smile turning coquettish, "but our
little sister is back in my room, so maybe we can find out another time."
"I'm game whenever you are, honey," Jing says. Cas turns to look at him, his
eyes going ice cold. Sam yanks on his arm to pull him away from the bar before
he can say something that would blow their cover.
"Okay, see you at Pierre's," Sam says over his shoulder, shoving Cas along in
front of him.
                                      ~~~
Sam wasn't planning on taking a full shower when he got back to the room, but
Cas's obvious annoyance and the way his heart hasn't quite returned to normal
after Cas's kiss means he stands under the spray for a long time. He's a sucker
for hot water that doesn't run out and he removes his ring, setting it in the
soap dish. He's kept his feelings in check since the kiss, at least mostly, but
he needs to examine it, and he doesn't want Cas getting all that through the
ring. He takes a washcloth to his skin, absently soaping himself up while he
thinks about what happened back there.
Cas has always been weirdly possessive of them. He treats them like they're his
own personal humans, like he has some kind of claim on them. Sam wonders if
it's actually written somewhere, if there's a lien on their souls with Cas's
name on it.
"Sammy?"
Dean pounds on the door and Sam finishes up in a hurry, rinsing his hair under
the spray to try and get the worst of the chlorine out of it. He throws on the
outfit he'd picked out, shorts and one of the ubiquitous tight t-shirts, in
moss. He rolls his eyes and rushes out of the bathroom before Dean takes the
door off its hinges.
"Finally," Dean says, backing off into the living area. Charlie's looking bored
on the couch and Cas is pacing. He pauses long enough to give Sam a sour look
before he goes back the other direction.
"So what's up?" Charlie says. "Dean said something was fishy."
Sam looks up at Dean, surprised. Something's fishy? He hadn't thought anything
was fishy except Cas going overboard on the jealous act for Jing.
"There is something strange about Jing," Cas says. "I can't get a read on him."
Sam gives Cas a curious look, trying to figure out what he's talking about.
"What do you mean, 'a read'?" Sam asks.
"That bracelet he wears," Cas says. "Has he always worn it?"
Sam's always been one to notice jewelry. It's surprising how many secrets
people wear on their sleeves like no one will notice if it's just a pretty
bauble. "Yeah," he answers. "Hematite. He's worn it since I met him the first
day."
Cas nods. "It's interfering with my ability to read his thoughts."
Sam looks at his brother and Dean meets his eye. They both knew that Cas could
read minds, but Sam, at least – and it seems like Dean too – thought he
understood it was impolite. There are plenty of thoughts he wouldn't want Cas
hearing, and even more in this ridiculous situation. He debates picking up a
cheap hematite ring at the gift shop.
"I don't like it," Cas says.
Sam shakes his head. What has gotten into Cas? "It's fashionable. It's probably
just something he likes, or maybe it was a gift from someone special. He wears
that silver signet ring everywhere, too."
There's no way Jing is actually a threat – except maybe to Dean's gay
virginity. The thought that Cas is actually jealous is a weirdly persistent
thought, but it doesn't make any sense – until he remembers Jing shifting his
attentions from Sam to Dean and Cas's reaction to it.
"I don't like it," Cas repeats, a little petulantly.
Dean catches Sam's eye before he says, "It's probably nothing. Still," he says,
putting a hand on Cas's shoulder, "We should probably check it out, just in
case."
Sam can hardly believe his ears. All this over a hematite bracelet and Cas's
weird jealous outburst? Before he can even try to pull together an argument,
Dean unilaterally decides their next move, an annoying habit he has when he and
Sam are at odds on how to proceed with a case.
"Okay, tell you what – Cas and I can toss his room while you're at lunch. Keep
him busy." Charlie immediately picks up her tablet and starts tapping away.
"What? No!" Sam's anger rises swiftly out of nowhere. "You keep him busy at
lunch – he has a crush on you, not me. He only got to know me as a way to get
to you."
"Oh, I don't think so, Sammy," Dean says. "Not the way he was watching you and
Cas."
"That doesn't matter, Dean! I'm supposed to be married, and he's been watching
you like he wants to eat you alive all week!"
Sam looks to Cas for support, but Cas shakes his head. "Dean wouldn't be able
to keep up a conversation long enough for us to investigate. It's best if you
keep him busy at lunch."
Sam wants to protest, say that Dean's kept fifty or more guys on the hook for
three whole days, but Charlie pipes up with, "His suite is 623. I'll go with
you guys."
Sam's left standing in the middle of the room as the three of them file out the
door without a second glance. He throws his hands up and follows them out,
headed for Pierre's and trying to think up excuses for Dean and Cas.
                                      ~~~
Jing doesn't seem surprised to see Sam alone for lunch, and doesn't say
anything when Sam tells the waiter it will be two instead of four. He knuckle
punches Sam on the arm with his signet ring when Sam mentions he's never
participated in a pride parade, though, and it stings. Sam rubs his arm,
passing his thumb over the sore spot.
They order fancy drinks with lunch and Sam's feeling a little punchy after two.
He's a little surprised that two designer cocktails can make him tipsy, but
he's having too good a time with Jing to care.
The conversation turns serious somewhere in the middle of the third cocktail,
which Sam is drinking along with his sinfully delicious chocolate mousse
dessert. "So where are your husband and brother really?" Jing asks, softly, and
with enough sympathy in his eyes that Sam knows he thinks they're off
cuckolding him.
"Somewhere else," Sam says, which is as honest as he can be in the
circumstances.
"Together?" Jing asks.
Sam nods, staring down into his drink.
"Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry. You don't deserve that."
Sam shrugs one shoulder. "Dean knew Cas first. He's always sort of thought of
him as his."
"But he married you," Jing says, putting his hand on top of Sam's. It's a warm
and pleasant weight.
Sam shrugs again. "Only because Dean lost the arm-wrestling match." That's
probably too close to the truth, but he follows it up with a sincere enough
laugh. Jing joins him, so that's probably good enough.
"It's his loss, though," Jing says, stroking his thumb over the back of Sam's
hand. "You're magnificent, Sam. I wouldn't trade you for a hundred of your
brother."
Sam laughs again. "You've been staring at him all week. I know you like him
better than me."
"No way," Jing says, lifting Sam's hand and putting their palms together. "He's
gorgeous, sure, but so are you. And you're not an asshole or a husband-stealer.
You're a good man, Sam."
Sam shakes his head, a sad smile flickering on his face for a moment. "No, I'm
really not."
Jing shrugs a little, raises an eyebrow. "I think you are, mostly. But how
about a little tit for tat? I don't mind being used for revenge." He interlaces
their fingers and tugs on Sam's arm until he lets Jing bring their hands up to
his lips. He puts Sam's first two fingers into his mouth, swiping his tongue
over the pads of Sam's fingertips.
Sam is instantly hard. He hasn't fooled around with a guy since college, but he
hasn't had sex with anyone since Amelia, either. Over two and a half years. He
hasn't really missed it that much, but he hasn't had an appealing opportunity
since then, either, at least until now.
"What do you say we go back to my room?" Jing asks, his voice low, and his
ankle rubbing Sam's. He looks down pointedly at Sam's ringless left hand.
"Don't tell me you didn't leave that behind on purpose."
Sam looks at his hand, trying to remember where the hell he left his ring. In
the shower, oh god, why is he an idiot?
Jing presses his cheek into Sam's palm, and Sam can't help the way everything
completely falls apart. Why not? he thinks. It's not like he and Cas are really
married. It's not like any of them will even notice Sam is missing for a couple
of hours.
"Yeah, okay," Sam says, rubbing his knuckles over Jing's jaw as he withdraws
his hand. "I'd like that."
                                      ~~~
Sam's feeling unsteady on his feet by the time they get to the endless
stateroom hallways. He'd been planning to lead them back to the honeymoon
suite, give the rest of them more time to search, but Jing takes his hand and
gently guides him somewhere else.
They pass through to an area he's never seen. The room number placards look
different, though Sam can't really put his finger on what the difference is.
His mind is swimming, and he's wondering if maybe drinking mostly whiskey and
beer means his tolerance for other types of alcohol is really low. It makes a
certain kind of sense in his fuzzy brain.
He can't remember what Jing's stateroom number is supposed to be either, which
is weird because normally his memory is a steel trap. They finally get to
Jing's door and Sam has to lean against the wall while he waits for Jing to
open it up.
The room is different from his; more like a one-room apartment than a hotel
room. He chalks it up to his room being the honeymoon suite and nearly trips
over a chair as he moves further into the shadowy apartment. Jing takes his
hand, leading him carefully around the chair and then pressing him down into
it, leaning down to kiss his cheek.
"I have to say," Jing says, smiling down at him, "you're quite the mystery."
Sam can't remember how many times women have said that to him. He never pulled
it off as well as Dean did, but he could manage well enough to get laid if he
really wanted to.
"Not really that interesting," Sam says, or at least, he thinks he does. He's
begun to slur his words. It's starting to get worrying; the last time they went
out for Mexican, he'd had more margaritas than this and still been practically
sober.
"Oh, but you are, darling," Jing says, kneeling between Sam's legs, pressing
them open. Sam's heart leaps up into his throat. He's more turned on than he's
been in years, just from the thought of a real person touching him.
There's a soft snick sound as iron bands come out from recesses in the chair to
capture Sam's hands and feet.
He's motion sick with the emotional gearshift. Fear's there, in the background
as always, but anger's in the forefront – at Jing, for being a damn monster,
but also himself, for being so stupid.
Jing stands up, letting his fingers trail down Sam's thighs as he does. "Quite
the constitution, too. I was starting to think the drugs weren't working." He
twists his signet ring off and tosses it on top of a dresser. "I've never had
someone take three doses and still be vertical."
Sam's not sure if he should be proud or mortified. How stupid could he have
been? Cas might have been acting out of jealousy, but Dean's instincts are
almost never wrong.
"Normally, when I stalk my prey," Jing says, going straight into monologuing
villain mode, which Sam appreciates as he tests the strength of his restraints,
"I can figure out who is the loneliest just by observation." He runs his
fingers up Sam's arm and over his shoulder. "Dean is so obvious. I've never
seen someone so starved for attention."
Sam can't help a soft huff of air that might be a laugh if the situation was
different.
"Then I talked to you – and you were even lonelier than your brother! But you
weren't going after any of the fresh meat that was out there. Most married
couples who come on the cruise are in trouble, you know. One of them is usually
cheating. I knew it wasn't you – not the way you were looking after your
brother – so I thought maybe you weren't lonely because you and Dean had each
other, and your husband was off sowing his wild oats." He runs his fingers
through Sam's hair, tucking it behind his ears. Sam shivers, half in disgust,
half still in leftover desire that his body can't seem to shake, despite the
current situation.
Sam mumbles something incoherent; he and Dean do have each other, in ways no
one else could ever understand, and right at that moment he misses Dean
intensely. He knows Dean will find him, won't stop looking until they've tossed
the entire boat, but he's sorry Dean will have to do it. He's a moron for not
trusting Dean's instincts about Jing.
"I couldn't figure you out, at least until I met your 'husband.'" Jing uses
enough sarcasm for Sam to practically see the air quotes. "He doesn't give a
shit about you, you know."
Sam shakes his head. He has to keep Jing talking, hopefully draw him out and
buy some time for Dean, Cas, and Charlie to try and find him.
"Yes he does."
"I don't believe that for a second," Jing says. "When he kissed you, you should
have seen the look of surprise on your face – and then how you fell right into
it. You're definitely still in love with him. Even when he and your brother are
fucking right under your nose." He tuts loudly, like he can't believe Sam
hasn't figured it out. "Is that why you were watching your brother so closely?"
Sam lets his head hang forward. It's too much effort to keep it upright. Why
had he been keeping an eye on Dean? He can't remember now.
"What the hell kind of name is Cas, anyway?" Jing sneers, completing his
circuit of touching Sam inappropriately by pushing the sleeve of Sam's t-shirt
up onto his shoulder and examining his biceps.
It's an angel name, Sam thinks, and then it hits him – he can pray to Cas. He
starts a mantra. Cas, it's Jing, you were right, come find me. He closes his
eyes and concentrates as Jing continues on his list of Cas's faults.
"He is a total freak. He looks like he's missing emotions altogether. Except
maybe possessiveness. Man, the look on his face when I tried to proposition
Dean! Like I'd just picked up one of his best toys without permission."
Sam can't help laughing. They are Cas's, as much as he's theirs and they're
each other's. They're family, Charlie too, and there's no way to try to explain
that to Jing, not that he really cares.
Please help me, Cas, I need you to find me.
"It sucks, though," Jing says, circling around behind Sam, "because normally I
can get laid first. Usually it intensifies the loneliness and guilt." He rubs
his fingers over the crook of Sam's elbow and Sam's skin crawls. "But you
obviously don't feel guilty about cheating on Cas. Maybe you two have some kind
of understanding. And having sex might actually alleviate your loneliness, so
sorry, no blowjobs for you."
Jing leans down and kisses the top of Sam's ear, whispering right into it. "My
loss," he says. "You don't know how appealing you are, Sam, truly."
Please, Cas, come find me.
"What are you?" Sam asks. He can feel unconsciousness looming, a tsunami of
gunmetal grey pulling at his thoughts, pulling him under. He sends out one
last, desperate prayer before he succumbs.
Please, Cas. Hurry.
                                      ~~~
Sam can't quite get the feelings separated out. He's happy for Dean and Cas, of
course he is. Just seeing them look at each other makes him happy for them. The
pity party he's having for himself, well. That's just dumb. Dean has Cas now;
Sam is free to go live his own life, to try and carve out some piece of
happiness for himself.
The honeymoon is two long weeks of Sam wandering the bunker, waiting for texts
or photos from the happy couple, and getting nothing. He debates calling, but
it's their honeymoon. They deserve to be alone for a while.
He tries to find a hunt to distract him, but everything is quiet. He catches up
on a bunch of TV, takes long runs every day, and volunteers at a soup kitchen.
He calls Charlie and Garth and Jody and even Mrs. Tran. All of them sound
either exasperated with him or pitying. He's not sure which he finds worse.
He takes on a thirty day yoga challenge in ten days, starts training for a
triathlon, and re-re-organizes the books in the library's collection.
When Dean and Cas don't come back after the honeymoon, claiming they found a
case on the way home, Sam tries to be thankful they're still hunting. Then the
hunt takes ten days and they don't call him even once to give an update or ask
him to help with research.
At some point in the next several weeks, it becomes obvious that Dean and Cas
are never coming back. Sam wrestles with leaving the bunker for a long time. On
one hand, the idea that he could hang it up, go back out in the world and try
to make something out of his life is appealing. On the other, it's terrifying.
He's been a monster for so long, he doesn't know how to be a regular guy
anymore – if he ever did. And he would feel guilty, shutting the bunker back
down and burying all the knowledge again. For a place that he resisted for so
long, it feels like home.
He keeps busy, keeps himself fit, organizes everything multiple times over,
starts writing his memoirs, and misses his brother and Cas like an ache. He
calls them every week, but they've stopped answering.
                                      ~~~
Desperation has been a part of his life for a very long time. Sam knows that
feeling down to his bones. Despair is different, though, and it sets in after a
few months, after he's given up trying to call anyone. He hasn't reached a
single person since Cas and Dean's honeymoon, and if he was more of a
conspiracy nut, he'd think maybe they organized this, this isolation that's
worse than being tied down in Bobby's basement, worse than being left in the
mental hospital. Here, he is completely and utterly alone, which is maybe the
way it should be, he thinks, so he can't sully anyone else.
He's not a quitter by nature. It's just that he's done everything he can do. He
has done as much good in the world as is possible for him on his own, he has
tried to make amends for the things he's done wrong, and everyone he loves is
happy without him. Maybe it's time. He deserves a rest too, a real rest that
isn't this constant lonely ache. At least in Heaven he can go to the Roadhouse
and meet up with Ash and Jo and Ellen and Pamela, and maybe they can track down
Bobby, Kevin, and everyone else he's lost on the way.
He takes his time planning it. If there's one thing he has, it's time. No one
will ever come to check on him, no one will call him, no one will even miss him
when he's gone. But he doesn't want to leave a mess, so he debates the many
ways to kill himself so Cas and Dean don't come back to a bunker smelling of
rotting dead guy. If they ever come back.
There's the obvious solution, kill himself offsite, somewhere he'll be found.
He doesn't like that idea, though, because he won't be buried properly, and the
last thing he wants is to be stuck here in the afterlife, too.
In the end, he decides on a tub of gasoline and salt, lit right before he
shoots himself. He may want to be sure he's salted and burned, but he has no
plans to die by fire.
