Ford knows Sam is a (sonofagun) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-05-01 21:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | castiel, door: supernatural, sam winchester |
Who: Sam and Castiel
What: Divine Conference
Where: A gas station twenty miles outside of Lebanon, Kansas. The Supernatural door.
When: Recently.
Warnings/Rating: Sam swears (Both of the Winchesters do it, down with WB censorship).
It wasn’t long after the promised time that Chloe stepped through the door, Castiel appearing on the other side dressed as he always was in accountant-chic. His focus was on one thing, and that was finding Sam and figuring out what was going on. The difference in their apparent time-lines was disconcerting, and something that had to be figured out before it turned on them and ended in disaster. There were things that Sam knew that were possibly useful, and if the man had information that would spare them any amount of trouble, Castiel had every intention on gathering it and using it as needed. With Lucifer, they were often on the defensive; being able to change their position to the offensive for once would be a welcome change of pace.
A glance around told him that Sam was not here, or at least not visible, and given the protective runes that they wore, hiding them from angelic eyes, it was impossible for him to find him easily. “Sam!” Castiel shouted, hoping the man was in his general vicinity. “I’m here, as promised. Now where are you?”
Sam wasn’t far off. Ford was less hesitant about giving Sam time than most people, warily respectful of the idea of having an entire person in his mind, just waiting around to exist. Sam, too, was intimately aware that if one of them died it was far more likely that Ford would stay dead than he, Sam, especially given Sam’s history of resurrection. The two had remained fairly cordial with each other, and Ford’s recent difficulties with his sour, mechanic of an older brother had pushed the relationship a little past civil and more toward friendly.
Sam wasn’t used to the angel shouting at him, and he was worried (as only Sam could be worried) about things like crossing timelines and unintentional consequences in theoretical time streams. He moved around the edge of the gas station and walked down a cracked cement path toward the flickering lights and a buzzing coke machine. “I’m here.” Sam stopped within arm’s reach, trusting, his hands in his jacket pockets. He was aware that Cas might have some weird molecular analysis that would tell the angel in a moment exactly how old he was and maybe some of the things that had happened to him, and he was cool with that. “You okay?” There was nothing to see in Cas’ face, there never was, so Sam didn’t bother looking. His question was earnest, and he tucked his chin down to squint familiar hazel eyes down at the shorter figure in front of him.
As Sam proceeded down the concrete path, Castiel turned in the direction of the footsteps and the voice that soon followed, head tilted to the side as his eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of the other man for a long while. This one was not the Sam that he knew, and it wasn’t just the visual that spoke that much. The feeling was different, as well, and while Castiel would always recognize this man as Sam Winchester, there was no doubting that there was a disparage between this one and the one that he knew. His arms were loose at his side as Sam approached, coming within a few feet of him, and as Castiel tipped his head up towards Sam, he gave the shortest of nods. “I am well,” he responded, the answer generic and giving very little information away. “But I do not believe we are here to discuss such niceties. Things are different with you, and I wish to know what happened.” He didn’t say that he could and would find out on his own terms if needed, because certain levels of politeness would and could be disregarded to gain needed information.
Sam’s head moved a few millimeters to the right, and a series of small, minor expressions moved his eyebrows and mouth in an expression of mingled puzzlement and inquiry. This was a very cold Cas, a demanding one. Sam was not expecting the warm and fuzzies, still, the Castiel he knew was not quite so... sure of himself. Interesting. A certain wary guard put Sam slightly on edge. His lips thinned slightly. “Happened. Nothing happened. I lived a while longer. You guys are behind, not the other way around.” Sam stood still, shifting his weight to either side and hunching his shoulders slightly in a manner recognizable and reassuringly disarming.
