Chapter 8: Promises

Sam veered down the corridor toward the dormitory wing for the fourth time that day. Since bringing Cas back to the bunker last night, the ex-angel had been sleeping hard for nearly twelve hours. Granted, using one's soul like a battery had to be draining, but considering Cas had been dead for a bit at the end there, Sam couldn't help but be slightly worried.

He found Dean already standing outside Cas's room, the door cracked as he peered inside. At Sam's footsteps, Dean closed it and turned around.

"He still out?" Sam asked.

"Like a light." Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm sure he's fine, Dean. Just exhausted."

"Yeah." Dean moved past him, heading back toward his own room.

Sam glanced at Cas's door, and then decided to follow. He paused on the threshold, leaning against the doorjamb as his brother went to grab his headphones off the desk.

Dean paused when he noticed Sam. "You need something?"

Sam worked his jaw, not entirely sure what he wanted to say, but knowing something needed to be addressed between them. They could always put their crap aside when dealing with a case, but once it was over… Well, Sam didn't want there to be continued tension now that Cas was going to be living here.

He took a deep breath. "I understand why you tricked me into letting an angel possess me."

Dean angled a slightly suspicious look at him. "Okay."

Sam crossed his arms protectively over his chest. "But do you understand why that was one of the worst violations you could ever do to me? God, Dean, I've been an angel condom before!"

Dean's jaw tightened. "I thought he was a good angel at the time, that he was trying to help. And he did help! You got better."

Sam shook his head in disgust, and it took all his might not to storm off. "Lucifer thought he was doing me a favor too, just so you know."

Dean blanched for a split second before his expression hardened again. "What do you want me to say, Sam? That I'm sorry for saving your life? Because I'm not. I'm sorry it had to be that way, and I'm sorry for all the shit that came after because I made a stupid decision. But I'm not sorry that you're still breathing."

Sam nodded slowly. He had wanted Dean to apologize for everything, but Sam had come to realize that there were some things Dean would never be sorry for. It'd always been like that, all the way back to when Dean first sold his soul to save him.

Sam lowered his voice. "I'm sorry too, for giving up on you."

Dean blinked, obviously taken aback. "What?"

"For not fighting harder to live," he clarified. "I was only thinking of myself, and not what it'd do to you if I died."

Dean looked away. "I didn't get it, Sam. In that church, you chose to live, to give up the Trials. And then…you just changed your mind?"

Sam's throat tightened. "I was…angry," he admitted. "After everything, all the pain and suffering going through the Trials…for it to all be for nothing…I guess I was tired of fighting."

"And you blamed me for talking you out of it," Dean said bitterly.

"No," Sam countered, and took a step into the room. "I didn't blame you for that, Dean. I blamed myself, blamed my weakness."

Dean lifted his gaze toward the wall. "We'll always be each other's weakness, huh?"

Sam's shoulders slumped wearily. "Maybe. Or…maybe we're each other's strength."

Dean tossed him a wry look.

"You said it—the two of us, saving people, hunting things. We make a difference."

"Not always for good," Dean muttered. "If it wasn't for me trusting Gadreel—Ezekiel—Kevin would still be alive."

"You could say the same if I'd just finished the Trials." Sam sighed heavily. "This isn't the first time we've had innocent deaths on our hands. The Apocalypse?"

Dean let out a humorless snort, and they lapsed into silence for a long moment. "If it'd been me…" Dean began. "I would've finished the Trials."

Sam reeled back as though he'd been struck.

Dean gave him an aggrieved look. "I was never able to make a life outside of hunting, not like you could. Don't you get it, Sammy? You need to be the one to survive, because at least you have a chance with me gone. I…I don't. You were right; I can't do this without you."

Sam's chest constricted. It was true, Dean never had been able to adjust like Sam could. He'd tried, with Lisa and Ben, but it hadn't worked. Maybe if Sam hadn't been soulless at the time, he could have helped his brother acclimate to civilian life. But things hadn't worked out that way.

"You know that pact we made about not looking for each other?"

Dean shook his head and turned away, shoulders bunching. "Yeah," he said gruffly.

"I think we should make a new one." Sam let out a long breath. "To always fight to make it back to each other."

Dean whipped his head back around, surprise etched on his face.

Sam nodded. "If we're gonna keep fighting evil, things are gonna get hairy. We might even have to make sacrifices, like Cas did yesterday. But as long as we always try to come back…" He hesitated. Death was an expected part of a hunter's life, and the Horseman would come for Sam and Dean someday. But…given their track record, they could make sure it was a long way off.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You sure? Because you know I make stupid decisions when it comes to saving my little brother."

Sam's lips quirked. "Yeah, well, maybe if you know I'm actively involved in such decisions, you can make better ones."

Dean smirked, and shrugged. "We've seen weirder things happen."

Sam broke into a smile. "Like having to teach an ex-angel to be human."

Dean's expression shifted to a mixture of shared humor and concern. "Yeah. If the lazy bones will ever get out of bed."

Castiel shifted on the soft surface beneath him, his head too fuzzy to recognize where he was. He only knew that he was currently warm and comfortable. He lay still for awhile longer, floating between sleep and wakefulness. Sometimes he felt a presence shift around him, a hand adjusting the cocoon he was wrapped in, but it wasn't enough to fully stir him. But then his senses gradually started sharpening, and he was eventually able to pry his eyelids open without too much resistance.