With uncanny timing, Dean and Cas come back as Sam is filling the tub with
salt. "What's going on, Sammy?" Dean says, like he hasn't been absent from
Sam's life for the last six months, no sign of him anywhere. Cas just stares at
him, tilting his head like Sam is a creature he will never understand.
"Nothing." Sam doesn't know what Dean sees when he looks at the tub half full
of salt and the four five gallon gas containers, but he doesn't particularly
care. Dean and Cas are home. He sets aside the salt to hug his brother. "How
long are you staying?"
"That depends," Dean says, patting his back soothingly. "Were you about to do
something stupid, Sam?"
Sam is pretty sure it's the antithesis of stupid; he's not spontaneous by
nature. He's thought through all the consequences of his actions, and made sure
absolutely every contingency has been taken care of. "No," Sam answers
honestly.
"Really?" Dean says, still holding on to Sam's arm, like Sam might pull away,
and ha ha, that's a funny joke. Sam hasn't been touched by another human being
in months and he's not about to complain if Dean wants to cling a little.
"Because it looks to me like you're planning on killing yourself."
                                      ~~~
The first day with Dean and Cas is one of the most perfect in his recent
memory. Dean cooks lunch for them, telling stories of their hunts with Cas
interjecting little details from time to time.
Sam can't help watching the two of them work together, a perfect team in the
kitchen, Cas knowing what Dean wants and handing it to him before he even asks.
Dean's smile is contagious, and Sam thinks maybe he could be happy like this.
Just watching the two of them be content together, he could make that work for
him.
                                      ~~~
Two days later, Sam's pretty sure he's completely fucked. Watching the happy
couple has become a pastime, and they don't seem to mind. Cas will catch him
staring and smile at him, like he knows that Sam's happy for them, and that
pleases him. Cas goes out of his way to include Sam in things, talk to him
about texts that are in the library and creatures they have never hunted but
that Cas knows exist in the world.
The problem is, Sam already liked Cas before. Their friendship has grown
steadily over the years, despite the bumpy road, and Sam appreciates Cas's
honesty and compassion. What they have is different than what Cas has with
Dean, but Sam's always put that down to the fact that the two idiots were in
love and Dean was a moron about it. He was never envious of Dean, or jealous of
their relationship.
Now, though, he has to look away when Cas settles a hand on Dean's waist, or
when Dean leans in and plants a sloppy kiss on the side of Cas's mouth. It's
not that he's lonely, which he is, or that he's touch-starved, which he also
is. He doesn't just want to be touched, he wants to be touched byCas, and he's
pretty sure that makes him the worst person in the history of humankind.
When he sits alone in his room and thinks about it, he realizes that maybe he's
been falling in love with Cas for a long time. Maybe he's just as much of an
idiot as Dean was, and Dean finally woke up and now Sam's lost his chance.
He tries to tell himself it doesn't matter, that Cas always preferred Dean
anyway, but it doesn't take the edge off the feeling of loss, or lessen the
loneliness that gets worse every time he looks at them.
He wouldn't allow himself to get between them, there's no way he would ever try
to have Cas for himself, wouldn't have even if he'd figured it out before Dean
did. But sometimes he wonders if maybe they could share Cas, if he could be
more to them than just Dean's brother. He knows how Dean would feel about that,
though, so he tries not to let himself think about it seriously.
There are fantasies, though. Sam as part of their intricate dance in the
kitchen; curled up together in front of the TV, Cas's and Dean's heads in his
lap; napping together, all of them curled around each other, Sam in the middle,
warm and loved and…
He stops staring at them.
                                      ~~~
You're a sick son of a bitch. Dad's voice rings in his head, but Sam has lived
with the disapproval of John Winchester for most of his life, it's not like it
stings that much more now, just because he's in love with his brother's
husband. He's not sure if it's more or less fucked up that he wants to be
included in Dean's marriage instead of trying to break them up so he can have
Cas for himself.
Sam experimented a little in college, to see if maybe he could go that way, but
he's never been one for one night stands, and there's a surprising amount of
technical skill involved with fucking men.
Sam never fell in love with a guy, so after the third attempt at a fun night of
drunken messing around was a bust, he gave up on it. He figured it just wasn't
his thing. The problem is, he loves Cas. And he loves his brother. And the two
of them have loud, enthusiastic sex a couple of hallways down from Sam's room,
and Sam's always had a vivid imagination.
                                      ~~~
The sex noises are the worst. Cas and Dean are loud, and the bunker echoes, and
even with loud music and headphones, Sam can't drown them out. And part of him
doesn't want to – he hasn't been sexually aroused in months, and this is the
most alive he's felt since well before the two of them got married. He tries
not to think about how pathetic it is that the only way he can feel good any
more is to pretend his brother and his brother's angel might take him into bed
with them. That's fucked in the head so many ways Sam can't even count them
anymore.
                                      ~~~
One day Sam doesn't leave the room fast enough when Cas bends Dean over the
table, and he ends up stopping in his tracks, staring, watching Cas open Dean
up slowly with fingers, Dean cussing and sweating and bitching for Cas to
justget on with it already. That's Sam realizes he doesn't just want to make it
a threesome because he couldn't bear to break Dean's heart, but because he
actually wants to fuck Dean six ways from Sunday.
Sick son of a bitch, his father's voice says, and Sam doesn't disagree. He'd be
nauseous if he wasn't already tied up in knots with how he'd accidentally
fallen for his brother's husband when he wasn't paying attention. This is
basically like adding a kick to the balls on top of feeling like he has the
world's longest-running case of food poisoning.
Something Sam does catches Cas's attention and he looks over, disgust written
all over his face.Are you coveting your brother?Cas's voice rings in his mind,
and Sam's suddenly terrified of Cas's holy wrath in a way he hasn't been since
the day they first met.
It would be a relief, though, for Cas to smite him and get it over with, an end
to this torture that is somehow more twisted than all the crap Lucifer did to
him while he was in the cage. No one has ever been able to devise more elegant
tortures for him than the random chance of his life.
So Sam nods. Yeah, Cas, I'm coveting my brother. What are you going to do about
it?
The surprise on Cas's face is perfection. Sam hopes that it leads to smiting
fairly quickly, though, because if Dean figures out what's going on and shows
his disappointment, it wouldn't just be Sam's heart that broke into a million
pieces, it'd be his soul.
                                      ~~~
At some point Dean figures it out. Or Cas tells him. Or maybe Cas actually
hears Sam when he mentally bitches about them. But they head out on the road
again, on hunts together, without Sam – he never gets invited – but only a few
weeks at a time. They're sure to come back every week or two and Dean looks Sam
up and down like he's checking to see if Sam's finally fallen over the edge of
insanity.
Once that's done, it's back to ignoring Sam in favor of raiding the kitchen
(which, because Sam is a fucking masochist, he keeps stocked with all of Dean's
favorite things), making out with Cas on the couch – almost always in the same
room as Sam – or sex. Sometimes in a bedroom, sometimes over a desk, without a
whole lot of prep time for Sam to get up and leave.
Sam's twisted up, not sure which hurts worse, Dean and Cas flaunting their
relationship in his face or them leaving him to be utterly alone for weeks at a
time. Then he realizes the worst thing is the way Cas now looks at him with
undisguised disgust. He never does it when Dean's there (and Dean's made it
abundantly clear that he only comes around because Sam's his obligation, and
Sam killing himself would make Dean feel bad), but Sam's caught it a couple of
times, the look of someone who's stepped in something nasty and wants to get it
off their shoe. He wonders if maybe Cas is the one that's turned all their
friends against him, why Aaron and Donna and Charlie won't call him back. It
makes him sick to even think it.
He can't kill himself, because that would make Dean feel guilty, but that's all
he wants to do whenever he sees Cas, and the absolute disdain he has for Sam.
He starts avoiding the common rooms when Dean and Cas are in the bunker,
waiting until he hears them having sex to take quick runs to the kitchen or
bathroom.
After a while, they stay away longer and longer, their timing eerily accurate
to when Sam has forgotten just how awful it is when they're in the bunker with
him. As soon as he remembers, they're out the door again, and Sam gets a day or
two of thankful relief before the loneliness sets in even worse.
                                      ~~~
Sam wakes up from his nap, particularly groggy, and he goes into the kitchen to
make some tea. He stares down into the sink, the single plate and fork he'd
left the night before, and can feel the emptiness shift just underneath his
skin.
He takes his phone out of his pocket, going to recent contacts and looking at
Dean's number for a long time. He calls it, finally, because Dean would want
him to, or at least Dean would say he wants Sam to, despite the feeling that
Sam gets that he's a nuisance and a burden and just something in Dean's way.
"You know what to do," Dean's voicemail tells him, and Sam hangs up before the
beep.
He scrolls down a little ways and finds Cas's number, calling that one too,
because the way the loneliness is creeping up on him is dangerous, and Dean's
made him promise to call before it gets as bad as it did before.
The voicemail message starts with what sounds like a scuffle with Cas cussing
Dean out as background noise, and then there's a crack that sounds like the
phone has been dropped. Cas calls Dean an incorrigible child before his voice
gets close to the phone again. "I am preoccupied because Dean Winchester is an
ass," Cas's voice says, "so please leave a message and I will return your call
after I have appropriately –"
"Whoa, Cas, too much information," Dean's voice says, and then Cas is cursing
in the background again. "He'll call you back." Beep.
Sam pulls the phone away from his face, determined to end the call, but the
message is already recording, so he thinks better of it. "Cas, it's Sam."
This is stupid, he thinks.
"This is stupid. Never mind. Hope you guys are good. Check in when you get a
second."
He hangs up and sets the phone down next to the sink, staring down at his
single plate, evidence of his empty home and his empty life and his utter
meaninglessness. Hopelessness rises in him like bile and Sam picks up the plate
and throws, the crisp clatter of it hitting the wall and shattering into jagged
pieces soothing for just a moment as his anger takes over. It shifts back to
sadness almost as soon as the shards fall, though, and then he turns his back
on the sink, empty now, like his life, like his home, and then he's sliding
down the cabinets to sit on the floor.
He stares at the sharp-edged pieces of the plate and picks one up, turning it
over and over in his hands before setting the edge on the thin skin of his
wrist.
As he scrapes the edge up his arm, he prays. I'm in trouble, Cas. I need you.
He watches the blood well up on his arms, apologizing to Cas now. There's no
way for them to get here before Sam bleeds out, so he knows he's leaving them a
mess to clean up, but they'll finally be able to move on with their lives
without him weighing them down. His left hand shifts involuntarily, twitching,
and when he looks down at it, wondering what might have caused it, he realizes
there's a ring on his fourth finger. A wedding band.
Sam stares down at it for a long time, wondering where the hell it came from.
He's never been married, but the ring tugs at something in his memories.
"Sam!"
Charlie's voice echoes through the bunker, and Sam looks up, trying to figure
out where it came from. "Charlie?" he croaks, his voice rusty from disuse.
"Where are you?"
"Sam, wake up! You're dreaming!" Sam's whole body shakes like a rag doll, some
invisible force gripping his shoulders. Understanding dawns on him. He's
trapped in his mind.
The ring is real, though, and he clenches his hand around it, concentrating on
the pain in his arms, letting it wake him up.
                                      ~~~
Sam blinks his eyes open. He's staring down at his left hand, still cuffed in
the chair, but with his wedding ring on it. A quick glance around the room
shows him Charlie, crumpled in a heap on the floor, leaning awkwardly against
the opposite wall – unconscious at best, dead at worst – and Jing standing over
her.
Please don't let Charlie be dead, he thinks, tapping his ring twice against the
chair and praying to Cas desperately. Charlie's down, Cas, please hurry. Warmth
rises in his chest and he can feel Cas, two decks above him and three hallways
over.
"Well, well, well," Jing says, stalking over to him. "I thought the little
sister was a lie. That's unfortunate for you."
Two hallways over, flying down the stairs.
"Especially because she seems to be a hunter – which means likely you and your
brother are, too."
One hallway over, still coming at a dead run.
Jing crosses his arms as he comes to stand in front of Sam. "But what about
Cas? What is he?"
Four doors down. Two. Sam smiles, appreciating the opportunity for a dramatic
entrance as he says, "He's an angel of the lord," half a second before Cas
smites the door into a million pieces.
"What?!" Jing says, his mouth open in outrage. It's the last thing Sam sees
before Cas's hand closes over his eyes – though he can see the light from Cas
smiting Jing through it anyway.
"Are you okay, Sam?" Cas asks as he releases Sam's eyes and starts to examine
Sam's cuffs.
"Charlie," Sam croaks, nodding his head her direction. Cas leaves him to go
check on her, his cell phone already out and dialing. Sam recognizes the sound
of the speed-dialed number: Dean.
"She's okay," Cas says, and then, into the phone, "Dean. Staff quarters, room
C927."
                                      ~~~
The trip back to their suite is mostly a blur. Cas carries Charlie and Sam
leans on his brother, and they move as quickly as they can.
It's not that Sam doesn't appreciate the rescue, but smiting is hardly a subtle
way to open a door, and people tend to come running when things explode like
that, so there's no time for hanging around and cleaning up.
Dean dumps him unceremoniously on the bed, stopping long enough to take the
shoes off his feet before shooing him up and under the covers. Cas sets Charlie
down next to him, and Sam reaches a hand out to cup her face. Her color looks
good.
"Sleep, Sam," Cas says, putting two fingers on his forehead, and Sam's out like
a light.
                                      ~~~
Sam wakes some time later, the room dark except for the moonlight shining in
through the window. He can hear low rumbling from the other room that sounds
like Dean and Cas talking, though it could just be the TV.
Charlie is still sleeping and Sam brushes her hair away from her face. He's
still a mess, he can tell, his mind high and broken and drunk and desolate all
at the same time, but seeing Charlie breathing steadily heals something in him.
                                      ~~~
He's still alone in the bed with Charlie the next time he wakes, but this time
she is awake and watching him, concern apparent in her eyes. He smiles at her,
just so happy to see her eyes open and tracking that he has nothing to say.
That is not the case with Charlie.
"Are you okay, Sam?" she asks, and he smiles broadly at her, not laughing,
because it's Charlie, and he's just so happy that she's here and whole that he
can't laugh at her expense, even when things are relatively safe.
"I'm fine, Charlie," he says, and when she pets his hair, he closes his eyes
and lets himself enjoy her attention. She's always got on with Dean better, but
Sam loves her like a sister, too. She just has more in common with Dean.
"You were calling for them," she says, as her hand moves from stroking his hair
to petting his face. "Dean and Cas. You were moaning their names."
"Hmm," Sam hums, not really understanding what she's talking about but
appreciating being touched by another warm human being enough to play along so
she keeps going.
"Sam," Charlie says, more sternly. Sam opens his eyes to look at her. He's
still got something in his system, because despite her motherly tone, he can't
think of anything but how happy he is that she's here and alive and close
enough for him to touch, even if he's not doing any of the touching.
"Charlie," he says, and he can hear the difference in his voice, the soft
tenderness that offsets Charlie's annoyance, and it amuses him. She's safe.
He's alive. In the overall scheme of things, this is a home run.
"Sam, I'm serious," Charlie says, shifting her hand to his chin and shaking it,
like he's a bad dog. He winces and she lets his chin go, making a brief,
apologetic face.
"I know," he says. He gets it. She's concerned… about something. But he can't
care. Everyone he loves is alive and whole, and Charlie is here, putting her
hands on his face and he can't stop smiling.
"Sam," Charlie says, clearly exasperated. "I'm worried about you."
Sam tries to shake his head but that makes it feel like his brain is sloshing
around in his skull, so he stops. "I'm fine," he says. "Just a little high."
"No," Charlie says, and her annoyance has turned to upset, for some reason. Sam
brings a hand up to rest on her arm. He doesn't want her to cry. "Sam, you
sounded so lost. What were you dreaming?"
Sam can feel himself resisting the thought of that made up world. He knows
things were bad in there. "It's not important," Sam says. "You brought me out
of it. That's all that matters."
Charlie goes back to petting his hair. "I think it was the ring that brought
you out of it," she says, "but I suppose being the one to put it on you gives
me a little bit of credit." She curls his hair around his ears, smiling softly
at him.
He closes his eyes and revels in it, someone touching him without malicious
intent – he can't even remember how long it's been.
Sam opens his eyes to look at her. He can't exactly parse what she's saying so
he keeps staring at her until she sighs and starts talking.
"Why do you think the djinn picked you?"
Sam wants to tell her that he picked Dean first, but she's on a roll and she's
not going to stop for him now.
"You have Dean, and he has you. How can you be lonely?"
