fem!sam/cas for spn femslash week
~1,200 words, pg
Sam is not like her brother. She is not stubborn and hard-headed, she is not gutsy or rustic, she can’t wear the same old worn leather jacket for years. They’re different, and sometimes she isn’t sure how they get along, and she’s almost certain that a part of Dean thinks she’s a nuisance.
She plans on proving herself.
It’s hard, though. When there’s so many things wrong in the world that it leaves her to crumble. She’s completely overwhelmed.
Dean doesn’t think so. He seems to hate the angel, sparing her angry looks whenever he can, snapping foul words at or about her. Sometimes Sam starts to speak up but Dean always cuts her off, shakes his head, takes a drink.
But Castiel was proof that there was hope. A glimmer, somewhere on the other side of the world maybe. But there. Impossible to reach, but existent. That was enough for Sam, when it would never be enough for her big brother. Dean would never reach out. Dean would never take comfort.
Castiel is beautiful, and not just in the human way, though her vessel is a petite woman in a pleated black skirt and tan trench coat. Something about the look seems to soot Castiel, with her awkwardness, her tilts of the head, the way she says such literal things and looks at Dean like he owes her an explanation.
They don’t connect at first. Castiel’s blue eyes are too piercing, like she sees everything Sam’s ever done wrong. Well, she probably does. Some kind of superhuman – or just inhuman – sense. But Sam doesn’t talk about it, and Castiel doesn’t bring it up, either. In their first meeting, their hands slip together, and Castiel cradles Sam’s hand like it’s precious, then utters the words – “The girl with the demon blood,” so softly, like it’s a prayer.
It hits Sam in the gut, those words. Already, the angel has marked her. If not an enemy, certainly not the perfect ally.
It takes a while for Sam to get used to it, the fact that Castiel latches onto Dean like they all do. But something changes, somewhere along the line, and Sam could never name the exact moment but she knows when it happens that her entire world falls together, instead of apart. Castiel can be fierce and frightening, and she wields her weapons without pause.
In some ways, she reminds Sam of Dean – but maybe they’re just new habits, picked up from the righteous man.
Sam could never be righteous. She doesn’t know how. She knows how to kiss Ruby, and how to drink blood, and how to be corrupted and full of fear and scarred all over, but being strong? Being righteous? Maybe Dean doesn’t know how either, but that’s not the point – the point is that Sam and Dean will always have a barrier between them, and Sam fears, for a long while, that Cas will always see that barrier and refuse to touch Sam. And Sam so wants to be touched, because she needs it.
Somewhere at the end of November, and Sam never knows where Dean is anymore – barely knows where she is herself. But there’s Castiel, standing in front of the bathroom door, looking perfect albeit a little disheveled, and Sam, sitting on the bed, crying but trying not to.
Castiel does not offer comfort in the way humans do. She does not hug or rub Sam’s back or even just kiss her forehead or say an awkward “There, there,” which Sam almost expects. Instead Castiel swipes Sam’s tears from her face and cradles her carefully, kisses her full on the mouth.
It’s certainly not what Sam had imagined. Not in her wildest dreams.
It is usually Dean that Castiel comforts (tries to comfort). Sam has seen it, has seen her touch his shoulder but he always twitches and pulls away from her, eyes full of anger. Sam’s brother is so broken, he feels like a tool in a war he wished he’d never started.
Sam aches for him, and that makes her pull in closer to Cas. She thinks of holy water and rings of salt and silver knives and all the damage that’s been done to them, and when Castiel kisses her, she imagines the damage coming unraveled, undoing itself as life regresses. Like she is turning into a child again.
She pulls back for air, but only for a second. When they kiss again it’s more fervent, and Sam knows she must taste like the bitter coffee she had this morning as she watched Dean get into the Impala, maybe of her own tears. She wonders why she hasn’t faded out of this world, sometimes.
When she opens her eyes and sees Castiel’s blue ones, just as wide, searching her, she remembers exactly why.
Because she has hope. Faith, even. Sam has her moments when she believes in nothing, truly, but ever since she was a child she’s always had that force tugging at her, and that was her beliefs. The cross necklace she hid tucked in an old sweater of her mother’s that her father let her keep. Somewhere beneath turmoil and violence and fear, curling into Dean’s chest and crying quietly against his skin – somewhere between all that, Sam never really forgot. If evil existed, pure good must also. She clung to that hope.
Castiel isn’t proof – she doesn’t verify what Sam wanted to know – but she’s close enough. Not perfect, but the best Sam can ever imagine she’ll get.
“Sam Winchester,” Castiel breathes in that airy voice of hers, chimes in winter and chilly winds that seep into skin and bone. Sam scoots closer. “You have suffered enough for three lifetimes.” Castiel lifts a hand and brushes back Sam’s hair, fingers swiping away stray tears. Castiel even does something stranger, leaning forward and brushing her lips over the spots where Sam’s cheeks are stained. “So many scars on your skin and beneath it, and each has a story. Would you tell me your story, Sam Winchester?” When Castiel looks at her, it’s with a fierceness in her eyes that cannot be ignored. It is not cold, she is not being cruel. Serious and honest.
She holds Sam’s face in her hands, fingers firm but not uncomfortably tight, and they kiss again, long and smooth, Sam melting into this protective coating. In this instance, safety comes in pairs. Two beings together, entwined by an impossible life and circumstances.
When Sam was young, she used to pray for an angel, just on instinct. When Dean found out he had snorted and said Mom used to pray, too. Shitload of good that did us, huh? From that moment on, Sam had been careful, but Dean’s words hadn’t made her stop. They had renewed her faith, and she was right. For once, big brother Dean with all his backwards thinking and anger was wrong, and she had found safety here, in this angel in front of her.
Sam nearly chokes on a sob again, and Castiel smiles, pressing their foreheads together. She does not sing a lullaby, she does not rock Sam to sleep. But she stays, and it’s more than anyone else has ever done.
