Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was April, in Oregon, and it was raining. It wasn’t raining hard, not yet, but the sky looked like it was keeping its options open. In short; not good hitchhiking weather, but Sam Winchester was hitchhiking anyway.

Or trying to, at least.

His last ride had picked him up in Salem and carried down I-5 for more than an hour, so as close as he could figure, he was somewhere near Eugene. Or in other words; still hell and gone from Stanford.

A car flicked its lights at him as it skimmed past, narrowly avoiding splashing him in it’s way up the on-ramp. He wasn’t sure what the light flick was meant to convey. ‘Get out of the rain?’ Yeah, he’d figured that one out for himself already, thanks.

He could camp out at a diner somewhere if he needed to- there were almost six hundred bucks in his pocket, along with two fake IDs and credit cards in a variety of names, none of which were his. He was hoping not to have to buy a bus ticket- six hundred bucks seemed like enough until it was all you had in the world- and it wasn’t likely to stop raining any day soon, so he hunkered down and watched for headlights.

Two more cars passed over the course of the next forty minutes. It was not a well-populated exit, and it was getting dark, fast. Sam wasn’t excited about the idea of hitching in the dark- sleepy drivers tended not to stick to their side of the white line.

Headlights turned up the on ramp, and Sam reluctantly pulled his hand out of the half-dry warmth of his pocket, extending his thumb with a hope he didn’t feel.

The car accelerated toward him and he saw it wasn’t a car at all, but a box truck, white and unmarked. Probably a commercial vehicle, which meant he didn’t stand a chance of catching a ride.

The truck blew past him and he dropped his hand back into his pocket.

The road beneath him glowed a sudden red as the truck’s driver applied the brakes. Sam hesitated, making sure the truck was truly stopping, and the white reverse lights flashed for a moment, indicating that the driver had put the truck in park.

Sam shouldered his damp knapsack and ran for the cab.

The window rolled down as he approached.

“Where you headed?” the driver called, and Sam couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice as he responded “Stanford.”

The driver whistled.

“I’m not going that far, but I can take you probably thirty miles.”

“That’s perfect,” Sam said. He climbed up into the cab, slamming the door and fumbling to find his seat belt before the cab light shut off. His long hair stuck to his face, and he pushed it out of his face for the hundredth time. It fell right back where it had been. The driver accelerated smoothly onto the highway, kicking his wipers into a higher gear as the rain began to fall harder.

“Looks like you came just in time,” Sam said, peering out the windshield into the gloom.

“Your very own guardian angel,” the driver agreed. Sam glanced over at the guy, but he couldn’t see much in the gathering darkness. Solid build, dark hair, late twenties, by the sound of his voice.

“Name’s Sam, by the way,” Sam said, extending his hand. The driver looked over and shook it once, quickly returning his hands to the wheel.

“Cas,” he answered. “Cas Novak.”

“Nice to meet you, Cas,” Sam said with a nod. “So, headed home, or away?”

“Home,” Cas said, and Sam heard the smile in his voice. “I’ve got a place out in the woods where I do most of my work. I’m an artist.”

“Yeah? Like a painter?”

“Sculptures, mostly,” Cas answered, jerking his thumb toward the back of the cab. “Thus the truck. I was making a delivery to a buyer up in Fremont.”

Sam glanced back.

“That’s a big sculpture,” he remarked, and Cas laughed.

“Well, go big or go home, right?”

Sam had nothing to say to that. Cas cleared his throat.

“What about you? Home or away?”

“Definitely away,” Sam answered, looking out the window. The rain was falling even harder now. He followed the line of the guardrail with his finger, tracing an imaginary line. “Got a full ride to Stanford. Pre-law. Classes start in five days.”

“Hey, good for you, kid. Your family must be thrilled.”

Sam snorted.

“Nah. My dad’s pissed at me for not going into the family business, and my brother’s pissed at me for upsetting my dad.” He shrugged. “They’re a better team without me anyway. They’ve been working together since I was little.”

“They’ll probably get over it. Give them a call in about six months. They’ll have cooled off, they’ll be glad to hear from you.” Cas hesitated. “In my experience, it’s the silence that does it in for most people. Nobody knows how to break it, so they just… don’t. They let it stretch out. Until it’s too late.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my dad.”