Sam looks away; he can't meet her eyes. He doesn't have Dean. He hasn't had
Dean for a long time. He can't figure out how to break through Dean's barriers
anymore. It hasn't been easy for him for years, and the longer it goes, the
further away Dean feels.
He can't begin to tell her how long he has missed Dean, how long it's been
since he's had his brother truly, honestly, by his side, and how much longer
it's been since he's felt Dean wanted him there beside him. It feels too much
like obligation these days, too little like the easy way he's always loved
Dean, the way Dean's always been his entire world.
And that's not even thinking of Cas.
"Oh, Sam," Charlie says, and the way her voice cracks makes his heart break.
"You have to fix it."
Sam smiles at her ruefully. There was a time when Dean would've reached out,
however tentatively, and they could've found a way to make it right. Dean
doesn't do that anymore, though, and Sam's been slapped down so many times when
he made the effort that he's not sure he can do it again.
He can't stand the way Charlie is looking at him, either, though, so he says,
"I'll try," and closes his eyes, letting himself sink back into the
painlessness of sleep.
                                      ~~~
Laughter wakes him next. Charlie's laughter, to be specific, bright and
cheerful and echoing out of the bathroom between splashing sounds. He can hear
the low rumble of Dean's voice, too, probably telling Charlie dirty jokes to
make her laugh.
He tries to roll up to sitting, but his body's having none of it. Even the
smallest movement makes his stomach clench and he freezes, trying to get the
nausea under control. He closes his eyes, breathing in and out slowly, and
after a few moments of uncertainty, manages to get everything back to
relatively calm.
"Sam."
Cas's voice comes from the end of the bed and Sam opens his eyes slowly,
leaving them half-mast until they focus on Cas. "Cas," he croaks, swallowing a
few times before trying again. "What's up, Cas?"
It's not quite as lighthearted as he'd like, but he likes to think Cas'll cut
him some slack after having been fed on by a djinn for who knows how long.
"How long was I gone?"
"Two days," Cas says, coming around the bed to stand next to it. "How are you
feeling?"
"Like crap," Sam answers, closing his eyes to get his vertigo under control.
"Sounds like Charlie's feeling better, though."
"Charlie's wounds were physical. I healed them in an instant."
Sam tries to smile, though it feels pretty weak. "That sounds ominous." When
Cas doesn't answer him, he cracks an eye open, sorry he did when he sees the
solemn look on Cas's face. "What?"
"Your wounds are of the soul, Sam. I can't heal them."
Sam's a little taken aback at that, his body physically reeling, and then he
regrets it as the nausea comes back. He closes his eyes again. "It's okay,
Cas." He's dealt with this before. His soul's been in pretty bad shape in the
past and he's always made it through. How much damage can a djinn really do,
anyway?
There a shift in the bed and Sam opens his eyes slowly, a little surprised to
see Cas sitting on it next to him. "There are things that can help you heal,"
Cas says. "If you will permit me." He reaches for Sam's left hand, fingers
settling on the wedding ring.
Sam's stomach drops, making him groan with the sudden roll of nausea. The case
is over, of course Cas will want to stop pretending to be married. He pulls his
hand back and swallows compulsively to keep the nausea at bay as he works the
ring off his finger. "Sorry I turned out to be such a lousy husband," he says,
letting the ring drop to the bed. His stomach is rolling now, and he closes his
eyes to concentrate on settling it.
"Sam," Cas says, and the admonition in his voice is something Sam is used to,
at least, so he keeps his eyes shut. He can't bear to look at Cas right now
anyway.
"Sam," Cas says again, a little desperately this time. "Please look at me."
Sam sighs out a breath and takes a couple more big ones before opening his
eyes. Cas is staring at him, like Cas does, but there's concern in his eyes.
Sam's a little sick of being on the receiving end of that look. He sick of
being a freak, a monster, just plain broken.
"You don't have to be pretend married to me anymore, Cas," Sam says, nodding at
the ring Cas has in his palm, regretting it a second later as his eyes roll
around in their sockets. "You can release the spell."
Cas sighs. "We are not pretend married, Sam. We are actually married. And we
can annul it if you desire, but I ask that you not do it until we have healed
you. The connection is more powerful when we are bound and it will aid me in
guiding your healing."
Sam blinks a couple of times, and he can't help the shivers that travel down
his body. "Are you cold?" Cas asks. "We can find you another blanket."
"No," Sam says, staring down at the ring in Cas's hand. He's married. To a
literal angel. That he can't touch. It's cruel.
"You can touch me," Cas says, and Sam's eyes snap open, and he opens his mouth
to give Cas a piece of his mind for the invasion of privacy, but Cas brings
Sam's hand up to rest over his heart and Sam's words are lost in the wave of
gratitude.
"Can I touch you?" Cas asks, his eyes holding Sam's.
Tears are threatening now, which is not something Sam has to deal with often,
but when he thinks about how long it's been that he's been touched in kindness,
how content he was when Charlie was petting his hair, they spill over. He
pushes his head down into the pillow to absorb them and takes a couple of
wracking breaths.
"Sam, please," Cas says, taking his hand and rubbing his thumb over Sam's
fingers. "Will you wear the ring?"
Sam closes his eyes. He is so weak. He nods.
Cas slips the ring on, easy, like it's something he's done a million times
before, and Sam is suddenly overwhelmed with the feelings of concern and
sympathy, Cas's feelings echoing back through their connection. He feels all
the worse for the pathetic self-pity Cas must be getting.
"Please, Sam," Cas says. "You are only feeling this way as an aftereffect of
the djinn's poison. Talking will help. Tell me what happened."
Sam shakes his head, too vigorously for how he's feeling, and closes his eyes
to ward off the nausea.
"Sam," Cas says softly. "The djinn wanted you to feel alone, that was its whole
purpose. To make you think your brother would leave you, that I would, and
Charlie and everyone else in the world would. Tell us what happened so we can
let you know that's not true, and start healing the wounds."
Sam sighs out a breath of disbelief. He doesn't even realize they did leave
him. A little anger comes forward at that, and the nausea subsides. "You did
leave me alone," Sam says, and Cas's face turns from concern to surprise. "You
all went to toss his room and sent me to the djinn. Alone."
He can feel regret coming off Cas now, and it's surprisingly sweet. It makes
him feel better. "And what do you think Jing thought when my husband and my
brother weren't at lunch – after that display by the pool? He thought you were
off fucking behind my back."
The laughter from the bathroom has subsided, and when Sam looks up, Dean's
stepped out of it and is raising an eyebrow at him. "Everything okay out here?"
Dean asks, coming to stand behind Cas. Sam smiles ruefully.
"No," he says, at the same time Cas says, "Yes."
Cas is still holding Sam's hand, and Sam takes it away, feeling well enough to
sit up.
"It's fine," Cas says, throwing it over his shoulder at Dean. "Sam is talking
about the djinn and releasing the poison."
"What do you mean, releasing the poison?" Sam demands. The anger is clearly
cleansing; he feels stronger every second. He lets it ride, enjoying the taste
of the words in his mouth.
"What did the djinn say to you, over lunch?" Cas asks.
"He asked why I put up with the two of you fucking behind my back," he spits,
not caring that it's obviously not true. It's thrilling to letting the words
come out without censoring them for once. "And then he said he wouldn't mind
being used for revenge sex, so I agreed."
"Wait," Dean says, putting a hand up. "Just wait a minute." He gives Sam a look
of pure confusion. "There is so much wrong with that statement that I don't
even know where to start. But how about… you agreed to have sex with a guy?"
Sam can feel the way his face screws up and he shakes his head at Dean.
"Seriously, Dean? That's what bothers you? It wouldn't have been the first
time, if that makes you feel any better."
Dean looks immediately contrite. "No, Sammy, I'm sorry. I don't care about
that. It's just…"
"Did you really feel like we abandoned you?" Cas asks, effectively stopping
Dean's sputtering.
Sam shifts his gaze to Cas's face, and the look that's there is coupled with
feelings of sorrow and regret. "A little," Sam says, feeling bad for upsetting
Cas. "This case has just been really hard."
"Why?" Cas asks.
Sam shrugs. "I've always wanted to be married," he says. "As long as I can
remember. And Jing pointing out that the two of you –"
He stops. He knows Dean doesn't acknowledge anything between him and Cas,
whether because he's oblivious or because he's afraid, Sam doesn't know. He
doesn't want to push it, though, not just for Dean's sake but because if
something did happen between them right now, he might just have to kill
himself.
A flash of his nightmare world comes back to him, a tub of salt and several
containers of gasoline, and his head nearly explodes. "Ah!" he yells. "Ow, ow,
fuck, owwwwww."
He can feel himself falling back to the bed, the nausea coming back hard, and
his hands fly up to the sides of his head, trying to keep his brain from
exploding out of it. Cas's hands are on him, and he feels it when Dean gets on
the bed, the bedsprings bouncing because of the speed his brother came running.
Another bounce and Dean's behind him, hands on his shoulders. "Sam?"
Sam can't speak. If he opens his mouth, he'll throw up for sure. He leans back
into Dean, the only way he knows how to reassure his brother without words.
"Was that your dream world, Sam?" Cas asks. "Were you going to kill yourself?"
Sam screws his eyes shut even tighter, waiting for Dean's anger. He knows Dean
thinks suicide is quitting, and so does he, usually, but the despair in that
nightmare… He was choking on it.
"Tell us your dream."
Sam opens his eyes when he hears Charlie's voice. She's standing just behind
Cas with wet hair, wearing one of Sam's t-shirts like a dress.
"Please," she says, coming over to the bed and worming her way in front of Cas
to sit on the bed, facing him. She takes his hand in both of hers and squeezes.
"I couldn't bear it, the way you called for your brother and Cas. I want to
know what you saw."
"Yes," Cas says gently, shifting to sit next to Charlie. "It will help disperse
the poison if you tell us."
Sam closes his eyes and breathes. It's overwhelming, three people he cares
about all touching him with kindness, their hands warm on his skin when it
feels like his guts are frozen solid. A feeling of dread descends. He can't
tell them; they will never be able to look at him again. They'll leave him just
as surely as they did when he was in the dream world.
"Please don't make me," he whispers, squeezing his eyes harder shut because he
can't stand to see any of them look at him – not with pity, or understanding,
or disgust. There are no good options here, just the one that sucks the least,
that they'll leave him be, to deal with this on his own, like he always deals
with his problems.
"You don't have to do this alone," Cas says, and Charlie makes a noise of
agreement.. She lets go of his hand – someone else grabs it, Cas probably – and
tucks his hair behind his ears. "What happened in your dream? Let it go, Sam.
Let us help you."
Sam takes a deep breath, willing his brain to come back online. This is poison,
he's only feeling this way because the djinn liked loneliness and misery as a
spice rub on its meal. He'll feel better after he purges it, he knows. He can
do this. He can trust them.
One last spike of fear infects him, makes his vocal cords seize up when he
tries to speak. He clears his throat and opens his eyes. He needs to see them
one last time just in case they never speak to him again afterwards. He twists
halfway around to see Dean, curled up behind him like they used to sleep when
Sam was very small, maybe four or five. Dean meets his gaze steadily, Sam's
rock like he always has been.
"It started with you and Cas getting married," Sam says, giving Dean a weak
smile. Dean doesn't react to the statement at all, no disgust or surprise,
nothing.
He'd expected more than that; Dean's always touchy about people thinking he's
gay, but he doesn't even flinch. Maybe he's finally realized what Cas means to
him, maybe he's actually been thinking of marrying Cas, or at least trying
things out, and Sam's guts twist – they are going to leave him behind, he's
going to rot in the bunker –
"Sam," Cas says, and Sam whips his head around to look at the angel, who looks
just as unfazed by the marriage announcement as Dean. "It's the poison. Don't
let the circular thoughts get to you. We're here. We're not leaving you."
Sam takes a deep, shuddering breath. Dean's here. No one's leaving him behind.
"You went on your honeymoon and didn't call or text for two weeks."
He can feel the confused trail of his thoughts, of wanting to give the
newlyweds their space. It was years ago in his memory now, but the feeling is
still fresh.
Just the facts, Sam. He takes a couple of breaths and mentally shakes himself.
"I called our other friends, but they all seemed annoyed at me, and after a
while, they stopped answering, too."
Charlie gives his hand a squeeze, the first reaction he's gotten out of any of
them.
"And when we came back from the honeymoon?" Cas asks, and Sam can't help a
pathetic little laugh.
"You didn't. You texted me that you found a hunt on the way home."
"Then after the hunt." Cas is implacable, his face smooth and unyielding.
"There was another hunt. And another. Took me a month and a half to realize you
were never coming back."
Dean squeezes his arm at that, hard enough to bruise. When he turns around to
look at Dean, there's sympathy on his face, but he's still not talking, not
trying to tell Sam he's crazy, that of course he'd never do that.
"And then?" Cas prompts. "What did you do when you realized we weren't coming
back?"
Sam takes a deep breath in and holds it for a second before letting it out.
"For a while, I tried keeping busy. Thought about leaving, but I couldn't stand
to let the bunker sit unused, all that knowledge rotting in there like it was
before."
He looks up at Charlie. She's concerned, her face wrinkled up unhappily, but
she's not speaking either. He's trying to figure out why they're doing this,
why they aren't telling him he's crazy, that they would never do these things.
He shudders. Maybe they would do these things. Maybe they would leave him,
never speak to him again, not take his calls, just wait for him to take things
into his own hands –
"Sam." Cas's voice is firm. "What did you do when we didn't come back?"
Sam closes his eyes. He can see the bunker clearly in his mind, can feel how he
busied himself mindlessly, the hopelessness setting in and dragging him down.
"Anything I could. Until I couldn't anymore."
"Sam," Cas says, and Sam opens his eyes to look at him. His face is truly
impassive, not like Charlie's and Dean's. It's like he couldn't care less what
Sam did, as long as he says it out loud.
"I was going to kill myself, is that what you want to hear?" Sam shouts. He's
grimly satisfied at the choked noise Dean makes behind him, but his eyes are on
Cas, on his unmoving face. "I was going to find a way to make sure my body
would be salted and burned and not make a mess for you guys to come home to,
and I was ready, too. I had it all planned out."
Cas's face doesn't break. "And then?" he asks.
"And then you came back just in time to stop me."
Cas nods. "A respite, then."
"Not really," Sam says. "You just ignored me right in front of my face, instead
of miles away." The anger is back, eating up the sadness, making him feel
stronger. "You had really loud sex all over the bunker, you never even noticed
if I was in a room, what I was doing… it was worse than not hearing from you
for weeks. You were actively ignoring me, instead of just passively not
answering my phone calls."
"What else did we do?"
Sam can suddenly feel Cas's sorrow. His own emotions had been too strong to
feel Cas's through the ring, but with the anger burning up the leftover despair
from his dream world, he can feel Cas again, and he would never have guessed at
Cas's feelings from the way he's pushing.
"You made me feel just bad enough that when you left, it was a relief – until
the loneliness set in again. And then you came back just as I was thinking of
killing myself – every time."
The light bulb turns on. No wonder they had such impeccable timing. The djinn
was drawing it out. He laughs, the whole experience popping like a bubble, the
despair draining out of it as he can see it for what it was. "Jesus, Jing was
good. He let me marinate in my own juices right up until the edge and then
shifted you guys back in."
Relief shines through Sam's consciousness, bright and sharp, like the sun
coming out after a thunderstorm. "Yes," Cas says, his face finally showing the
compassion Sam had expected earlier. "He wanted to keep feeding. If you'd
killed yourself in your dream, you would have either woken up or gone into a
coma; either way, he wouldn't have gotten any more misery out of you."
Cas's eyes shift to a point behind Sam, and he nods. Sam half turns so he can
see Dean, and his face is screwed up uncomfortably. Sam can read everything
there, the hurt that Sam would even think he'd do something like that, the
regret for not noticing how lonely Sam was, maybe a little confusion at the
whole premise that Sam's mind picked, him and Cas getting married. Maybe even a
little dawning understanding of why Sam's mind thought that was a believable
scenario.
"Sammy," he starts, but Sam knows he won't get any more words out of Dean. Not
for a while, anyway, while he processes everything. He feels Dean's head drop
down, his face buried in Sam's back, resting between his shoulder blades. He
has a feeling Dean's having a really ugly revelation about now.
Sam feels better. Exhausted, but not on the verge of hopelessness. He lets his
head drop to the pillow and closes his eyes. Just for a minute. He just needs a
little time…
                                      ~~~
"Sam."
Cas is standing in front of him, in his trench coat and ill-fitting suit, but
with a pair of huge, smoke grey wings coming out of his back. They're folded
up, at rest. They're beautiful.
"I'm dreaming?" Sam asks.
"Yes."