He was lying on a bed in the Men of Letters bunker, a blanket rucked up around him. Blinking blearily, Castiel roved his gaze across the walls and down to the small desk lamp illuminating the room with a soft glow. He vaguely remembered the drive back from the field, and then the Winchesters helping him down the stairs. By that time he had been nearly dead on his feet.

…Perhaps that wasn't the best metaphor, given he had actually been dead. Castiel was beginning to lose count of how many times he'd been resurrected, a morbidly amusing thought.

He turned his head to the side, debating whether he wanted to try getting up yet. The bed was very comfortable, and he'd rarely had an opportunity to enjoy one the last time he'd been human.

Speaking of his current predicament, Castiel hadn't yet had time to consider his situation. Being human the first time around had been…difficult. And while he hadn't set out to steal another angel's grace in order to restore his powers, he couldn't deny that being an angel again had made things easier.

But he could not—would not—kill another angel in order to steal more grace. Which left him stuck once again learning how to navigate humanity. Castiel thought Dean had said he could stay this time. For real. But his head was still a little groggy, and he wasn't sure if that was just wishful thinking. Though, Sam wasn't being possessed by an angel who wanted Castiel gone, so that was a point in his favor.

There was a soft knock on the door, and then it cracked open and Sam poked his head in. The younger Winchester smiled.

"Hey, Cas, you're finally awake."

Castiel pushed himself up and scooted back to lean against the headboard. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About fifteen hours." Sam pushed his way in, a plate in one hand and glass in the other. "Dean and I were a little concerned, but we figured being a soul power generator was exhausting."

"It was." Castiel was somewhat surprised he hadn't slept longer; he felt as though he could have rested for a week. "Have you heard anything from Gadreel, or…about the angels?" He knew the spell had worked, that Heaven had been reopened. The spell had also apparently restored the fallen angels' wings, something Castiel had not foreseen but was very glad about, though he felt a small twinge at his own loss.

Sam shook his head regretfully. Castiel swallowed his disappointment. He knew the angels that Gadreel had recruited at the last minute would be trying to restore order in Heaven once the angels were allowed to return, and he dearly hoped they would succeed. But he had also wanted to know if…if he was forgiven.

But given his now human state, perhaps it didn't even matter; he would not be returning to Heaven. Though, he had to wonder with some trepidation, where did an angel's soul go when it died? One would think given how many times Castiel had died before that he would remember. But if there was something, it was beyond his recall. Maybe because there wasn't anything.

Castiel's stomach suddenly rumbled.

Grinning, Sam handed him the plate, which bore a sandwich. "Thought you'd be starving when you woke up. PB&J, with grape jelly, not jam."

Castiel blinked in surprise, oddly touched that Sam had remembered and gone to the trouble. "Thank you."

He accepted the plate and looked at the sandwich, cautiously optimistic about how it would taste. Gingerly picking it up, he took a small bite. The warmed bread instantly melted in his mouth, and the sweet fruitiness of the jelly mixed with nutty peanut butter was tantalizing to his taste buds. Castiel closed his eyes and made a small noise of appreciation.

"Doesn't taste like molecules?" Sam asked.

Castiel opened his eyes to find the Winchester grinning widely. "No, it tastes wonderful. Thank you, Sam."

"You're welcome." Sam set the glass of water on the nightstand, and then pulled the desk chair over to sit in it. "Dean said he'll go out for those burritos you liked."

Castiel's mouth watered at the promise, and he took a hearty bite of the sandwich. "That'd be nice," he said around a full mouth.

Sam's lips twitched, but then his expression sobered. "So, do you think Gadreel will be able to find your grace?"

Castiel lowered the sandwich, some of the taste turning to sand on his tongue. "I don't know. I doubt there was any left after the spell." He sighed. "But if anyone knows for sure, it's Metatron."

Sam nodded. "Well, in the meantime, you'll have plenty to eat and a roof over your head here. Always," he added emphatically, as though Castiel had needed the reassurance. Perhaps he did, and the promise did make him feel better.

"I appreciate it," he said. "And I can be useful on cases. I still have my angelic knowledge, and can still fight."

Sam smiled again. "Good. Because we've still got a Knight of Hell on the loose."

Castiel held back a sigh. It never truly ended. But, thus was the life of a soldier. He looked at the sandwich. "At least food is one good thing about my being human again."

Sam leaned forward, expression earnest. "There will be others. Me and Dean will try to be better teachers this time."

Castiel felt his mouth lift in a small smile. He may not have had his grace, but the soul he possessed was still a warm ember simmering deep inside him. And whether he had wings or was mortal, it gave him the capacity to fit in among the world of angels and the world of men.

And maybe…he had always preferred to fit with the Winchesters.

A/N: And that's all folks! Well, for now. I've been trying to brainstorm a sequel. But in the meantime, the next story coming Monday is a Cas and Claire case!fic. If you're interested in what's in the pipeline, you can always check out my profile where there's an updated list of fics that are finished/in progress. Thanks again for reading!