“Well, don’t listen to me, anyway. I’m just a crazy hermit you met on the highway.”

Sam laughed, and the tense atmosphere evaporated somewhat.

“Yeah, well, that was just my subtle way of letting you know that if you murder me, no one will ever know what happened.”

Cas chuckled.

“Me? You’re the obvious serial killer. Tall guy, eight layers of plaid flannel, hitchhiking on dark rainy roadsides? Yeah, I’m not surprised you couldn’t catch a ride. Tell me honestly you don’t have a machete in that knapsack.”

“Nope. Left it with my brother,” Sam answered, and they both laughed.

The road was dark, utterly deserted, the truck’s headlights illuminating a dim triangle of pavement and grass.

“I’ll tell you, I’m a little worried about this rain,” Cas said after they’d driven in silence for a while. “There’s nothing at my exit except a little mom-n-pop gas station and they closed an hour ago. The pumps’ll be dry, but I very much doubt you’ll be catching another ride until morning.”

“You never know,” Sam answered noncommittally. “If it comes down to it, I can always just walk.”

“Along the highway? You’ll get arrested.”

“Not unless someone drives by and reports me. In any case; so what? I get picked up, the cops take me somewhere warm and dry and let me sleep it off.”

Cas glanced over, for all the good it did him, in the dark.

“I get the impression that you have lived an interesting life, Sam.”

“Yeah. You could say that.”

Sam smiled a little to himself, staring out the window at the rain. He’d been bouncing from motel to motel for his whole life, learning to fight ghosts and werewolves and vampires. He’d been arrested six times and given them all different names, though not in the year since he’d turned eighteen. At least one of his IDs still labeled him a minor, which would get a raised eyebrow at his size, but it wouldn’t be too closely examined. Not a lot of kids wanted to be younger.

The exit appeared all too quickly and Cas flicked on his blinker, signaling his intent to the empty road.

The gas station was, in fact, closed. Just as Cas had predicted. He pulled the truck under the awning, giving them a brief respite from the rain. Sam worked to disentangle his bag from his legs, pretending he didn’t see Cas pulling out his wallet and removing a couple crisp bills. He was about to offer either charity or a business proposition; either way, Sam was going to turn him down.

“Good luck,” Cas said simply, and Sam opened the door, and the cabin light turned on, and Sam got his first good look at Cas.

His hair was dark, spiked from the rain, and his eyes were wide and blue, He had high cheekbones and a strong jaw and as the light flooded across his face his eyes widened and his jaw dropped and for a second, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Sam,” he said quietly.

“You okay?”

Cas shook his head, clearing out cobwebs.

“Yeah, sorry, the light startled me.” His outstretched hand tightened around the folded bills. “Look, it’s really late- my place is only about twenty minutes from here. I’ve got a spare room and chili in the crock pot. Why don’t you come crash at my place and I can bring you back here in the morning? Comfier than a jail cell, guaranteed.”

Sam glanced from Cas’s face to the folded twenties, and back.

“No, thank you,” he said clearly, and moved to get out of the car.

“Wait-” Cas stammered out. “Take the money anyway. It wasn’t- I didn’t mean to imply-”

“I don’t need it,” Sam interrupted, sliding out of the cab and turning to shut the door.

“Can you help me with something, then?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, looking at Cas carefully. Cas waved his hand.

“Forget the money. It’s just a stupid thing. But the door, on the back of the truck, it’s been rattling and I think it’s loose on the track. There’s a bunch of switchbacks on the road to my place, and I don’t want it flying open.” Cas opened his own door, pulling a flashlight from the footwell. “You’re tall. Can you just check the pulley and make sure it’s not damaged? Please. It’ll just take a minute.”

“Christo,” Sam murmured under his breath. Cas tipped his head to one side.

“What?”

“Nothing. Sure, yeah, I’ll check it.”

“Thanks,” Cas said, exhaling in relief. They crossed to the back of the truck and Cas keyed open the padlock, throwing the door open. He climbed easily into the truck bed, then extended a hand to help Sam up. Sam ignored it, clambering into the truck on his own. Cas clicked the light on, pointing it up into the section of track closest to the door.