The angel’s lips pursed in the slightest expression of frustration, but it lasted for only a moment before he closed his eyes, head tilted up towards the sky in silent conversation with someone or something else. When his eyes opened yet again, they weren’t as narrowed as before, and it was clear he was making an effort to tone down on the ice. “I want to know what happens, Sam,” Castiel said, his voice softer, a warmer tone to the words. “To Lucifer. He still walks the Earth for us, and you said that he doesn’t when you are from. And if you know how, you should tell us.” He could see the way Sam had put himself on guard, the subtle shift of his weight, the way his shoulders were carried, and Castiel knew he had to go easy with the man. Sam had never responded well to threats, and his rapport with the younger brother had never been as good as it was with Dean. They handled differently, and he needed to keep that in mind.
Sam’s eyes had gone wide and his shoulders and spine straightened. He stopped trying to make himself shorter and smaller, and he focused instead on the man in front of him. The series of movements were not deliberate, but Sam, like many hunters, had a pattern of behavior. He acted a certain way around potential threats, he acquired a readiness that had been trained into him oh, so very young. Sam was not a natural predator, but he had been one once, he could be again, and that he was not was a choice and unification of fate. “Who were you just talking to right there?” Sam asked sharply, pointing from Castiel’s face to the open sky above them.
He hadn’t expected Sam to pick up on that, but nothing ever got past the hunter. “Simply whoever might still be listening up there,” Castiel said by way of answer. “No one responded, so I was likely talking to myself.” The angel shifted his stance slightly, a breath pulled in and exhaled in a very human way of trying to relax. “I’m not your enemy, Sam. You don’t have to treat me as such.” Because that stance, the edge that didn’t quite leave the man’s body, Castiel knew how it came off and the feelings that caused such positions.
Sam’s eyes darted upward and then back down to Castiel’s face. “Right. Still talking to... up there. Yeah, where I come from you don’t do that anymore, Cas.” It made Sam nervous, visibly nervous, and he shifted a few more times, right foot left foot right, and he did not ease at all. In fact, he took a step back. “You might not be an enemy but I don’t know who you’re telling what. What did you tell them?” Sam wasn’t paranoid in this new life; shockingly opposite, actually. That didn’t make him gullible, it just made him more intelligent about being cautious when it was necessary.
“I don’t do that anymore?” Castiel questioned, gaze flicking down to those shifting feet just as Sam took a step back, and as though picking up on that nervous energy that was pouring off the young man, he stayed where he was, as unthreatening as he ever was. “And I am not talking to anyone in particular, nor am I telling them anything,” Castiel stated, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trenchcoat, yet another attempt to appear harmless. He was quiet for a moment, his features darkening for a moment before they relaxed once more. “You have put me into an unusual situation, Sam, and it requires more thought in how to proceed. I am simply asking for patience and calm in proceeding so that I do not make a wrong step in handling this situation. That is all.” He paused, tilting his head to the side for a brief moment. “Besides. You have offered me little information to share with anyone. You do not have to be concerned.”
“It’s not a situation,” Sam said, obviously revising his approach to take into an account a fully loyal angel fully tapped in to his brainwashed mother ship in the clouds. (This Sam was a very long way from the trusting young man so keen on faith that put his hand out to Castiel so long ago.) “It’s just me. And I just know the way we did it. Sometimes it... it doesn’t work out for the best, the way we handle things.” Sam looked keenly into Cas’ eyes every time he said the word we. Castiel didn’t much recognize subtlety of that nature, but Sam could hope. “Same goes for them.” He lifted one finger and pointed up toward the sky in a wordless gesture that took in all of angel-kind that wasn’t standing in front of him wearing a trenchcoat. “...Exactly how are you thinking of ‘handling’ this situation?”
“And any information you can provide us would be useful, Sam. I realise that there is no guarantee that your method would be successful as we exist now, but at this point, there is nothing to be lost in attempting.” Castiel did not enjoy the possibility of a future where the two brothers would be pitted against one another, which is how things seemed to be progressing. Blood against blood, and it was very unlikely that both would walk away unscathed. As Sam continued on, the look he was given with each mention of the word ‘we’, Castiel gave him an almost imperceptible nod as though he understood. “And I am not entirely sure. It depends on what you are able to offer, but no matter what, Sam, I am here to help you and Dean. Whatever is said stays between you and me and they will not be privy to that information.” There was some value in secrets, something the angel was coming to realise. Things were not paradise above, and there were too many questions about where He had disappeared to. Dead, gone, there was something missing up there, and the unrest was disturbing to say the least. At least here, on Earth, he had some modicum of control.