"Is that what your wings really look like?"
Cas glances over his shoulder, and then back at Sam, raising an eyebrow. "Yes.
I'm surprised you can see them. Perhaps it is the marriage bond."
Sam can't quite give in to that, so he says, "Or the dream."
Cas frowns. "Is it that distasteful, being married to me?"
Sam rolls his eyes. "You know it's not. I just can't get my hopes up."
"Why not? Hope is an admirable emotion. One of the best."
"Not false hope," Sam retorts, shaking his head at Cas. "Why are you doing
this? It makes it harder, you know."
"Makes what harder?"
Sam wonders if it's the dream that makes the emotions feel so close to the
surface, or if it's leftovers from the djinn poison. "We're not staying
married, Cas. It's not me you want. And I think Dean's probably pulled his head
out of his ass, so, you know, congrats."
Cas frowns. "You think I prefer Dean." He looks away, shaking his head. "Don't
you think if that was the case, I would have just selected him when I had the
chance?"
Sam lets that sink in. It's a fair point, but still. "Cas, you two are just
stupid about each other. I don't know why you do the things you do. But I have
to protect myself, so it's best if I don't get too attached." Another idea
comes to him, and he says, "And even if I did believe you, that you, what, like
both of us?" Cas meets his gaze again, steady and unwavering, and Sam almost
wants to stop talking, but he can't. He can't let himself get comfortable with
this idea. "Even if you did like both of us, you can't have us both. So you
have to choose."
Cas tilts his head. "I don't."
Sam rolls his eyes. "You do. Dean and I are brothers. We don't share well. And
besides, you and Dean…" Cas raises an eyebrow, like he has no idea what he and
Dean might be, and that's fair, because Sam's sure Dean doesn't either. But
that doesn't mean Sam's an idiot. "I wouldn't do that to Dean."
"Dean's done that to you."
Sam rolls his eyes. "That was stupid teenage bullshit. You're the love of his
life, Cas. I'm not getting in the way of that."
Cas squints at him. "Why do you believe you would be in the way?" He stares at
Sam, and Sam can't even process that Cas doesn't understand the answer to that.
Before he can put words together to try to explain, though, Cas continues.
"Even if Dean and I were to get married, you would still very much be a part of
our relationship. Anyone who tried to marry Dean and cut you out wouldn't be
married to him for very long."
"Well, yeah, Cas, we'd be brothers-in-law, but that's different. And you're
already like family, so that part wouldn't change anyway. But that's the whole
point. I can't continue to pretend to be married to you when I know you and
Dean are, like, soulmates, or whatever."
"Samuel Winchester, even you cannot be this stubbornly oblivious." Cas stalks
over to him, frustration obvious in the set of his shoulders. He puts his hands
on Sam's arms and shakes him. "Dean's soulmate is you."
Sam pulls his arms out of Cas's grip. "Stop being obtuse, Cas. Yeah, Dean and I
are close, but we're brothers. I'm not the love of his life."
"Why must you humans do that?" Cas asks. "Quantify love, as if you can put it
in different containers and put labels on it?" He throws his hands up. "You are
the love of his life. Youarehis life, and everyone else is a footnote. Just
because you have some strange idea about romantic love doesn't make that any
less true."
Now they're edging into scary territory. Sam knows that Dean loves him in some
unconscious sort of way, that they have a weird sort of connection, even for
brothers, but Dean's given up on him plenty of times. Dean knows he's a monster
on the inside, and it's only loyalty and dad's orders that's kept him around
this long. "No, Cas, I don't really think that's true anymore. It might've been
when we were kids, but I think Dean could walk away now and be okay with it.
You two could build a life somewhere, the bunker even, maybe, and I could just…
go somewhere else. Start over."
Cas peers at him, a look of utter disbelief on his face. "You believe your
brother could walk away from you. That he would stand to let anything get
between you."
Sam laughs, a humorless, bitter thing. "Cas, in my life, no one has called me a
monster more than my brother has. He knows exactly everything that's fucked up
about me, and I appreciate that he's still trying to look out for me, but maybe
it's time I looked out for myself. If he can't give up his sense of obligation,
maybe I can take the temptation away from him."
Cas looks almost panicked. "Sam,stop. Listen to yourself. There is no reason
for this. Dean does not think you are a monster. You arenota monster, and no
one except you believes that you are."
"Of course I'm a monster," Sam snaps. This argument, at least, is familiar and
comfortable, one he has had with himself often enough that he knows every
counterargument and defense. The edges of it are worn smooth from so many years
of contemplation. "I keep a leash on it most of the time, unless Dean's in
trouble. But I know what I am. And so does Dean. He tells me so on a regular
basis. I scare him. I know that."
"Sam!" Cas looks truly upset, and that's so unusual, Sam can't help the genuine
smile that crosses his lips. "This is very old damage to your soul," Cas says.
"I hadn't realized you felt this way – you do a remarkable job of keeping a
leash on it, as you say."
Sam shakes his head. "It's not damage to my soul, Cas. It's just what I am. I
was made into a monster when I was a child, and the only thing I can do is try
to keep it from coming out."
"No, Sam," Cas insists. "No, you have never been a monster, and this is
something that needs to be healed in you. Please let me."
Sam laughs. "I appreciate the offer, Cas. But didn't you say you couldn't heal
my soul?"
Cas raises his eyes, his annoyance limited to the flat non-expression on his
face. "I can't heal it with my grace. But it can be healed, and I know how. I
just need your permission."
Now Sam is intrigued. He doesn't believe that this is something that can be
healed, but whatever Cas wants to do, Sam is willing to let him try. "You need
my permission for what?"
"To bring Dean here."
Sam doesn't want Dean in his head. He doesn't really want Cas here, but there's
no way to keep the angel from doing what he wants to do. "I don't know, Cas,"
he hedges, trying to find any real reason for not inviting Dean into his mind.
"What are you afraid of, Sam?" Of course his subconscious chooses that moment
to let some awful noise echo in the bunker, someone screaming inhumanly. It's
probably him.
I'm afraid Dean will have proof that he's right. I am a monster. His thoughts
murmur through the bunker, and Cas raises an eyebrow. "That's not fair," Sam
says. "Did you do something so I can't even keep my thoughts to myself?"
Cas frowns at him, an expression so full of exasperation that Sam almost has to
laugh. "No, Sam, we're in your subconscious. This is where thoughts come from.
I'm surprised we haven't heard more before this."
"Why?"
Cas shrugs. "When you say thoughts out loud in here, it simply means you would
be willing to say it out there. But when you only think thoughts, they are
words that would never be spoken. Except in here."
Sam doesn't mention the fact that he's had all kinds of thoughts since they
came in here, and none ofthoseseem to have been announced like guests at a
dinner party. Maybe it's only the thoughts he wishes he could say out loud.
"What would you and Dean do in here?" he asks. He's not sure he likes the idea
of Dean being in his subconscious, but there are parts of Dean he learned about
from Dean's dream world – Lisa, for one – that he would never have known about
Dean. Part of him wants to pay that back. The other part of him is afraid if
Dean saw what a mess Sam was on the inside, it'd be the straw that broke the
camel's back, and Dean would finally wash his hands of him.
Then again, that's not a bad idea, either. Maybe the reason Dean has never
pursued anything with Cas is because he feels obligated to take care of Sam.
"I don't know," Cas says. "Maybe just talk like this."
Sam's not sure why they couldn't just talk like this back in their state room,
but he assumes Cas has a reason. He sighs. "All right, Cas. Bring him in."
Cas nods, solemn, and his wings stretch out to the sides, huge and impressive,
and then he's gone. Sam doesn't even understand why wings are necessary to move
from inside his head to the real world, but maybe it's just habit. When he
comes back moments later, with Dean in tow, the wings quiver for a long moment,
waiting for… something, though Sam can't quite tell what.
Dean raises his eyebrows, looking around the bunker, noting the differences
between his mental image and the real thing, Sam's sure. Cas's wings flutter
again and then fold up behind him. Can't you see Cas's wings? Sam wonders.
The words echo through the bunker and Sam closes his eyes. That is not
something he wanted Dean to hear.
Dean turns to look at Cas and then back at Sam. "Nope," he says, like this is
no surprise to him. "You can, huh?"
Sam groans, letting his head fall back so he's looking at the ceiling. "Yes, I
can see Cas's wings."
"Because we're married," Cas says, which makes Dean give Sam the patented, Cas-
is-so-strange look that makes Sam feel a little better.
"Or maybe because we're in my brain," Sam answers, and Cas scowls at him. Dean
laughs behind his back.
"Sam, if you don't want to be married to me, I understand, but please do not
mock the importance of our vows. Particularly when we were wed with an angelic
bonding ceremony, so I could cast the location spells. You can see my wings
because when I married you, my entire being became known to you."
Sam glances to the side, seeking out Dean without turning his head and making
it obvious. Dean is grinning, trying not to laugh. At least he's not making
some stupid remark. I wonder if I can touch them, Sam thinks, groaning out loud
when the words echo through the bunker. The laughter Dean'd been keeping in
check finally makes its way out, and he claps Sam on the shoulder.
"Oh, Sammy," Dean says, squeezing his shoulder and letting go as he moves
behind Sam toward the kitchen, "You're adorable."
"Of course you may touch them," Cas says. "If you want to." He sounds dubious,
like touching angel wings is passé. He unfolds his wings, though, curling them
forward toward Sam.
Are you sure? Sam asks, waiting for the eerie echoing sound of his thoughts. He
knows now – the thoughts his subconscious voices are those he would be too
afraid or too stubborn to say out loud.
"Of course," Cas says. "It's rare that an angel's wings can be physically
touched. This isn't exactly that, but it's as close as a human can get."
Cas sounds wistful, and Sam wonders if wing-touching is some kind of big deal
for angels. He moves forward a half step to put his fingers in the very ends of
Cas's wings, the feathers there soft and beautiful. Cas closes his eyes and
smiles, and Sam continues to run his fingers through the feathers, fixing a few
ruffled ones.
Sam travels up the length of Cas's wings until he's standing right next to Cas,
wondering if he should duck under Cas's wing to take a look at how they come
out of his back, what the muscular support structure is for them. Before he can
even decide whether he wants to, a sharp, "Sam!" comes from the kitchen,
followed immediately by Dean's patented "Get in here!" and without thought,
both of them sprint to Dean.
The kitchen isn't the bunker's kitchen. It's a kitchen from a rundown house
they'd squatted in for months while dad hunted a few things in the surrounding
states. He was seven and Dean eleven, and he'd just tossed his cereal bowl on
the floor when Dean informed him that dad wouldn't be back for another week.
Grown-up Dean is interacting with seven-year-old Sam, his eleven-year-old
counterpart missing from the scene. Sam remembers this – Dean had called him a
spoiled brat that didn't deserve to be a Winchester and stormed out the door.
It happened every once in a blue moon when they were kids, Dean's frustration
getting the better of him. Way less than it should have, but he can't tell Dean
that. Dean had higher expectations for himself than John ever did.
"No, Sammy, you don't have to pick up the mess, it's okay," Dean is saying. "He
didn't mean it, he's just mad because he misses dad too."
"Have to make it better," little Sam says, "have to make Dean like me again."
The scene is more heartbreaking than his memory – he knows he cut himself on
the shards of the bowl as he was cleaning up and when Dean got back, the mess
was cleaned up, but Sam was crying and there was blood all over from the cut on
the meat of his thumb, and Dean spent hours cleaning him up and telling him
stories and then days trying to convince Sam he was a Winchester, complete with
rifle training.
"Hey, buddy," Dean says, obviously upset. "Dean still likes you, okay? He just
gets mad sometimes too, and he wouldn't want you picking this stuff up – you
might hurt yourself."
"But Dean said," Sam sobs, and Dean sweeps the kid in his arms and palms the
back of the kid's skull.
"Dean's an idiot sometimes," Dean says, and Sam can hear how choked up he is.
"He loves you, Sammy, you gotta remember that. No matter what stupid thing he
says, he always loves you. Okay?"
"Uh huh," little Sam says, tears clogging up his voice.
Dean turns around to look at Sam, and he nods. "You too, okay?"
Sam's emotions seem to be tied to his seven-year-old self because he can feel
tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He can't, though – he can't just take
Dean's apology for all the things he's said over the years. Some of those
things have shaped who he is now, and even though he never really doubted
Dean's love for him, he knows Dean meant every word he said at the time –
including the crack about him not being a Winchester. Dean never said anything
he didn't mean, and Sam can't just let all of that go.
"Sam?" Dean asks, carrying little Sam over to him. "You know those words don't
mean anything, right? Nothing I ever said –"
The scene changes, little Sam disappearing out of Dean's arms and the
roomshifting, a sideways lurch that makes all of them reel to the side,
knocking Sam's shoulder into Cas.
The scene is a motel room, one of a million they've been in. It doesn't
register at first, but then he realizes. This is the night he left for college.
"No." No, heabsolutelydoes not want to do this. No way.
He stalks out of the room, stopping in the main room for just a second to
decide where to go.
"Sam," Cas says, right on his heels. "I know it's hard, but this is how we heal
you." He stares at Sam and Sam stares right back, stubbornly not moving. He
doesn't want to do this. He can't stand to go through every time in his life
Dean's said something mean to him and have Dean apologize. It's stupid, you
can't unhear things like being told by your brother that he's going to hunt
you. Dean can apologize all he wants, but there's too much here, too many
instances to dismiss them all as Dean's stupid mouth.
"Please, Sam," Cas says. "You said you'd try."
That's not exactly what he agreed to, but Cas looks so forlorn he feels
obligated to follow the angel back to the not-kitchen.
Dad's yelling, the same curses Sam's heard in his memories forever, but Dean's
right there, up in Dad's face, yelling back. "Don't do this, Dad! He deserves a
chance for a normal life!" Dean's yelling. "You gotta let him try!"
Dad pokes Dean in the chest – just like he had poked Sam when it had really
happened – and says, "Sam will never be normal, and pretending isn't what
Winchesters do."
That's when Sam had shut his mouth, grabbed his bag, and walked out. The
eighteen-year-old version of him does so, Cas and Sam scrambling to get out of
his way. "Don't you dare leave!" Dad yells. Dean puts his hand over Dad's
mouth, but Sam knows the words by heart – he can still hear them, even muffled
as they are by Dean's hand. "You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!"
It's weird, seeing the scene like this. He remembers slamming the door, taking
two steps before his body stopped moving forward, like there was a literal
apron string tying him to Dean, a physical thing so strong Sam couldn't even
get out from under the awning above the motel door. He'd just put his head
down, tears coming as his heart nearly beat its way out of his chest, standing
there for minutes while he hoped against hope that Dean would open the door. A
glance over his shoulder shows his younger self doing exactly that. He can
still see in the room, though, a thing he's pictured many times, but been
unable to truly imagine what Dean and Dad might have said.
The younger version of Dean is sitting on the bed, looking shell-shocked. Dean
goes over to him and gives him a shake. "Go after him, you idiot! Why didn't
you go after him?"
Sam had often asked himself that question, along with a laundry list of others.
Why hadn't Dean defended him to Dad? Why hadn't Dean saidanythingduring the
fight? Why hadn't Dean come with him?
Dean gives up on himself and goes after Sam, running past Sam and Cas like they
aren't even there. "Wait, Sammy, wait!"
Back in the room, another scene plays out, the one he'd always wondered about.
"He'll come back," Dean says, not looking at John. "He won't leave me."
"Yes he will," Dad says, "I made sure of that. If you want to stay with him,
Dean, you should go."
Sam is shocked. Dad is completely calm, not a hint of the rage he'd had when
talking to Sam. "You can go, Dean."
Young Dean looks up at Dad with wounded eyes, understanding dawning in them.
Dad crosses the room and puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's all right, son.
You can go with Sam."
"No," Dean says, shaking his head, and Sam feels his heart break all over
again. "Better for him to get a clean start."
Sam has to leave, then, he can't stand to see Dean think Sam would be better
off without him. He turns only to see Dean begging young Sam to go back in.
"Just go back for me, Sam. I'll go with you, just tell me you want me to. Come
on. Turn around, open the door. Say my name. Do it, Sammy!"
But it's as if Sam felt Dean give up. His forward momentum returns, and he
heads off to start hitching his way to the next town and the bus station.
"I wanted you to come," Sam says, as the scene dissipates. When he turns around
and checks the kitchen, it just looks like the bunker. "But I couldn't go back.
Not after what Dad said."
"I know, Sam," Dean says. "And after what Dad did, sending you off so you
wouldn't come back… I had to let go too. Let you live that normal life." He
huffs out a breath. "What would it have been like, if I'd gone with you? Would
things be different now?"
