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What's an Angel to Do?
By Anne Higgins
Castiel wanted to kill Sam Winchester. Not because of the demon blood within the human or the treacherous part he might play in the coming confrontation with Lilith, but because Sam had done the one thing Castiel would not, could not forgive – he had hurt Dean. For that Castiel wanted to kill him. Kill him. Not smite him, which was a far too quick death. No, Castiel wanted to do it slowly. With his bare hands.
Unfortunately, satisfying as it might be, at least for now, terminating the younger Winchester ran contrary to Castiel's current orders. Even more importantly, it would upset Dean. This left him with nothing to do but seethe and plot. What could he possibly do to make Sam pay for the pain he had caused his brother?
A vision of Hell perhaps? Fearing their enemies might use the revelation of what Dean had experienced in Hell against them, Castiel had urged him to tell his younger brother all. Dean had resisted for a time, but had eventually seen the necessity of it. Sam had been … surprisingly unsupportive. A few tears, a muttered cliché or two, but for all his whining to be told the truth, when faced with it, Sam had chosen to ignore it. Until Siren venom, not compassion for a fellow human in pain or the love of one brother for another had loosened his tongue. Then he'd accused Dean of weakness, of holding Sam back and of spending all his time feeling sorry for himself over the souls he'd tortured in Hell.
Castiel knew Dean, knew that even with the Siren venom in his own blood, Sam's words had virtually flayed Dean alive. And Dean had 30 years of experience with how the real thing felt. Yes, perhaps Castiel should give Sam a taste of pain beyond human endurance, yet somehow endured for decades. He knew a mere fraction of it would break Sam, who, for all the violence and pain of his life, was also oddly sheltered from the burdens his father and older brother had shouldered. Nor did he have Dean's armor of self-loathing -- the certainty that when it was all said and done, Dean had somehow earned the torments of the Pit. It was that more than even his tremendous strength and courage which had allowed him to hold out longer than any other soul in all of time, including his father.
Yes, Castiel could send all that torment flooding into Sam's dreams, turn them into night terrors beyond imagining, yet with a vividness that would make them undeniably true events. Sam would know then he would have lasted little more than a handful of years, while his brother had not only held out but had managed to cling to enough sanity that he could return to life and once again be the hero he had always been.
No, wait. Reality intruded on his fantasy of revenge. He could not. Sam certainly deserved to feel the pain, but the pleasure of inflicting it would need to follow for him to truly understand what Dean had survived. Anything less, while satisfying to Castiel personally, would make the experience base revenge instead of the lesson Sam needed to learn. However, even the echo of that pleasure might leave Sam far too vulnerable to Lilith's machinations. She'd use it as a taste of some forbidden fruit – a potent fuel to feed the small cruel streak within Sam.
Thwarted by reason, he sighed. All right, he could not punish within the guise of instruction, but perhaps he could comfort the beautiful man sleeping so restlessly in his arms. He could send a dream to soothe Dean's nightmares as he so often did, yet it seemed such an ineffective thing to do. Pretty scenes, calming sounds – they often struck him as little more than a candle in a windstorm. But there must be something he could do.
He thought of what he himself found comforting – his Father's love. Perhaps the same would help Dean. Not the words of God, but of Dean's own father. John Winchester might find the right words to help his son. A perfect idea … except John had moved on to his next incarnation, one which would lead him to an eventual reunion with Mary and hopefully a long, happy life together. He sighed and settled on sending memories long forgotten in the haze of time. Memories of the first four years of Dean's life, of the adoration his parents had felt for him before death had stolen away his mother and turned his father into a grief-stricken hunter unable to feel much beyond the desire for revenge and the need to survive. A time before his brother existed, let alone the pain he had so recently caused.
It seemed to help. Dean stopped moaning softly in his sleep and even smiled a few times. But to Castiel's surprise, he quickly pushed away the dreams and struggled to wake up.
Frowning, Castiel allowed it and a moment later, Dean lifted his head from the angel's chest. Darkness did not hide the green of Dean's eyes from Castiel or the worry within them. "You can't smite my brother."
Castiel arched an eyebrow. It seemed as he had come to know, he had become known. "I will not."
Dean gave him a skeptical look. "But you want to."
An evasion or two occurred to him, but he opted for the truth. "No, nothing as quick as that."
A slight smile tugged at the corners of Dean's mouth. "Smiting too good for Sammy?"
"He hurt you." To Castiel it bordered on obscene, and how had he so quickly come to think of something so trivial in the scheme of things as the greatest of all crimes?
"He didn't mean it."
Castiel said nothing, and Dean flushed. They both knew Sam had spoken the truth. As had Dean. It had, after all, been what the Siren had ordered. "He doesn't know he meant it," Dean corrected himself, his voice subdued.