As far as Sam was concerned, things with Cas were complicated. The angel had made a lot of mistakes, and it had been a hard road for all of them as they discovered that angels could be human too--human the adjective, not human the noun. Apart from his support structure of fellow soldiers and God himself, Castiel had gone off the chain and done horrific things in the name of a perceived greater good. Sam could forgive--he was a very forgiving person, when it came down to it--but he didn’t want to set up his friend to fall. Figuratively and literally.
When Cas said there was nothing to be lost in the attempt, a spasm of fear and resignation crossed Sam’s face and moved down his spine, the two emotions blended into a dark mix like crude oil in acetone. “You’re wrong there,” he said grimly. “I lost a lot. You probably won’t be able to understand how much. You lost too, and Dean... I don’t think anybody can lose more than we have and still be standing.” It was bizarre to talk about such things and yet still feel calm.
Sam’s words had a lot buried beneath them, alluding at much more happening than could easily be predicted. Castiel didn’t say anything for a long while, his gaze growing distant as he thought, fixed on some point beyond the Winchester brother’s shoulder. He knew that Sam had his reasons for keeping a tight hold on what he knew, but Castiel felt that information was better shared than hidden, because at least when there was more than one person who knew, more could be figured out. Ideas could be shared. Solutions discovered. “What more will we lose,” Castiel started as he dragged himself back to the here and now, meeting Sam’s gaze, holding it firmly, “if we continue to dance around this, Sam?” His brow had furrowed down, frustration creasing the angel’s face for the smallest of moments. “I realise you have your reasons for doing as you are, but perhaps something can be prevented if we know what we are going to face. You’re the only one who can help us with that, though I will not force the information from you.” There were other people that Castiel would not be so kind to, but there was respect when it came to the younger Winchester brother, and Castiel would not cross that line.
Sam stood still, obviously thinking. Sam didn’t think in one place, and he didn’t brood in a vacuum. There was a lot of scraping, tiny cement pebbles rolling under thin treads worn flat. The rattle of an old zipper in loosening seams as he shrugged his jacket onto thick shoulders. In comparison angels seemed unnaturally silent. Finally, Sam took a deep breath through his nose, obviously stealing himself. “I said yes,” Sam said finally. “I said yes, and Michael took Adam. And then we...” Sam’s voice broke and he coughed it back into life, gluing thoughts back together, holding his spine straight with a sheer effort of will. “And then we took him down into the Pit. The cage there. Me... me and him.” Sam’s tongue flicked out in a childish movement of reassurance that would have looked odd on man his size had he not had the old, soft eyes of one who had lost and lived to tell about it. Sam took one hand out of his jean pocket and waved it once in the air, sweeping molecules out of the way between them in something he must have thought had meaning for the angel. “You can’t tell... how I look on the inside. I guess. You could before, before I got patched up.”
As the details came out, just as Castiel had wanted, the angel went absolutely silent and still as he listened. He could recognize the things that Sam wasn’t saying, a tale summed up to its base parts for easy digestion. But that didn’t stop him from zeroing in on the details. He said yes. He had gone into the Pit. And those handful of details, so small and miniscule, explained so very much. Castiel didn’t say anything initially, digesting the way Sam summarized being here now, in front of them. “You were in the Pit,” Castiel said evenly, his gaze narrowing slightly, looking closer, with more focus at the hunter. “How did you get out?” he asked, because that was not something done easily, done often. Dean’s rescue from Hell had taken a lot from him, a risk that could have had dire consequences had he not been strong enough. But he had, and he did. So who had risked that for Sam?