Sam shrugs. "No way to tell. Jess still would've burned on the ceiling. The
whole point of that was to get me back in the game."
Dean nods, quiet and lost in his own thoughts.
"We need to keep moving," Cas says as he exits the kitchen. He puts a hand on
each of their shoulders. "There are a lot of doors to open in this bunker."
                                      ~~~
Going through the bunker is painful and embarrassing. There are moments that
Dean's never seen before, scenes that Sam knows makes him look even worse in
Dean's eyes than the stuff he knows about.
There's the time he nearly beat a guy to death because he'd cornered Jess's
friend Angie back behind the bar they'd been hanging out in. Jess had been
frantic, so Sam just went looking, all the usual places, until he found them in
the alley, Angie trashed out of her gourd and the guy hastily trying to get her
skin-tight leather pants off.
He'd beaten the guy unconscious, the rage building up in him like a tidal wave.
It'd taken only moments, and as soon as the guy went limp under his hands, Sam
threw him across the narrow alleyway, immediately turning to scoop Angie up off
the ground.
"My hero!" she'd giggled, clearly more drunk than the three gin and tonics
she'd had with them.
Sam'd taken one last look over his shoulder to make sure the guy was still
breathing, and carried Angie into the bar.
The memory ends and Sam hangs his head. It wasn't the first time he'd beaten
someone badly, but it was the first time he hadn't lifted a finger to make sure
they were okay.
"I don't understand why that memory haunts you," Cas says, and when Sam looks
up at him, he sees Cas looking perplexed and Dean looking proud, of all things.
"You were defending someone who couldn't defend themselves," Cas says, and Dean
nods along, like this is an acceptable excuse for beating a man half to death.
Sam just shakes his head. "I didn't need to do that," Sam says. "I could've
incapacitated the guy in two moves. I beat the crap out of him, took my anger
out on him."
Dean looks chastised. Sam thought he would understand – he's walked in on Dean
going overboard a time or two and Dean has always kicked himself in retrospect.
He doesn’t expect Cas to understand, though, so when Cas nods his agreement,
he's pleasantly surprised. "I see," Cas says, and takes a step back so they can
all leave the room and shut the door.
They move through several rooms where no one says anything, and Sam feels
exposed in the worst way possible. Mostly it's his greatest hits from college,
but then they open the door on Madison's death. Seeing Dean as upset for him as
he was for Madison, that is the worst.
"Can we stop?" Sam asks. "I don't think this is helping anything."
"Please," Cas says. "I know this is difficult, and not every wound is something
we can heal, but therearemany we can. If I didn't know any better, I'd think
you were avoiding those memories in particular."
"I don’t think so," Dean interrupts, which Sam is spectacularly grateful for.
"It's chronological."
Cas smiles at that, though Sam has no idea why. He hadn't really put together
that it was chronological himself yet, though obviously it is. "Sam's mind is
orderly, of course," Cas says. "Perhaps we should skip ahead a few."
"No," Dean says. "Pretty sure I know what's coming up here, and I need to see
it."
"Dean," Sam pleads. He doesn't want his brother to see what happened to him in
the cage. He doesn't want anyone to see what happened to him in the cage.
Dean shakes his head. "Let me help, Sammy. If anyone can understand, I can."
That's just it, Sam thinks, Dean knows what hell is like. And that's not what
the cage was. Not at all.
He closes his eyes. He can't get out of this without making Dean suspicious
enough to needle him until he breaks. He might as well get it over with.
He's so certain the next door is going to be the cage, he's surprised when it's
him standing outside the convent where Lilith was waiting for him, Ruby waiting
impatiently just behind him. He can feel Dean bristle next to him, his back up
from even a memory of the demon.
"I'm done trying to save you," Dean's voice says, tinny over the phone's tiny
speakers. "You're a monster, Sam, a vampire. You're not you anymore. And
there's no going back."
"What the hell is that?" Dean asks, his voice edgy and hard.
Sam scoffs. "Like you don't know. I didn't expect anything more, honestly, but
I can't say it didn't hit me."
"No, Sam – no. That's not what I said." Dean's voice shifts. It's softer, hurt.
"I can't believe you think I'd say those things to you."
Sam turns around slowly, giving Dean time to think about those words before he
meets his brother's eyes. "You've said those things to me a million times," Sam
says, and the scene shifts sideways, that lurch from back in the kitchen,
pitching Sam forward into Dean's chest. Dean catches him easily and Sam
breathes in the unmistakable smell of Dean before straightening and shoving
Dean back.
The scene is the hotel room where Sam had nearly killed Dean, and Sam telling
Dean to say it. How had he not realized how torn up Dean was? Sam looks at
himself, strung out on demon blood, and for the first time, realizes, fully and
completely, that it was an addiction – nothing more. He'd been tricked into it,
yes, but his reactions were those of an addict, and when Dean finally says,
"You're a monster," confirming Sam's worst beliefs about himself, he tries to
intercept the punch that he knows is coming. He shouldn't have hit Dean for
speaking the truth he's known about himself for a long time.
Before Sam can even catch his breath – it's been a long time since he thought
about that conversation– the scene changes again. Cas steps in to catch Sam
before he ends up on top of Dean, and Sam clutches at his arms for balance.
They're sitting in the Impala, not long after Dean plucked him from college,
and Dean calls him a freak. He covers immediately with a lame joke, but Sam
remembers how it'd pricked his attention like a nail snagging a sweater.
The scene starts to shift again, but Dean uses the lurch to shove Sam and Cas
out of the room and he closes the door behind them. They're followed by the
sound of Dean's voice, insulting Sam over and over, calling him a freak and a
monster, poking at him about his demon blood addiction and not having a soul –
like that washisfault.
"All right, all right," Dean says. "I'm an insensitive asshole with a black and
white worldview. I'm sorry."
Sam's too flabbergasted to answer that, which is awesome because Dean keeps
talking, and the words are like pulling the thorn out of the lion's paw. "I
never left that voicemail, though," Dean says. "I said you were family, and
that I wasn't giving up on you and damn it, Sam, you have to believe me."
"He made that call from the angels' waiting room," Cas says. "It's possible
Zachariah twisted it to suit his purpose.
Sam slides down the wall, sitting on the floor of the bunker. That call has
haunted him for years. He would have gone to his grave thinking Dean had said
those hurtful things. He's long since forgiven, but he's never forgotten. And
now he owes Dean an apology. "I'm sorry I believed you would say that about
me."
"Are you kidding me?" Dean says, coming over to sit next to Sam on the floor.
"It was only believable because I said plenty to make you feel bad before that.
I'm sorry I was an asshole. I'm sorry I was enough of an asshole that you
believed this, and you've been carrying it around for years."
Dean puts his arms around Sam, hugging him tightly, and Sam leans into it like
he hasn't since he was a kid. He's crying like a little kid, too, unchecked
tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean whispers into the top of his head. "I had no idea what
this stuff was doing to you."
Sam holds on to Dean desperately. He can't dispute that every little dig Dean's
ever thrown at him has hurt, sometimes leaving scars much deeper than Dean's
little insults deserve, but it's such a relief for Dean to know, now. Sam's
never said anything, too afraid Dean would roll his eyes or dismiss him
completely, and then annoyed at himself that he didn't just have a thicker skin
where Dean was concerned.
"It's only because your opinion means so much," Sam says, the sound muffled
against Dean's shirt. "All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me."
"Jesus christ, Sam, you saved the entire world! How the hell could I not be
proud of you?"
Dean's said a hell of a lot of shit since then, so it's something that gets
forgotten a lot, but it doesn't hurt to hear it. "I'm so proud of you, Sammy."
They sit like that for a while longer, Sam clutching his brother and Dean
making soothing sounds and petting Sam's hair, before Sam gets ahold of himself
and looks up at Cas, who is watching them fondly. "So we're done?"
"No," Dean says, his grip on Sam getting tighter. "No, Sam, we have to heal the
cage."
Cas looks at Dean with sympathy. "We may not be able to heal that, Dean.
Certainly not fully, and we may not even be able to make a dent."
"We have to try," Dean says, adamant. "I'm not leaving until I've opened every
single one of these doors."
Sam groans internally – the last thing he needs is Dean opening every single
door in his subconscious, some of which he's sure have absolutely no bearing on
Dean and others that he desperately doesn't want Dean to know.
"Perhaps not every one," Cas says. "As I would prefer you not grow old and die
while unraveling Sam's subconscious."
Dean looks dubious. "But how will we know we got to all the important stuff?"
Sam laughs. "That's not your job, Dean. I've worked on some of this stuff a
long time. I appreciate the help, but I can actually manage on my own."
"I want to at least try to do something about the cage," Dean says, his
stubbornness out in full force.
Sam nods. "Fine. Let's get this over with." He walks up to the next door and
throws it open, surprised when it's not the cage where he's strapped down, but
Bobby's basement. Dean's at the foot of his bed, lecturing him again, calling
him monster. Dean is nearly unintelligible, and the scene is a bit fuzzy around
the edges. Sam's memory isn't exactly clear.
Dean stares at himself. "You know that's not me, right?"
Sam nods. "A hallucination. I had lots of them." The Dean in front of his bed
flickers out like a ghost and several of Sam's other hallucinations appear.
Himself as a child, Azazel, Meg. And then Mom appears, looking like an angel.
He hears Dean gasp in a breath, and then Mom's gone and Cas is there, opening
the door to the cage and popping open Sam's cuffs. Sam blinks. He'd forgotten
about the mystery of getting out of Bobby's basement.
"Cas?!" Dean barks. "Youlet him out?"
Cas nods. "I was under orders, and at the time I was…" He bows his head. "Let's
just say I wasn't in control of all my faculties."
Sam takes a step to put him between Dean and Cas, not that he really thinks
they would do anything, or would be able to actually hurt each other in here,
even if they tried. The thought strikes him as the scene from Bobby's basement
fades out – this ishisbrain. Why hasn't he tried directing things? He focuses
on the next door, forcing his mind to circle the memories he usually tries to
push away. He knows he's found the right thing when there's a high-pitched
scream – definitely his, he remembers the sound of his voice stretched so
strangely that it didn't even sound human. The wailing, impossible sound was
the only release valve he'd had when Michael tortured him.
Dean whips around to stare at the door, glancing back at Sam with pain in his
eyes. He steps over to the door, takes a deep breath, and turns the handle.
Sam doesn't need to look – he knows exactly which scenario is playing in there.
As it turns out, Lucifer left Sam's body when they were thrown into the cage.
Sam doesn't know if it was because he was trying to escape or because he was
thrown out somehow, but he was out and Sam was just Sam, his brain blissfully
empty.
"Sam," Lucifer says, the silky sound of his voice echoing in the chamber. For
some reason, he always looked like Nick when he was outside Sam; an illusion,
perhaps, to prevent Sam from thinking about Lucifer wearing him like a pair of
pajamas. "Sam, please let me back in."
Andthatwas when Sam had realized that angels had to ask youevery single
timethey wanted to possess you. It was also when he realized that Adam wasn't
with them in the cage. Later, when he was tucked away in his own mind, away
from the angels, he would trace those precious moments back and realize Adam
wasn't there when Michael returned to the cemetery after the holy fire Molotov.
"You stay away from my brother," Dean shouts, but Sam grabs him before he goes
rushing in. Cas jumps in and grabs his other arm, and they hold him back.
"Just watch," Sam says. "You need to understand what happened, first."
Dean stiffens in their arms, but nods.
The Sam in the cage screams again as his body gets ripped apart, his viscera
clawed out and spread on the floor like Michael's a soothsayer about to read
his intestines. "Why couldn't you just do what you were supposed to?" Michael
says. "Filthy human, interfering in the plans of angels."
Sam hears himself moan, amidst the soft, squishy sounds of his intestines being
burst like bubbles. "I know more ways to cause you pain than your tiny brain
can imagine."
"Sam," Lucifer says, almost kindly. Michael looks up at him mutinously. "Sam,
let me in, and I can stop this."
"No," Sam says, crying as Michael teases out more of his insides, laying them
out like a curiosity, dissecting Sam like a lab rat.
"You kicked Lucifer out?" Dean whispers, as they watch the grisly scene. The
only one flinching is Cas; Sam has a feeling Dean knows most, if not all, of
Michael's torture techniques.
Sam shrugs. "He was out of me when I landed in the cage. Or, when I woke up,
anyway."
The scene shifts. Sam withstood Michael's torture for a long time, but
eventually he was bound to crack. He's nearly unrecognizable now, on the
ceiling of the cage, his skin flayed open and pinned, like a butterfly. The
feeling of regret rolling off Cas makes Sam feel queasy.
"Turns out," Sam says conversationally, setting a steadying hand on Cas's
shoulder, "angels have to ask every time they want to possess you."
Lucifer is sitting in one corner of the cage, picking his nails. "Let me in,
Sam?" he asks, sounding uninterested. Clearly he doesn't believe Sam will say
yes.
"O–" Sam starts, but Michael rips his jaw off with a flick of his finger, and
the Sam on the ceiling is left unable to speak. Cas turns away from them and
bends over, hands on his knees like he's trying not to throw up. Sam would let
Dean go to him, but this is where things get interesting, and Dean needs to
see. He grabs Dean's shirt and holds him in place.
Lucifer's off the floor in a shot, staring up at Sam, his arms open wide. "It
doesn't have to be verbal, Sam. You can let me know another way."
The Sam in the cage vigorously nods his head, and Sam remembers thinking maybe
Michael would rip his head off, and if he died, maybe he would be able to
leave. It was years before that illusion was stripped from him.
Lucifer enters him, his grace flowing over the scene and pulling the pieces of
Sam's body back into himself. When it's complete, he floats down from the
ceiling, and now Dean looks a little queasy. He remembers the way Dean looked
at Lucifer in Sam's body, with some weird mix of despair and disbelief.
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Lucifer says, and the crashing
sound when they come together shakes the hallway.
They turn away from the scene together and crouch down next to Cas, who is
heaving in great breaths, wheezing them out and coughing drily. "I am so sorry,
Sam."
Sam nods. "I know. Me too."
"So, Lucifer…" Dean starts, leaving the opening for Sam. Sam smiles at the
familiar rhythm of Dean's curiosity.
"Yeah, Lucifer was the one that protected me from Michael," Sam says. "He
tortured me other ways – threw me into complex situations in my own brain – but
it was a respite from Michael, so I was usually grateful for it."
"Sam," Cas pleads, and Sam turns to him. He's curious about Cas's reaction;
he's a soldier, and he's been tortured. Surely he's seen worse than this. "I'm
sorry," he says again, sorrow showing clearly on his face.
Sam smiles. "Thanks, Cas. I appreciate it." He doesn't say that this was all a
cakewalk compared to what happened after Cas took his body from the cage, but
then the scene shifts again and he knows he won't have to.
The other Cas is a blurry shape outside the cage. Sam notices because he'd
watched it for ages, back in the cage, curious as to what it might be. It'd
saved him from cracking under Michael's torture for the millionth time.
"There you are," Sam says, pointing at the slow-moving blur. "You took your
sweet time." It's supposed to be funny, but it falls flat, making Cas look at
him with sad eyes. "Joking," Sam says. "Really. I watched you for eons, hoping
against hope you were there for me."
The Cas in the scene finally makes his move, a section of the cage next to Sam
glowing golden for a second and Cas's arm coming in to grab Sam, pulling him
out through an impossibly small hole.
Exiting the cage was a completely new physical torture. Cas hadn't been
concerned with the state of Sam's body when he got out (Sam hopes because he
knew he could heal it), so pulling him through a rapidly-closing hole in the
cage wasn't a problem. Sam remembers the screaming as the sides scraped at him,
pulling his skin off his bones.
The real problem, though, was that Lucifer and Michael were fast. They held
Sam's legs, refusing to let go. Lucifer popped Sam's calf off at the knee,
accidentally giving Cas more leverage when it came off in his hands. When
Michael realized Sam's body would break before they got him back, he made one
desperate last grab, a fist to Sam's stomach –throughSam's stomach, ripping his
soul out and pulling it back into the cage before Cas heaved Sam through the
opening and it closed up completely, cutting off Sam's other foot just above
the ankle.
Those two last pieces of Sam's body in the cage were great fun for Michael and
Lucifer, and they took turns playing with them in between torturing Sam's soul.
"Sam," Dean says gently, and Sam forcibly turns his attention away from the
scene in front of him. He hasn't seen it vividly like this for years, and his
body's on fire, just thinking about it. He looks at Dean, and Dean puts his
hands on Sam's shoulders.
"Are you okay?" Dean asks, and Sam nods numbly. "Cas," Dean says, and tilts his
head to the right.