“That one first. It looks like it might be bent to me.”

Sam got right up against the wall, standing on his toes to get a closer look at the track. It looked fine.

The flashlight beam bobbed as Cas surged forward, but Sam was expecting it. He turned to meet the older man head-on, raising his hands to protect his face, but Cas was faster than he looked and he hit Sam’s defense hard, driving him back into the wall. Sam braced against it, using it as an anchor to shove back against Cas’s attack.

“Don’t fight me, Sam, you don’t understand. I have to do this.”

“Great, you’re a psycho and a perv,” Sam grunted, keeping his arms down to cover his torso. Cas backed away, just out of arm’s length, studying Sam closely in the rolling light of the flashlight beam.

“I’m not, please, you have to believe me.”

Sam was only a few feet from the gaping truck door. He lunged for it, but Cas was faster, hitting him on the side and taking him down against the hard metal floor of the truck. Sam pivoted, trying to keep Cas from landing on top of him, but Cas anticipated and ended up on top anyway. He straddled Sam’s chest, making it hard to breathe and then- with one hand- he pinned both Sam’s hands above his head. Sam twisted against him but his grip was like stone.

“I’m so sorry it had to be this way,” Cas said, and it sounded as though there was actual sadness in his voice. The fingers of his spare hand tangled in Sam’s hair, and with a swift jerk, he slammed the back of the teen’s head against the floor of the truck.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he was out. When he woke up it was dark, pitch dark, and the truck was moving. His head was pounding, and he tasted blood.

So, that wasn’t ideal.

He was lying on his side, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him, and when he tried to move it, he found that his wrists were bound behind his back. They were twisted palms-out, the rope looping a couple times up his forearms, and that didn’t bode well, because it meant he wouldn’t be able to slip them easily. He shifted and found that his legs were bound as well, above the knee as well as at the ankle. There was at least one rope tethering his wrists to his ankles, and he pulled his legs up higher, feeling around the bindings with his hands, looking for a knot. Nothing. The knot was either in the front of his ankles, or up by his knees. He tried to draw his knees up to his mouth, to work at the rope with his teeth, but the tether between his wrists and ankles was too short.

The truck shifted, going around a sharp corner, and he remembered Cas saying that there were switchbacks between the highway and his house.

Sam used the altered center of gravity to roll in the direction of the door. Probably, Cas hadn’t been stupid enough to throw his knapsack into the truck after him, but maybe today was Sam’s lucky day.

He felt around slowly, trying not to lose too much energy in the search. He’d need it when Cas opened the door again.

The knapsack wasn’t in the back with him. Cas had either taken it up front, or just left it in the gas station parking lot. Sam hoped it was the latter- the identification in it wasn’t his real name, but it was a known alias. It might be enough to set Dad or Dean on his track- if the station owners turned it into the cops and if Dean filed a missing person’s report and if the gas station had cameras and if the cameras had been good enough to get the truck’s plates-

That line of reasoning was getting a little worrisome so Sam abandoned it, choosing to focus on his current situation.

His arm was going numb, so the next time the truck doubled back he rolled over again, taking the pressure off. Almost immediately, his other arm began to ache.

The switchbacks. How many had their been? Four? Five?

It might be useful information to know.

Sam began to count them, and after eleven, the truck stopped turning, and instead began travelling up what felt like a very long hill. It got bumpy toward the end, and the truck slowed, making it easier for Sam not to bang his head against the jostling truck floor.

They’d been driving at least ten minutes since the last switchback- Sam had been trying to count but his internal metronome wasn’t quite right, so he didn’t know exactly how far they’d travelled. Not to mention, he had no idea how long he’d been out. So when the truck rolled to a stop and the engine cut out, Sam really had no useful information to work with.

He heard footsteps crunching on what sounded like gravel, and then a clattering of metal as the padlock was removed from the back of the truck.

The heavy metal door rumbled upwards, and light flooded into his eyes. There were bright lights mounted behind Cas, turning him into little more than a silhouette and blinding Sam when he tried to look outside.

At least he knew for certain that his knapsack wasn’t here.

“Hello, Sam. Have you had time to test the ropes?”

