Sam sits at the edge of the bed, eyes closed, fists balled on his lap just barely grasping his jeans. He tries to ignore the smell of bloodied knuckles, gun powder (subsequent gun fire echoing in the corners of his room), the close call tears down his chest, his side. The night at his back pressing down until Sam was just a collection of body parts barely held together by the threads of his clothes.
He hesitates to turn toward that voice, soft, gruff, tinged with worry. Sam instead keeps his gaze on the floor. Castiel moves silently enough, stepping as light as he can which Sam knows is only for him. For his peace of mind. Very little of that remains despite all the gentleness shown to him. He comes no closer than a few feet.
“Hey...” The voice that comes out Sam breaks before he can clear his throat.
“May I...? There's... Well, I'm sure you know this but you're covered in blood.”
“Yeah, Cas, I, uh... I know.”
And for a moment the silence that hangs between them becomes heavier than the monsters on Sam’s back. Heavier than anything he’s dealt with so far because he knows what questions will come. Knows the look that’ll be on Castiel’s face, permanently etched concern furrowing his brow, a disappointed slant to his lips, awkward shifting from one foot to the next because he desperately needs to know why Sam didn’t call for back up.
Sam sniffs, looks down at his knuckles shined red in the lamp light.
“Hadn’t? What if I hadn’t, Cas?” He glances up, finally, to the face that knows him all too well. There’s disappointment, Sam was right about that, but a mix of what could only be considered grief, sorrow, a streak of pity that nauseates Sam enough for him to cast his gaze elsewhere again. “Guess we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Sam. You... All you left was a note.” Barely restrained anger tints an otherwise calm tone. At this point, there are very few things Sam wants to discuss and his impulsive decision making isn’t one of them. “Werewolves? A clan? What were you thinking? Going that far out of your way to-“
“It’s a job, Cas,” Sam snaps. Immediately he regrets it for the way Castiel flinches, just barely. “I found a job. I took care of it. I didn’t need back up.”
“Think what you want. I got it done.”
“Your self destructive streaks rival that of your brother’s. You know that, right? You Winchesters-“
“Always running toward danger, right? I’ve heard it all before, Cas.”
Before Sam has time to register Castiel’s movement, the angel sweeps through the room grabbing first aid supplies like some harrowed parent. Anger returns. Castiel kneels down next to Sam barely keeping composure.
“And yet, it seems nothing has gotten through that surprisingly thick skull of yours. You would think after all this time, after...” he pauses while examining the claw marks torn through on Sam’s jacket then quickly pushes it to the side, rucking up Sam’s shirt to make sure his skin was unmarried. Brief relief crosses his face. Sam snorts softly at the rapid change in expression. It used to be so hard to know what the angel was thinking, especially in the beginning when they were merely strangers forced to save the world together. Now, after Castiel’s short stint as a human, there seemed to be no filter, every emotion written on his face clear as day.
Sam winces at the alcohol pad pressed a little too hard against his knuckles.
“You’re just... more human than you’ve ever been, Cas. I don’t know...” he shakes his head. “Brain is fried-“
“One too many werewolves to the head, perhaps.”
“No.” Castiel tilts his head pointedly. “This goes beyond disappointment. You’re...” Castiel sighs. He reaches for the roll of gauze next to Sam. “You have nothing to prove.” At this, Sam does laugh, maybe harder than he should. “I’m serious. You’ve already proven that you’re an invaluable part of this team and I... I don’t know know what I would do if you left again like this. A note. No location.” His movement becomes softer, careful as he finishes wrapping Sam up. “You’re lucky all you came away with was a few bruises and cuts. You have to know that, don’t you?”
On some level, Sam agrees. He did a stupid thing but to be fair, his whole life has been a series of stupid things one right after the next. Instead of answering, Sam checks the patchwork on his hand, noting just how well Castiel’s taken up first aid.
“Promise me, Sam. Right now. Promise me you’ll call.”
It’s the undeniable surge of protection that floors Sam for a good few moments. He can’t look into Castiel’s eyes until a hand slips under his chin turning him until it’s all he can see.
“Good. And you better keep this one.” The hand under Sam’s chin slides to his forehead brushing hair out of Sam’s sight. “Please. Keep this one.”
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