Cas is on the floor now, one knee down and the rest of his weight resting on
the other, breathing hard. It's such a human reaction; Sam wonders if being in
a human vessel for as long as Cas has been has affected him. He's mumbling,
nothing Sam can actually make out, though there's a "sorry" every few words.
Sam drops down, crouching next to Cas, putting an arm over his shoulders. The
torture on his soul is starting in earnest; he can hear the inhuman sounds it
makes. His entire body shivers in sympathy, and he puts a hand on the floor for
balance.
"I didn't care," Cas says. "I ripped you out of there and I didn't care what
happened to your physical body because I knew I could make you whole."
Sam nods. It's good to know he got that part right, at least. "It's okay, Cas.
It was just like ripping a bandaid off. I get it."
Cas shakes his head. "No, it's not okay –"
"Cas," Sam says gently, weirdly grateful for something to concentrate on that
isn't the torture that's still going on in the room. "You couldn't have made it
more comfortable for me without letting Lucifer out. It's okay."
"No," Dean says, and Sam looks up at him. He's staring into the room, tears
standing in his eyes. It's so unfair, Sam thinks,he'sthe one that got tortured,
so shouldn't he be the one getting comfort?
Dean rushes into the room, putting himself between Lucifer and Sam's soul,
which is a pale, translucent, sort-of-Sam-shaped figure with the spark of his
soul flitting around in it jaggedly. "No," Dean says again, shoving Lucifer
back. As soon as he does, though, Michael steps up and takes his turn at Sam's
soul. This first attempt at torture was inelegant; they flayed little pieces
off of it, leaving it strewn about the cage like grisly party decorations.
"No," Cas says now, and Sam just rolls his eyes. Before he can do anything
else, Cas throws himself forward and attacks Michael, trying to pin his arms
ineffectively.
Sam just watches the fight for a while, viscerally feeling the respite his soul
is getting in the cage. It's mesmerizing, the shining spark of his soul,
flitting around within the whisper of his phantom physical body. It's restless,
unsure of what to do in the absence of torture.
Sam steps into the memory, gathering up the discarded pieces of his soul and
bringing them over to where his ghostly image is half-lying against the side of
the cage. He takes the spark into his hand, smiling at the way it tickles, like
a fourth of July sparkler. The pale form dissipates.
"Here," Sam says, dangling one the pieces of his soul above it. It strains
toward it, and when Sam drops it, there's a flash of impossibly bright light,
and then his soul shines a little brighter. Sam's breath catches in his throat,
and he dangles the next piece.
Sam does it a couple more times before he realizes the cage has gone eerily
quiet. He looks up, and Dean and Cas have linked arms and presented their backs
to the two other angels in the room, effectively creating a protective bubble
for Sam and his soul. He can see them shudder with the blows they must be
getting, but the determination he sees on their faces nearly makes him cry with
joy.
"Keep going, Sammy," Dean says.
Sam nods, turning back to his soul and feeding it more pieces of itself. It
grows a little brighter each time until it is nearly blinding in its intensity.
It's beautiful, which is not something Sam could have imagined. Somehow, he
thought his soul would be tarnished and ugly. Misshapen.
Once Sam's done, Cas and Dean each take an arm and lift him off the floor. He
yanks his arms out of their grip, turning around to join the fight against
Michael and Lucifer to protect his soul, but they're gone, and so is the cage.
It's just a cluttered room in the bunker again, plain and harmless.
"What?" Sam asks, looking around, wondering if this is one of the psychological
tortures that Lucifer liked to create so much.
"You've done it," Cas says. "Look at how beautiful your soul is, Sam."
Sam nods mutely. It doesn't mean anything, he just has to dosomethingand
nodding feels reasonable at the moment.
Dean pulls him slowly around, enveloping him in a hug. Sam can hear Dean's
throat working, like he has things to say but can't force the words out. He
doesn't care, really, the hug is the best part, something they haven't done
inyearsand it tells Sam everything he needs to know.
"Can we go now?" Sam asks. He's exhausted, and Dean hugging him like this
actually points up the loneliness that got him into this mess in the first
place. He'd rather they think they fixed everything and leave than go poking
around in memories further along the corridor. Who knows what they might find
if they keep opening doors.
Sam groans. Of course his fucker of a subconscious would let that one echo the
hallways.
"Sam?" Cas asks. "There's more?"
Sam breathes out, resting his forehead on Dean's shoulder. "Sammy?" Dean asks,
leaning back from their embrace and taking Sam's face in his hands so he can
force Sam to meet his eyes. He hates it when Dean does that. "Is there more?"
"Nope," Sam says, trying for all he's worth to look innocent. He feels great
–the last thing he wants to do is go poking around in the more recent bullshit
he's got hiding behind door number three.
"Really," Dean says with a sarcastic drawl, letting Sam go and ambling out into
the hallway, fake casual.
"Dean," Sam warns, but he can see the moment the idea comes into Dean's brain,
the way it lights up his eyes and his grin. Before Sam can get a hand on him,
he's taken off down the hallway, throwing doors open as he goes.
There's a cacophony of noise, yelling matches and fistfights and…
Sex.
Reallyloudsex. "Fuck me, Cas." That, said in Dean's voice, absolutely crystal
clear, exactly as Sam remembers it from his dream world.
Dean's stopped moving. He's standing stock still in the middle of the hallway,
white as a ghost. He looks like he might faint.
"Harder! Put your wings into it!"
Cas's eyes go wide, too, and Sam can only hope that they're too embarrassed to
actually look into the room before he closes it because as bad as this is for
them, it's going to get a whole lot worse if they figure out what Sam's other
self is getting up to in there.
Sam starts walking slowly toward his brother, keeping the doors in his
peripheral vision so he can figure out which one it is, and as soon as he sees
it, he takes a step to the side, grabbing the door and pulling it closed. He
closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on locking it, too, and there's a
click from inside the room. Why hadn't he thought of that before?
There's still a lot of noise in the hallway, so Sam starts closing other doors
as well, jumbled memories that are no longer neatly chronological. There are
doors that lead to Dean taunting Sam while he was a demon, Cas breaking his
wall, Lucifer hallucinations, Dean throwing away the amulet Sam gave him, and
the trials keeping him from sleep.
He stares at himself for a while at that door, writhing in bed for a different
reason, and wonders why that's making his greatest hits of betrayal.
Dean finally unfreezes and starts coming down the hallway to look toward Sam.
The trials version of him is just lying in bed, shirtless and sweating, moaning
in pain. It's weird that he can remember what it felt like enough to see it
from the outside; mostly he was out of his head with pain.
Cas had been closing doors as he moved toward them in the hallway. He makes it
to Sam first, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder for support before moving past
Sam, presumably to continue closing doors.
"What is that?" Dean asks, squinting into the room.
Sam looks over at him. He seems to have gotten some color back, at least. "The
trials," Sam says. "I felt like I'd swallowed acid and it was disintegrating my
insides."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asks, and Sam hadn't really thought of it as a
betrayal he'd committed to himself, but of course that's what it was. He'd been
trying to keep a brave face for Dean.
Sam shrugs. "Cas said he couldn't heal it. It's not like painkillers would've
helped. No use whining about it."
They're John's words, said more times than Sam can count when they were
children. Dean lowers his gaze to the floor and nods. "We're not kids anymore,
Sam. That wasn't a couple of stitches or a broken ankle. You're allowed to
whine about being deathly ill." Dean considers for a moment and adds, "You know
what? Fuck it – you're allowed to whine about a broken ankle. That was
bullshit, what Dad taught us. We're not robots, Sam, and I want to know when
you're hurting, okay? You've gotten too good at hiding it."
Sam blinks at Dean, a little flabbergasted at the words. It's been a really
long time since Dean's been that eloquent about what he's feeling and what he
needs from Sam. "Okay," Sam says. "No more stoic bullshit. From you either."
Sam may be able to hide the physical pain, but he was never great shakes at
keeping emotional pain at bay. Dean on the other hand, bitches about his
physical injuries but keeps everything so bottled up emotionally, Sam's always
worried he'd have some kind of breakdown because he can't ask for help.
"The trials filled you with grace," Cas says from down the hallway. He's nearly
closed all the doors. "It was burning you up from the inside."
"Really? Grace?"
Cas nods, closing the last door, a fight where Sam had yelled at Dean that
maybe he would have to kill him, and the silence rings in the hallway. "Yes,"
Cas says. "Not just anyone could complete the trials. It would take a vessel,
and someone with an unusual amount of willpower and physical stamina."
Sam can't help a wry smile. Cas probably has no idea the kind of compliment he
just paid Sam.
Inside the room, he's starting to thrash. He remembers that – flailing himself
awake, breathing hard, waking confused and in pain. Dean steps into the room,
catching his wrists and petting him, humming under his breath, the song
instantly recognizable asSweet Home Alabama, Sam's favorite when he was young.
It grows in strength as the Sam in the room visibly calms, and Dean actually
starts singing when he hits the chorus.
Cas joins Sam at the door, watching Dean soothe the version of him from the
trials, and he takes Sam's hand, bringing it up to eye level to examine it
closely. "I'm truly sorry, Sam," Cas says, and Sam's pretty sure he's
apologizing for breaking the wall, not that it really matters any more.
"I know," Sam says. "Thank you." There's nothing else to say; he knows they all
have regrets, but the can't change the past, and apologies may help heal, but
they can't actually undo the damage. The Sam lying in bed settles a little and
Dean tucks him in, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. Cas,
apparently not to be outdone, kisses the back of Sam's hand. Sam turns to stare
at him, trying to figure out what he means by that.
Dean backs out of the room, closing the door slowly, like the other Sam might
actually wake up or something – or it might matter if he did – and turns to
face Sam and Cas.
"Still want to open every door?" Sam asks. He really does feel much better;
it's not worth poking at things they'll never fix and making him miserable
again.
"Nah," Dean says, and the relief that flows into Sam is welcome. Then Dean
says, "Just the one," and the feeling turns to terror.
"No, Dean," Sam says, trying to extract his hand from Cas so he can follow as
Dean goes down the hallway, deliberately opening each door and watching the
scene for a second before closing it again.
"Yes, Dean," Dean says, and keeps going.
Sam gives up on extracting his hand and tries to drag Cas along as he follows
his brother, but Cas just ducks under his arm, tucking himself against Sam's
side and putting an arm around Sam's waist and holds him still with seemingly
no effort at all.
Dean eventually hits upon the locked door, and Sam's intensely pleased that the
mental trick worked. Then Dean produces a set of lockpicks, and Sam's
swallowing down his terror again.
He struggles against Cas, trying to get enough leverage to break free, but it
only takes a second for Dean to pick the lock (why hadn't Sam fused the door
shut instead, damn it) and throw the door open. He takes a step back into the
hallway and glances at Sam in confusion.
The loud moans echoing into the hallway are clearly Dean, recognizable even
without words, and Sam can feel his whole body flush with embarrassment.
Cas walks them over to Dean, Sam's protests completely ignored. When they're
all standing together in front of the door, Cas glances in, tilting his head
sideways before looking up at Sam. "I don't understand."
Dean probably doesn't get it either, though he's a little pink too – clearly
Sam got some of the sounds of Dean having sex close to the mark.
Sam glances into the room to see just how he's masturbating (on his back,
fingers of one hand in his ass, the other stroking his dick haphazardly), and
turns to observe Dean and Cas's reactions.
Dean is embarrassed, his eyes on Sam-in-the-hallway, but occasionally flitting
to Sam-on-the-bed, and Cas is curious, watching Sam-on-the-bed with interest.
Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "It's from my dream world. When
the two of you were in the bunker with me, you had a lot of extremely loud sex.
I tried to ignore you, mostly, but the bunker echoes."
Dean looks relieved. Sam knows what he's thinking – this is just a normal human
reaction to people having sex nearby. Sam's glad he can't see what he's
fantasizing about.
And of course, because his subconscious hates him, his fantasies start showing
in Technicolor above the bed. This one is Cas fucking him fucking Dean, not
even one of his favorites, but certainly indictment enough. At least the sounds
echoing through the bunker are a little more subdued than the last time they
opened the door.
Cas is still watching the scene with interest, which is making Sam's stomach do
some complicated things, especially because Dean has stopped moving again,
which is scary as fuck because when Dean does that, he's usually gathering his
strength to strike. Sam steps forward and pulls the door shut, locking it with
a thought as soon as he hears it click. He turns around to face Dean, psyching
himself up for the punch he knows is coming.
Dean doesn't punch him. Dean doesn't look at him. Dean doesn't even feel like
anyone's home, which is scary as hell.
The fear Sam's been feeling kicks up into real terror, because if Dean disowns
him, stops speaking to him and leaves him, what the hell will he do? He can't
do this without Dean anymore, and he can't do anything else, either. "Dean?" he
begs. "Dean, say something."
Dean takes a slow breath, sucking in air like he's going to be underwater for
the next three minutes, and says, "This is because of the djinn, right?"
Thank god. Sam can hang it on that, agree with Dean, let it go, and bury this
forever. "No," he says.
Wait.
"No," he says again, panicking because what the hell – Dean is giving him an
out here! He looks at Cas to see if he's doing some weird spell or angel thing
that makes Sam tell the truth, but he's just watching the two of them silently,
like a tennis match.
"I mean, yes," Sam says finally, concentrating carefully on the words coming
out of his mouth. "I hadn't thought anything like this before the djinn."
Except for how I really thought you were in love with Cas, and I think I might
have been a little too.
What the hell?
"No," Sam says, closing his eyes and locking his thoughts down. The next words
come slowly, each one a struggle. "I was lonely." He shakes his head, but he
can't clear it of all the Dean and Cas thoughts, so he constructs a careful
sentence. "It seems like you and Cas…" He doesn't have any way to finish that
sentence that makes any kind of sense, so he goes with, "…have something
special."
And I'm not part of it.
God damn it.
"Dean, please," Sam says, opening his eyes to look at his brother. Dean looks
stricken, like he feels personally responsible for Sam's perversion. "Don't,
please, this is just the djinn poison, trying to twist things around. It wasn't
like this before, I promise."
Except anyone with eyes could see how gorgeous you were by the time you were
sixteen.
"What the fuck?!" Sam says, throwing his arms up.
"Fine," he snarls, lowering his eyes so he can't see Dean's disappointment.
"I think I've been in love with you my whole life."
Sam takes a hitching breath, letting it all out because jesus, he has nothing
to lose now. "It wasn't sexual until the djinn. I don't think I would've ever
thought of it that way without some kind of nudge. But I've always thought of
you as mine, and been jealous of the people you've been with. Every girlfriend
I've ever had was compared to you." He laughs, low and humorless. "Jess was the
only one who came close."
Sam wipes a hand down his face, not surprised when it comes back wet. He's
killing himself here, pushing Dean away, shredding everything between them for
good.
"You were always mine, too." He thinks of the countless dates he ruined for
Dean before he learned to keep his jealousy in check. "I never really worried
that you'd leave me for someone else."
He keeps his eyes on Dean's boots, because he won't finish if he looks at Dean
now, and it's probably best to get it all out there, so at least when Dean
leaves, he knows everything. "At least, until Cas."
He sneaks a glance at Cas, and Cas lifts his eyes to Sam's, smiling warmly,
like none of this is any surprise to him. He wonders how much of this Cas knew,
or at least guessed at.
"I've just been waiting for you to realize you're in love with him, and
somewhere along the line, stupidly, I think I fell in love with him myself."
Cas's smile gets bigger for just a second, the crow's feet at the corners of
his eyes deepening. Sam just shakes his head. Cas will never get it, and that's
part of why Sam loves him.
Sam swallows and forces himself to look at his brother's face. Dean still
hasn't moved, and Sam's heart is about to pound its way out of his chest.
"Dean?" he asks. "Say something."
Dean's eyes skip up to meet Sam's, and that's a small relief. Sam doesn't
expect things to go well, but it would've sucked if he'd broken Dean
completely. "Laying kind of a lot on me there, Sammy," Dean says, his voice
soft and rough. "And assuming a fair bit, too."
Sam can feel his eyebrows go up as surprise takes over his face. He looks to
Cas to see if anything here is surprising to him yet, but Cas is still smiling,
like he doesn't know that Sam has probably fucked up their relationship beyond
repair.
"Don't know what you're so scared of," Dean says, and Sam looks back at him
sharply. "Think I'm going to be mad because you love me? Or because you love
Cas?"
Yes.
"God damn it!" Sam roars, throwing his hands up and squinting mutinously at the
ceiling. "Icanactually speak for myself!" He would have admitted that anyway –
it's annoying that his subconscious apparently doesn't believe he has the balls
to have an honest conversation with his brother.