Dean sighed and let his head drop back down onto Castiel's bare chest. "It was just like when that psycho ghost in the asylum got him caught up in all that anger crap – shit comes pouring out he doesn't even know he thinks."
"Dean-"
"Sam loves me … he just doesn't … like me very much."
Castiel pressed a kiss to the top of Dean's head. It hurt to hear those words, how much worse to feel they were true? "He-"
"No, it's true. It's like …" He sighed again. "There was this girl back in our days at Truman High School."
Castiel resisted the urge to sigh himself. He had been away during two hunts, and both seemed to have caused his lover pain. "Amy or Amanda or something like that. I put the usual moves on her, then she caught me doing the same with another girl. She said some stuff … and, well the thing is she kind of got it right. All I am is the guy who takes care of his baby brother. All the rest is this shell putting on a show. And that's not enough for Sam to look up to."
His arms tightened around Dean. He wanted to lash out at Sam, to call him a self-centered, ungrateful fool, but he knew that would only make Dean leap to his brother's defense. But he had someone he loved deeply to defend as well. "A shell? Oh, my love, you could not be more wrong," he said. "Your soul is so full, so glorious that … an angel of the Lord looked upon it and at last knew love."
"Cas-"
"No." He rolled, putting Dean beneath him, then kissed him, a deep touch, but one of love, not passion. "I will not punish your brother, but I will not hear you speak ill of yourself, either." He kissed him again. "You are the man I love. But beyond that I. Like. You."
Dean's eyes grew bright. "Really?"
"Really. You are intelligent, compassionate, brave, funny and have excellent taste in music and cars. And that is but a mere fraction of all there is to like about you."
A pleased smile twitched onto the beautiful face. "I like you, too," he said, looking almost shy.
The word adorable flashed into Castiel's mind, and he kissed the tip of Dean's nose to keep from saying it.
Dean wrinkled his nose and gave him a look that said he knew exactly what Castiel was thinking and would find a way to make him pay for it.
Castiel hesitated, uncertain what to do. Somehow vows of … friendship did not seem best sealed with the same passion that had made a near ruin of the bed they lay in, but the moment did seem to call out for … something.
"So what now?" Dean asked, echoing his thoughts. "We exchange friendship bracelets or something?"
Before he came up with an answer, the door hotel room door opened, then Sam walked into the room and flipped on the lights.
Such was Castiel's speed that he could have dressed, straightened the bed and been gone in the blink of an eye – had done so on more than one occasion since taking a man who shared a room as his lover – but this time he did not go. Instead he rose up from the bed and turned to face the younger Winchester. He stood there dressed in nothing but the contempt he felt for Sam in his eyes and silently dared him to say a word.
Proving he did indeed sometimes play the fool, Sam's brief startlement gave way to anger, and he snapped, "Looks like I wasn't the only one keeping secrets."
Castiel's hand twitched with the need to strike him dead on the spot, but Dean caught hold of his arm, an action Castiel suspected had less to do with restraint than to point out the threat to his brother.
At least it had that effect for a great deal of the color drained from Sam's face.
"Give it a rest, kid," Dean said, picking up, then pulling on his jeans with slow, casual movements. "If I'd thought for a second you cared who kept me sane when you snuck out, I'd have told you."
Sane, not company. Sam flinched when he heard the word. Guilt perhaps? "But he's a –"
"Guy? Angel? I noticed." Shirt, socks, boots, slowly he dressed, and once he finished, Castiel manifested his normal attire, and everyone in the room was all nice and clothed. How civilized. He still wanted to rend Sam limb from limb.
Dean stood in front of his brother, looked him in the eye. "Truth is, you're a good hunter, Sammy. But I'm better. And I'm something else, too. I'm a good brother, and I have always been there for you. I always will be. But this," he looked at Castiel, then back to Sam, "this you don't get a part of. It's mine and I'm going to hang onto it with everything I have. You don't like it, you can stuff it."
He turned his glance to Castiel again. "I'm in the mood for pie, handsome. You in?"
Castiel smiled, then nodded. Without a word, he moved across the room to join Dean at the door. But as they stepped outside, Castiel looked at Sam and said, "Be here when he returns" The unspoken 'or else' echoed in the room like a thunderclap.
Sam swallowed hard, then nodded.
Dean closed the door, and once again the night belonged to just the two of them. "I love my brother, but sometimes … I don't like him much, either."
Castiel caught hold of his hand, drew it up to his own lips, then kissed it. When he allowed their arms to drop back to their sides, he did not release the hand nor did Dean pull away. Instead, Dean turned his hand a little so their fingers interlaced.
"I like you." They both said it at the same time, then shared a smile.
"Let's go get that pie," Dean said, and hand-in-hand they walked toward the Impala.
end