The fingers of Sam’s right hand dug into the excess flop of hair curling under his ear against his neck, agitation spelled out in his expression. The broad forehead creased and a childlike pain flicked his eyes from side to side. All of it stopped to give Castiel a weak smile. “You’re not going to like it. Crowley. Your b--” Sam stopped, because he’d been about to say, your buddy but then he realized this version of soldier-man Castiel wanted nothing to do with Crowley. Maybe. Sam decided something in one visible sweep of emotion. “The hell with it. Crowley. Your buddy, at the time. You were working together so you could stage a hostile takeover.” Sam watched Castiel’s face soberly, because he was fairly sure Cas wasn’t going to believe him. “You made some mistakes.” Then, in a clear attempt to be consoling in some way, Sam added: “We all did.”
There were a lot of explanations that Sam could have offered that Castiel would have believed, or would have at least entertained their plausibility. But the reason that was uttered, that he had worked with Crowley in order to stage some takeover? That was not something Castiel could bring himself to believe. It wasn’t that he thought Sam would lie to him, but he was finding it impossible to believe that some string of events, some line of thought, had led to that being a good idea.
Sam’s silence was answer enough, brow furrowed down and gaze growing distant, running through the possibilities that could make this make sense. “I don’t-” Castiel started, but nothing came afterwards, his gaze instead dragged back towards Sam, some unreadable expression on the angel’s face. “Mistakes. Teaming up with Crowley is not a mistake, Sam. That is-” He wanted to say that it was a mistake he would not make, but the words wouldn’t come. Sam was speaking the truth.
Sam nodded, as if anticipating a word Castiel didn’t say. (Something like “betrayal” came immediately to mind.) “I know,” he said. “I get it. I’ve been there. But you... you’re a faithful guy. You need something to have faith in. I get that.” Sam reached out a tree limb of an arm and awkwardly patted Cas on the shoulder. He had to get a little closer to do it, and even Dean probably would have been less awkward about doing it. He looked uncomfortable, but not angry. Sam had time to come to terms with the mistakes he had made, and those of other people. The way Sam felt about Cas was a lot like that for his brother, in some ways; eventually Sam had to just let the bad stuff go so they could get on with life. “Just don’t do it again. Believe me. It’s not the way to go. Purgatory is awful, anyway. Bad real estate. The prices are going to tank.” Weak smile.
“But anyway,” Sam continued, with the too-hearty voice of someone who desperately wanted to change conversation topics, “I’m out now and.. and you fixed up the damage and... and we’re good.” Right. Good.
It was difficult to reconcile a world where he would make the kind of decisions Sam implied that he had, and it would have been entirely too easy to sink down into thought on that for some time had Sam not reached out with the awkward pat to his shoulder. "I have no intention upon doing that. Ever." The words were firm, backed by a forced belief, because whatever had happened in the time Sam came from, there was no guarantee that they would walk down that path again. That was one of the reasons time was so difficult. Decisions changed in a heartbeat, and what happened once would likely not happen again, at least not precisely.
As the topic changed, Castiel's shoulders dropped slightly and he found himself giving a nod of his head in response. "Good. We're good," he repeated, returning the awkward pat of Sam's shoulder before he inclined his head slightly. "Don't tell Dean about what you told me. About Crowley." His eyes narrowed for a moment, a pinch of thought, and then it vanished completely.
Sam sighed heavily. It was midway between frustration and sympathy. “I know you wouldn’t but... but you did. Circumstances. Shit happened. You made choices. Now, maybe... you won’t take them again.” Sam decided a second pat on the shoulder was too much for one conversation, so he just kind of twitched for a few seconds as he tried to decide how best to make everything better so he could leave. The sight of Castiel staring at him like the old, brainless soldier he was, it just made him think of Lucifer, and it was starting to freak him out.
Sam blinked when Castiel patted him back in obvious exact replication of what he had done before. Sam realized that such shoulder pats did fuck-all to make a man feel better. Shit. “If it doesn’t come up, Cas. But I’ve learned keeping things from Dean makes really shitty things happen.”
"If it doesn't come up," Castiel echoed, casting his gaze towards the sky above once more. "I need to go. Research." Because there were still questions eating at him, once that he wasn't quite positive Sam didn't have the answer to. This world was strange in more ways than one, and he had a feeling it was only going to get worse from here. "Stay in touch."
And then the angel was gone with only the slightest breeze.