"Hey," Dean says, reaching out for Sam, even though he's too far away to touch.
"This isn't the place. Let's talk about this on the outside, huh?"
Sam is intensely grateful for that. He knows the relief shows on his face
because Dean immediately looks guilty and sad. He says, "No, wait," and takes
the two steps forward to close the distance between them, catching Sam's
forearm with his outstretched fingers. "Fair's fair. Let's take it tomybrain."
                                      ~~~
Sam wakes up suddenly, feeling almost like he was thrown back into his body.
When he blinks his eyes open, he's in the middle of the bed, Charlie curled
over the top of his head protectively while at the same time appropriating
every single pillow, Dean tucked in behind him with an arm thrown over his
chest, and Cas sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling down at him.
"Are you ready?" he asks, and Sam shakes his head. He needs a minute to collect
his wits. The details of the romp through his subconscious are already fading
and he wants to imprint as much of it on his memory as he can.
He closes his eyes and tries to remember the feeling of Dean singing him a
lullaby, or holding the smaller version of him close, or the joy of piecing his
soul back together with Dean and Cas at his back, protecting him from his own
memories. He takes the time to add in the smells, fever sick and spilt milk and
ozone and sweat and the rusty sodden earth smell of the cage.
When he opens his eyes the second time, he's packed away everything as neatly
as he can because it's his turn to keep his own shit in check so he can protect
Dean if he needs to. He looks up at Cas, taking one last, deep breath, and
nods.
                                      ~~~
Sam knows where he is before he even opens his eyes. He's in the front seat of
the Impala. The smell, the way his knees spread outward to give him some space,
the feel of the vinyl behind his back and under his ass. He knows this place,
better than anywhere else on earth.
He opens his eyes and looks to his left, smiling to see Dean in his accustomed
place at the wheel, happily humming Metallica under his breath. Just inside his
peripheral vision, he can see Cas in the back seat.
"'Bout time, Sammy," Dean says, grinning. "I was beginning to wonder if I was
going to have to have a conversation with myself."
"Ha ha," Sam says. "I was just getting my own head in order before I invaded
yours."
"Much appreciated," Dean says, putting the pedal to the metal and letting the
engine growl as they speed down an empty stretch of blacktop, surrounded by
trees on both sides. It's light out, maybe two or three in the afternoon in the
fall, a nice chill to the air when Sam rolls down the window.
Sam closes his eyes and lets this wind travel over his face, glad to be in this
most familiar place to have this discussion. This is where he and Dean have
worked out nearly every fight they've ever had, nowhere to run to because
they're trapped in a moving vehicle. One of John Winchester's best parenting
moves was making his kids hug each other in the back seat until they made up.
Sam remembers when he was very small, he'd fall asleep with Dean's arms around
him, even when he was steaming mad, and wake up warm and safe and loving his
brother more than ever, whatever argument they'd had long forgotten.
"So," Dean says, and the fear returns in a rush. Sam had almost forgotten why
they were here. "Just curious, but how many guys have you been with?"
What? Sam turns to look at Dean, but he's got his eyes on the road. "Uh," he
says, skipping through his memories to count. Three, and he hadn't slept with
any more than once. "A few. Mostly in college."
Dean nods, like he'd been expecting that. "You?" Sam asks.
Dean smiles. It's a weird smile, one Sam doesn't see often, both pained and
smug. "More than a few."
Sam's honestly surprised; he knew Dean must've tried it here or there, but to
come out like this, and so nonchalant about it, like he knows Sam knows –
Something flickers on the windshield, and suddenly a scene is displayed, like a
movie. It's Sam, maybe nine, sitting on a stool in a diner, eating like crazy,
a plate of pancakes half-eaten next to the one of hash browns and eggs he's
chowing down on.
It's obviously from Dean's point of view; it's mostly concentrated on Sam, but
there's slight shifts to the right and left that Sam knows is Dean making sure
the exits are clear and there are no threats.
There's a glance up at the waitress, who's staring at them dubiously from next
to the coffeepot. Sam's pretty sure they're going to have to run for it, that
they don't have enough money to pay. The standard drill was Sam asking to go to
the bathroom, where he'd climb out the window or go out through to the back of
the restaurant, and start running for the motel.
Sure enough, his nine-year-old self finishes wolfing down the food and says, "I
have to go to the bathroom."
"Well, go on," Dean says, sounding annoyed. "Hurry up, we gotta get you to
soccer practice."
He slips off the stool and disappears around the corner, and the gaze of the
memory shifts back to the waitress. Sam knows Dean's giving her his best shit-
eating grin.
Someone behind them clears their throat, and the memory shifts dizzily as Dean
turns around, Sam can almost feel how tense his muscles are, ready to spring.
"Hi," a man says. He's chubby, short-ish, and in a good suit, holding one of
the diner's ubiquitous white mugs.
"Hi," Dean says warily.
"Where are your parents?" the guy asks, and the question makes Sam shiver
involuntarily. Not the question itself, which he'd heard a million times in his
youth, but the predatory sort of feel to it.
"Not here," Dean says. "What's it to you?"
"You shouldn't be out all alone," the guy says. "Let me give you a ride home."
Dean's gaze goes down the man and back up again. "Two hundred," he says. "And
you pay for our breakfast." He nods at the waitress, who's coming in fast.
"Can I get you anything else, hon?" Her expression has shifted from the pissy
frustration of a moment ago to a deep concern.
"No, ma'am," Dean says, clipped. "We're ready to pay, though."
"No no," she says, her eyes flicking up to the man, "Don't you worry about it,
you hear? It's on the house."
"Great," the man says, and Dean's view is shifted sideways, like the man is
trying to steer him toward the door.
"No," Dean says, standing firm. "Thank you, but we pay our debts. How much do
we owe you?"
The waitress looks desperate. "You don't have to go with him, son."
"I want to," Dean says, and his gaze remains on her steadily. "Now how much do
we owe you?"
She shakes her head sadly, looking down at the tickets she pulls out of her
apron and setting one on the counter. $21.37, it says, and Dean looks up into
the man's face.
He looks annoyed, but he pulls out his wallet, throwing down a couple of bills
on the counter. "Uh uh uh," Dean says, clicking his tongue and taking the man's
wallet out of his hands. There's a twenty and a five on the counter, and Dean
pulls out another five and lays it on top. "Always tip handsomely," he says,
John Winchester's words coming out of his mouth, and Sam is about to throw up.
He pulls a wad of twenties out of the wallet and pockets them before handing it
back to the man. "Let's go."
"What about your brother?" the man asks, and Sam can hear the waitress's
indignant choking noises from their right.
"He's long gone, you pervert. You get me, and that's it. Let's go."
"Dean," Sam says. He can't count the number of times Dean miraculously came
back with money when Sam was a kid, saying stupid things like he won at marbles
or beat up some bully and took his money. He wonders how many times Dean did
this, how much he gave up to take care of Sam.
Dean shrugs. "It was easy money."
"No," Sam says. "It wasn't."
The scene changes just as Dean's climbing into the car, and Sam is infinitely
grateful for that. He's not sure he'd be able to keep from throwing up if he
had to actually see Dean get raped by a man three times his age.
Unfortunately, the scene shifts to Alistair. Sam's not sure how he knows it's
Alistair, as he's not wearing a meatsuit, but he does. Maybe because Dean does.
"Fuck you," Dean spits, a spray of blood coming out with the words.
"Is that what you want?" Alistair asks. "You can't have that, but we can play a
little, I suppose." He walks away to a table with several instruments of
torture Sam knows and quite a few he's glad he doesn't.
He picks up a long-handled instrument with a pear-shaped bulb on the end. The
scene jumps, like Dean's struggling against the restraints, and then settles
back on Alistair. It follows the instrument, and Sam sees Dean's body for the
first time as Dean looks down it to where the instrument is being inserted
between his legs.
"Relax," Dean mutters, and Sam turns to look at him, ready for a fight because
how is he supposed to fucking relax when Dean is being sexually tortured in
hell?!
But as soon as his eyes light on Dean, he knows Dean was talking to himself,
not Sam. The Dean in Hell screams, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut. Michael and
Lucifer never raped him in the cage. He thinks Michael wouldn't have even
thought of it – he seemed completely uninterested in anything that wasn't
fighting with Lucifer – but Lucifer violated him in a different way; the
endless envesseling made rape almost meaningless for him. Sam's body has never
really been his own, and what it does when he's not home is much worse than
anything that could happen to him while he's wearing it.
"Dean," Sam says, sliding across the seat and grabbing Dean's shoulder. "Dean,
hey, look at me."
Dean turns to Sam, his eyes glassy. They focus after a second, and the movie
turns off. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Sam says, right in Dean's face. "You saw my torture." He
pulls his brother roughly into a hug, holding him awkwardly in the tiny space.
"I never meant for you to know those things," Dean says quietly.
Sam swallows hard. Dean, always protecting him, even when it means hurting
himself. "I'm glad I got to see them anyway." He squeezes Dean one last time
and lets go, shifting back just a little to give Dean some breathing room.
"Were there any guys that weren't prostitution or torture?"
Dean runs his hands over the steering wheel. "Not exactly."
A montage of men show on the windshield, witnesses, cops, and others that Sam
can somehow tell were involved with cases.
Desperation, coercion, punishment. Those are the only experiences Dean has had
with men. No wonder he can't admit he's in love with Cas. He's probably
terrified.
"Do you think you could be with a guy?" Sam asks, and Dean bows his head, his
chin nearly resting on his chest. "Dean, I will back off if you need me to, but
you have to tell me. If there's any chance, I don't want you to miss out on
something that could make you happy."
"Sam," Cas warns, but Dean's laughing, a crazy laugh that's riding the edge of
Dean's sanity.
"There are some things I never told you about hell," Dean says, and the movie
on the windshield flickers to life again.
There's a man in stirrups, legs held wide open, his anus stretched around
someone's cock. It's Dean, Sam knows, though he's never looked at Dean's dick
that close, but it's got to be – all these memories are straight from Dean's
point of view. And he's going at the guy hard. The man has tears in his eyes
and he's begging Dean to stop. At least, that's what Sam thinks he's begging
for, though he can't make the words out with the ball gag in the guy's mouth.
"Yeah, little Danny was good enough for this, wasn't he?" Dean asks, pounding
away. "But you couldn't stand that he wanted to kiss you after – with that
filthy mouth!" Dean punctuates his words with hard thrusts. The man looks close
to breaking – Sam's seen it before, and it isn't pretty. "That's why you killed
him, isn't it?" Dean asks, pushing the man's legs further apart. There's a
tearing sound and blood comes from somewhere Sam can't see, coating the end of
the table he's strapped to.
The scene fades and Dean stares at the windshield. Sam wants to reach out, but
he knows Dean will just pull away.
"He deserved it," Cas says. "That's why you were the Righteous Man. You never
tortured an innocent soul."
Sam closes his eyes and sighs. Cas doesn't get it. Maybe he can't; maybe it's
hardwired into angels to sit in judgment. He shakes his head at Cas, and Cas
frowns.
"It doesn't matter," Dean says. "They were human beings. Every soul is tortured
in some way before it even comes to hell. Sure, he was a fucker, he killed that
kid, but he was beaten for kissing a boy when he was five. Ended up in the
hospital with a broken jaw and couldn't talk for six weeks."
"That doesn't excuse –"
"Cas!" Sam says, because he is not helping. "Dean isn't excusing the guy. He's
just saying it's not our place to judge – and it's certainly not our place to
mete out punishment."
Dean visibly relaxes, glancing over at Sam with warm eyes. Sam gives him a
half-smile, an acknowledgement that he gets it. Dean nods at him. "I got more
creative, later," Dean says. "I seduced the guys, got them to want it, to
fucking beg me for it, and then they ripped themselves apart with their own
disgust, after."
Sam nods. It was the first thing he thought of when he understood what was
going on. The psychological torture would be much more effective. It disgusts
him that he knows that offhand. It probably took Dean years to figure it out.
"So anyway," Dean says, glancing over the back seat at Cas before turning back
to look at Sam. "I guess the answer to your question is: I don't know. But
finding out could be messy."
"You're going to try, though, right?" Sam asks. If nothing else good comes out
of this mess, at least he can make his brother happy. And he knows now that
Dean and Cas would never leave him, so he'll just have to find a way to let
that soothe his loneliness.
Dean's still looking at him, so Sam holds his eyes for a while. They've got to
be close to done here, then they can go back out to the real world and Dean and
Cas can work things out between them without Sam intruding.
The staring gets a little bit uncomfortable. Dean's gazing at him like he's
trying to read his mind, the intensity turned up to eleven. Sam continues to
meet his eyes for a while, but eventually he has to look away. He can't last
under Dean's scrutiny.
"Yeah, I think I will," Dean says. Sam looks back to Dean, expecting his gaze
to have shifted to Cas in the back, but he's still staring at Sam. Before Sam
can go any further with that train of thought, Dean slides halfway across the
front seat, a slick move Sam just knows he's done to a thousand girls.
Then Dean's hands are cupping his neck, and he can't breathe. "Dean," he says,
because his stomach is about to leapfrog up his throat and he doesn’t want Dean
to think Sam was making a play for himself, "I meant Cas."
"I know," Dean says, one of his thumbs traveling down the length of Sam's jaw.
"We'll get there."
There's no hesitation when Dean kisses him, no tentativeness. Sam doesn't know
what he was expecting, but Dean's fingers brushing his hair away from his face
and Dean's tongue tracing his lower lip isn't it.
"Come on, Sammy," Dean whispers against his mouth, "You gonna join me here?"
Sam wants to; he wants to more than anything. "But Cas," he says, trying to see
around Dean to the angel in the back seat.
"Cas can wait his turn." Dean turns, presumably to meet Cas's eyes. "Can't you,
Cas?"
Cas huffs out a breath that sounds like there's a laugh underneath and says, "A
few more moments won't hurt anything."
Dean turns back to Sam and grins, leaning forward like Sam's a piece of cherry
pie he's about to devour, when Cas says, "But we should probably not get too
physical in Dean's mind."
They both turn to stare at Cas, Sam pushing forward so he can actually see.
"Why?"
Cas looks at Sam, flicks a glance at Dean, and then back to Sam. "Well, perhaps
later. But for now, the physical belongs in the physical plane. It should be
solid. Real."
"But Charlie…" Dean protests.
"Yes," Cas says, smirking. "It looks like we'llallhave to wait."
Cas's smirk is the last thing Sam sees before Cas gently presses his fingertips
against Sam's forehead and Sam is out like a light.
                                      ~~~
When Sam wakes next, he feels well-rested, for the first time in as long as he
can remember. He leaves his eyes closed and stretches, feeling his muscles
loosen up and settle comfortably. He takes the time to sift through his
memories from Dean's brain and set them into his memory, and then he finally
opens his eyes.
He could tell he wasn't alone in the bed, that Dean was behind him, and his
thought that Charlie climbed under the covers when she finally fell asleep is
proven right, she's curled up all the way across the gigantic bed, nearly out
of Sam's reach.
The thing that surprises him, though, is Cas. He's lying between Sam and
Charlie with his back to Charlie, and for all the world, he looks to be
sleeping. His eyes are closed and his face is slack, and he looks warm and
sleep-mussed. Sam wants to take a picture. Or kiss him.
He's still not sure what is happening there, though, and his heart skips a beat
when he thinks of it. He's a little freaked out by Dean's advances and easy
acceptance of the three of them as a possibility; this from the guy who
disinvited Sam from a threesome with Pamela back in the day.
Just as hard to believe is Dean's easy acceptance of him, of the incest, which
had taken Sam's brain months to work around while he was trapped in the djinn's
dreamworld. He'd understood wanting Cas, that made perfect sense. It wasn't
until he started picturing himself in their bed that he realized he wanted Dean
too. And then came the self-loathing and disgust and… where is Dean's self-
loathing and disgust?
"You're thinking very loudly, Sam," Cas says quietly.
Sam immediately apologizes, and Cas opens his eyes slowly, blinking a couple of
times. "It's not a bad thing. It's just very difficult to ignore."
"Sorry," Sam says again, because apologies are second nature and he doesn't
like to purposely be a nuisance if he can help it.
"Please don't," Cas says. "I don't wish you to feel the need to apologize for
every little human thing. I was simply making a statement. It is not an
indictment of you or your thoughts."
"Okay." Sam gives him a fleeting smile and tries to settle his thoughts down to
a dull roar. Of course, their voices have woken Dean, and he pushes himself up
behind Sam, looking down at Cas over Sam's shoulder.
"What's up?" he asks sleepily, apparently still tired, since he hooks his chin
on Sam's arm to stay upright instead of holding himself up. His chest is warm
against Sam's back, and Sam can't help leaning back against him.
"Sam's wondering why you are so unconcerned about the incest."
Sam glares at Cas. "Dude. I had enough of that in my head – don't pull that
bullshit on me. If I want to know something, I'll mention it."
Cas stares back at him calmly, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. "I will
refrain for now," he says, "but if either of you stops communicating directly,
I will throw you back into one or the other of your minds until things are
fixed."
It doesn't seem like an empty threat. It's not really a threat, either,
considering how much of their history they'd worked through in a few hours of
dreamwalking, but Sam gets the point. "Fine." He turns back to Dean, talking to
the top of his head, which is all he can see from this angle. "Dean, I want to
know when the incest part of this became okay for you."
Dean pouts his lips out like he does when he's trying to play something off.
"It was in hell." Of course it was. Everything that's ever twisted them up
seems to have its roots there. "When I realized that I should seduce the guys,
I had to find a way to do it convincingly. I don't have the kind of imagination
that would let me pretend they were women, and I'd never actually wanted to
fuck a dude. I didn't even like most of those guys – hated some of them, even.
So I imagined the only person of the male persuasion I ever loved."
Dean huffs out a laugh, an insubstantial, sarcastic thing. "It was fucked up,
but less fucked up than torturing people. It helped to think of you." He meets
Sam's eyes finally, and Sam swallows hard. Out here, it's harder to know how to
react to this sort of thing. He hadn't realized how surreal it was, being in
their minds. Cas is right; it makes things feel less substantial.
He nods, finally. It's less fucked up than most of their lives.
"So, when I told you to fix things, you went straight for incest?" Charlie
asks, and Sam whirls around to see her staring at them. "Not what I had in
mind, but it's one way to do it, I guess."
He searches her face, trying to see if this is a dealbreaker, if she's going to
say goodbye and disappear from their lives forever. She gives him a flickering
smile. "I'm happy for you, Sam, don't worry. Any way you two can carve out some
happiness for yourselves, I'm for it."
Sam gives her the same wavering smile and casts his eyes over to Cas and back.
Charlie looks over at him too, and then laughs. "Incesty, gay, inter-species
polyamory?"
That makes her laugh even harder, and it's infectious, Sam can't help joining
her and then Dean too. Even Cas is smiling. The laughter peters out after a
moment and Charlie says, "I'm sorry I doubted you guys' queer cred."
That gets them started again, and then someone throws a pillow, and mayhem
ensues.
                                      ~~~
There's three days left to the cruise and they decide to make the most of them.
Charlie gambles hardcore – and she can play the numbers fairly well, but she
takes Cas with her to play craps, and she makes enough to buy herself a small
house in the Hamptons.
Dean stops going to the pool. His harem dissipates once he stops encouraging
them, and he spends a lot of time laying out on the decks and eating more food
than Sam could ever imagine.
Cas seems a little at loose ends without a case to investigate, so Sam takes
him down to the pool. He has a feeling Cas has never swum before. He's not a
big fan of being wet – he doesn't even like showers or rain and will dry
himself magically to avoid being wet for long periods. Sam teaches him how to
float, how to enjoy the buoyancy of the human body in water. He thinks Cas
would really enjoy snorkeling, but they missed those days on the tour.
They sleep all four of them on the huge bed, no funny business except a brief
wrestling match each night to see who gets the middle.
In the few minutes he manages to sneak away alone, Sam checks out the jewelry
stores on board. He can barely imagine the kind of person who would go on a
cruise and impulse buy an eight thousand dollar diamond bracelet, but lucky for
Sam, they're carrying something a little more plain. Thanks to Charlie's deft
hand with fake credit cards, he walks out of the store with one silver wedding
band and a slightly damaged credit rating for Hans Froehoffer.
It takes him the next two days to work up the courage to present it to Dean
though. He does it over dinner the last night, when he knows Charlie's
enthusiasm will trump any doubts Dean might have – and he knows Dean. Dean will
have doubts.
He sets the box on Dean's plate once the wine is poured. They're all dressed
up, Sam, Dean, and Cas in tailored suits nicer than anything they've ever
owned, and Charlie in a white tuxedo pantsuit that suits her.
"Ooh," Charlie says, her eyes lighting up. "Open it, Dean!"
Sam hides a grin. He knew he'd made a good decision about including Charlie.
Dean gives him a look, one he knows very well – it's the one when Dean doesn't
want to disappoint, but he doesn't want to do whatever it is he's supposed to.
He picks up the box and holds it in front of him, turning it from side to side,
like he's trying to figure out what's inside, even though he knows damn well.
"Open it, Dean," Sam says.
"Sam," Dean says, closing his fist around the box. Sam knows every variation of
his name in Dean's mouth, and he knows this one is concern and regret and
knowing he's about to disappoint.
"Shut up," Sam says. "Open the box."
"I don't know if –"
Charlie grabs the box and opens it up. "Oh," she says, a little unhappily.
"It's so… plain."
Sam raises an eyebrow at her, and raises the hand with his own ring on it. She
has the good grace to look sheepish. "I just meant… this is so momentous, you
know, I mean, you guys have been together for years –"
This gets a look of disbelief from Dean, and Sam figures he's probably wearing
the same gobsmacked expression.
"– and I mean, would it kill you guys to wear something a little sparkly?"
Even Cas is staring at her now, and when she finally looks around the table at
their faces, she puts the box back in Dean's outstretched hand. He hadn't even
put it down after her surprise theft.
"Guess so," she mutters, taking her napkin and spreading it on her lap. "And
the ceremony'll have to be in the suite later, I assume, since some sort of
magic has to be performed." She looks at Cas. "Unless you've already blessed
the ring?"
Cas shakes his head, glancing at Sam before smiling at her. "It has to be done
at the time of the bonding."
"Ooh, great," Charlie says, picking up her menu. "I've always wanted to see
angel magic."
                                      ~~~
The dinner is nice enough, and Dean doesn't say a damn thing about the ring –
probably because he knows Charlie will completely derail him – but Sam's pretty
sure he won't be railroaded into the ceremony itself, so there'll be talking
one way or another.
When they get back to the suite, Dean looks at Cas and nods at Charlie. "What?"
Charlie says, backing away from them. "Absolutely not – I can just leave the
room like a grown-up. No need for…" She looks at Cas. "…Whatever the hell
you're thinking about doing."
"Nothing," Sam says, turning to Dean to warn him off. "No one's doing anything,
Charlie. We just need some time to talk. Why don't you hit the tables?"
Charlie gives them a pretty solid pout, but Sam can tell the Winchester
stubbornness is out in full force, so she rolls her eyes and grabs her purse.
"Fine. But you better text me before you get married. I'm Dean's best man."
Sam can't help laughing. Not that he ever thought Dean might get married, not
once the angel stuff started happening, but he always assumed he'd be Dean's
best man, should the need arise. "We'll let you know," Sam says, and Charlie
gives him an emphatic nod before exiting the room dramatically.
The door closes and the three of them stand around awkwardly for a minute.
They're all in suits and ties, and this is already an uncomfortable
conversation waiting to happen. It'd at least be more comfortable in their
jeans and t-shirts.
"Listen," Sam says, trying to sound more even-tempered than he's feeling. "Why
don't we do this in here?" He taps his temple. He may not like his
subconscious, but it has a way of forcing the truth to be talked about. "At
least then it'll feel like we're back home and in normal clothes, at least."
"I don't need that," Dean says, pulling his pants legs up and taking a seat on
the chaise longue. "I just… I don't think we should do this yet."
"Dean," Sam protests, already jumping in because he knows Dean's arguments, and
they're bullshit, absolute crap that Dean's cooked up –
"Sam, let Dean speak," Cas says, and there's amusement in it, even though he
can feel Cas's apprehension as well. He doesn't seem worried, though, not like
Sam is worried, so Sam nods and takes a seat on the couch. Cas joins him.
It looks like a fucking tea party, the three of them in nice suits, Sam leaning
forward, trying to get into Dean's space and Cas leaning back, looking weirdly
casual about the whole thing.
"I'm not saying never," Dean says, putting his hands up placatingly, like Sam's
some kind of hysterical witness or something. "I just think we need some time.
We don't know how I'm going to react to… things. Or if we'll be able to make it
work. We need to find our feet first before I step all over this thing you two
have here."
"Dean," Sam says, but Cas puts a heavy hand on Sam's knee, and when Sam glances
over at him, he's leaning back against the arm of the couch, his right leg
tucked under him. He releases Sam's knee and melts down the couch, pressing his
shin into Sam's thigh. Sam stares at him.
"Dean has a point," Cas says. "Perhaps we should see how he reacts to us
consummating our marriage first."
Sam's mouth drops open, and he's fairly certain he's gaping like a fish. When
he looks over at Dean, thankfully, he's doing the same thing. "What?"
Cas shrugs. "Technically our bond would be stronger if we consummated it. Then
it would be more stable before we bind ourselves to Dean, too."
"What?" Sam asks. This cannot be for real. Cas cannot be propositioning him to
have sex while Dean watches. Can he? "Are you serious?"
"No, no," Dean says, sounding a little breathless. "This is good. This is…
that's a really good idea."
"Just wait a minute," Sam says, his own insecurity getting in the way. He's
kind of lousy at having sex with men, and while he wouldn't be averse to maybe
stumbling his way through it with Cas, or even Cas and Dean, he doesn't feel
like the first time is something he wants to put on display for his brother.
"Wouldn't it make it stronger if we all had sex together after we married Dean,
too? Consummate all of us at once?"
"But we don't know for sure if this is going to work," Dean says, and that's
it. This argument is over. Sam is not going to sit here and listen to Dean tell
them he could fuck them up somehow, as if there really is a Sam-and-Cas to fuck
up. They may be bonded, but that's not really married, not yet. And as much as
he wants Cas and to be married, like most things, he doesn't want to do it
without his brother.
"No, Dean, we do. Because you've already promised yourself to me – you're never
leaving me, right? You've promised me that, more times than I can even count.
You can't live without me. Right?"
The color drains out of Dean's face in a rush and Sam keeps pushing. He's not
letting this go – they are all going to be married by the end of the night or
so help him, Sam is going to punch somebody.
"We're soulmates," Sam says. "Right, Cas? Isn't that what you said, that Dean
is my soulmate?"
Dean turns a betrayed look on Cas, but Cas looks at his shoes and nods. "Yes,
Sam. You and Dean are soulmates."
"So you're not leaving me, ever. Isn't that right?"
Neither one of them has ever said it out loud when the other wasn't dying or
dead, but Sam's had enough of that. Why do they have to wait until the worst
happens before they admit this stuff? "Don't tell me you'd ever walk away from
me, for anything less than my permanent death."
Truth be told, Sam doesn't think Dean would walk away from that, either, but
Sam does have some restraint.
"Sammy," Dean pleads, tears threatening for the first time in years.
That shakes Sam just a little; Dean used to cry a lot. Not a lot a lot, but
some. He cried about a lot of things, hurts and losses and questions about his
humanity… but the last several years, Dean's hardened. Sam thought it was
toward him specifically – he could feel the walls between them – but he
suddenly realizes the walls aren't between the two of them, they're between
Dean and everyone. Everything.
He continues to push, but a little more tenderly now. He needs to give Dean
something to hold on to. "Dean, you're the glue here. I love you. Always have,
you know that. You mean more to me than anyone ever could. And Cas too – he's
been in love with you… well, probably since the day he met you. Right, Cas?"
Now Cas is making pained faces at him. Sam smiles, gives Cas an encouraging
nod.
"I suppose it might be classified as that. Not that I could appreciate what my
fixation with you meant back then."
Sam chuckles. It's about the most he could've expected from Cas. "So Dean,
you're the center here. You're what binds me and Cas together. We need you to
make this work. We all have to be all-in, here."
Sam could probably keep talking for another six hours, but he'd just be
repeating himself. Either he's made his point or he hasn't; he has to give Dean
the space to work it out. He looks over at Cas. "Love you too, Cas."
Cas nods. "And I, you, Sam. Longer than perhaps you've realized."
Sam smiles. He may ask about that some day. He was fascinated with Cas for a
long time, more as an angel of the lord and then as the object of his brother's
crush, but the realization he had in his djinn-nightmare wasn't a big one. It
wasn't some unknown thing that had no basis in reality. He had his own
fixations, and Cas was definitely one of them for a long time.
Dean takes the box out of his pocket, popping it open to stare at the plain
silver band. "Don't pull any punches, do you Sam?" he asks, huffing out
something short of a laugh.
"Not where you're concerned," Sam says.
Dean nods, staring at the ring. After a couple of moments, he looks up at Cas,
and then over at Sam. "Better text Charlie."
                                      ~~~
Within two minutes of texting Charlie, there's a knock on the door. When Cas
opens it, Charlie is finger-combing her hair.
"You were right outside the door, weren't you?" Dean asks.
Charlie delicately shrugs one shoulder. "I didn't want to get all settled in at
the blackjack tables and then have to come back down to stand up at your
wedding."
Cas sweeps open the door and Charlie comes in, checking all their ties and
straightening Cas's. "So," she says, "how does this work?"
Cas takes his ring off and holds it out in the palm of his hand. Sam takes his
off as well, missing the weight that's grown surprisingly comfortable as soon
as it's gone. Dean opens the box and plucks the silver ring out, turning it
over in his fingers a couple of times before dropping it into Cas's palm.
Cas leans over, his mouth within inches of the bands, and whispers some
Enochian. The rings glow the same blue Sam remembers from the first time he
went through this. "Cool," Charlie breathes.
"Your left hand," Cas says to Dean, picking up Dean's ring out of the pile of
rings. Dean holds it out, his fingers twitching. Charlie supports Dean's hand,
her fingers twining around his wrist to keep him from shaking. Sam checks with
Cas, holding the ring right in front of Dean's fourth finger. Sam puts his
fingers on it too, nesting his hand under Cas's. As soon as he hears Cas take a
breath, he says the words, so they're saying them roughly together as they push
the ring onto Dean's fourth finger.
"With this ring, we thee wed."
He hopes that's right; he's not really sure whether or not the plural was
necessary, but it felt right at the time – maybe even a little nudge from Cas,
now that he thinks about it.
He can hear the crackle of the spell as it zaps Dean, and Dean grimaces just a
little, shaking his hand afterward. He picks up the rings from Cas's palm,
looking at them carefully before taking one in each hand, glancing back and
forth between Sam and Cas's raised hands. Charlie uses her grip on his left
hand to continue guiding him and he manages to start pushing them both down,
finally saying the words as he's gets them over the second knuckle.
"With these rings, I thee wed." Dean looks distinctly pink in the face as he
says it.
"And what God has united, no man shall put asunder," Cas says, completing the
simple ritual the same as last time. Sam finds his cynicism is a little more
subdued this time.
The spellwork glows again, scorching Sam's finger just like the last time, but
something feels different about it now. Deeper, or richer, maybe, like…
Pie. He can tell Dean wants pie. He shakes his head. "Seriously, Dean? Pie?"
Dean shrugs. "I always thought my wedding cake would be made of pie."
"Oooh," Charlie says, "pie sounds good. And ice cream."
                                      ~~~
Charlie convinces them to go out to the club with her, where she dances with
each of them in turn while the other two dance together. It's a nightmare,
really, until Dean lifts her off her feet and twirls her around the floor a
couple of times, and things take a turn for the decidedly laughable. Charlie
won't let go of one of the bottles of champagne, though she does agree to pour
Dean a mouthful, half of which ends up in his hair.
Charlie shows off her prodigious charms and ends up hugging them good night
after about half an hour, her raven-haired friend and bottle of Dom in tow.
"Sounds like a good idea," Sam says, shouting over the pounding bassline. "We
should probably…" He nods his head at the door.
It's not like any of them really want to dance – or were drinking much besides
the champagne – so they leave the club into the cool air of the upper deck. The
breeze is refreshing.
They wander toward their cabin, all of them quiet and thoughtful for once.
"So," Sam says, because if he leaves breaking the silence to Dean, he just
knows there's going to be a terrible joke and that will set the wrong tone.
"Sparring to see who gets the middle?"
It's not fair because if they include Cas, he'd kick both their asses, but
that's not what this is about, anyway.
Dean groans. "No way. My shoulder is still twinging from the last time."
"Fine," Sam says, because needling Dean will never not be his favorite pastime.
"Rock, paper, scissors, then."
"Nah," Dean says, shifting to the far side of Sam so he's between them, and
putting a hand gently on Sam's back, like he used to when Sam was a kid and
Dean wanted to guide him without being too obvious.
"Why don't you take the first turn, Sammy."
                                      ~~~
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