“Fuck you,” Sam spat, twisting to get a better look at his captor.

“I’m going to carry you inside,” Cas continued. “You can struggle if you’d like, but you already know that the ropes can’t be broken. At best, you’ll earn yourself a fall to the ground where you’ll be still bound, but possibly injured. So I would suggest that you don’t.”

He reached into the truck and grabbed Sam by the calf, dragging him across the smooth metal. Sam bucked against his grasp, but Cas held tight.

He hefted Sam easily over his shoulder, his arm around the back of the teen’s thighs, Sam’s upper body hanging down his back. Sam bucked again, but Cas held him easily still. Too easily. He walked across the side lit gravel as though the 220 lb body over his shoulder were no heavier than a jug of milk.

“What are you?” Sam demanded, and that made Cas’s steps falter, but he didn’t answer. Sam twisted, trying to look around, but the positioning made it hard to get a view of anything except Cas’s back.

The man climbed up a short set of stairs, rough wood, onto a porch maybe? And then they went through a doorway into a darkened building. Sam’s eyes adjusted slowly, further limiting his vision, but Cas strode easily through the room without hesitation. Either he could see in the dark, or this was very familiar territory. Maybe both.

They passed through another doorway and then Cas was depositing him unceremoniously onto what felt like a quilted bedspread over a surprisingly soft mattress.

“What, you didn’t have a creepy basement dungeon handy?”

“No. I had not planned on this at all,” Cas said evenly, and Sam blinked as a set of fluorescent bulbs flared to life.

The room, or what Sam could see of it, was almost frighteningly normal looking. Laminate wood flooring. Little ikea bookshelf with a collection of beat up paperbacks. Bedside table. Walls painted a modern warm green. White trim.

No weapons or torture devices or ominous dark stains on the floor. The braided rug in the center of the room looked almost depressingly hand made. Sam eyed it with suspicion.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me we’re in the middle of the forest and there’s no point screaming because no one can hear me?”

“Hmm,” Cas agreed. He was looking carefully around the room, scrutinizing it’s contents. “I own the land surrounding my home for several miles in either direction. I do occasionally receive visitors, but not frequently and certainly not at this time of night.”

He crossed the room and removed a framed photograph from the wall. Sam couldn’t see what the photograph was of, and Cas carried it out of the room before he could look closer.

His pinned shoulder was starting to ache. He thought maybe if he could get his legs under him, he might be able to get into a kneeling position. Getting off the bed would be tricky, but maybe there was a part of the bedframe he could work the ropes against?

Cas came back and shut the door behind him, blocking any view Sam might have had of the room outside. He crossed the room, heading toward Sam, and Sam braced himself for whatever was coming, but Cas just passed him and opened a second door that Sam hadn’t been able to see from his original vantage point.

“Tonight is likely going to be uncomfortable for you. I apologize. Tomorrow I will work on making the room more… hospitable. In the meantime, I’m going to need to keep you bound.” His eyes were soft, and he actually smiled down at Sam’s scowling face. “Just for now. Until I can trust you.”

Sam gave him a sarcastic grin.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be friends, I can tell already.”

Sadness touched Cas’s smile.

“That’s just it, Sam- we’ve already been friends. So much more than friends. You’ll understand soon, I promise.”

Sam scowled, and looked away. He was ready to be done with this conversation. He was a couple feet off the floor- rolling off the bed was going to be noisy and potentially dangerous. It would be easier if his arms weren’t bound so tightly to his ankles, but it was what it was. No point wishing it were different.

It came as somewhat of a surprise when Cas came closer, laying a hand on his upper shoulder and rolling him firmly onto his belly.

“What are you doing? Get off!”

“I can’t let you go to sleep like this. Your arm isn’t getting adequate bloodflow. Left alone, you could end up with nerve damage.”

Cas’s fingers brushed across his tingling palm.

“Can you feel that?”

“Don’t touch me,” Sam snapped.

Cas released the rope and Sam fell flat, his ankles still bound to one another, but no longer to his arms. His thighs and belly immediately began to tingle in the absence of the straining pressure they’d been held under.

“Before I go further, do you need to use the toilet?”

“No!”

“This will be your last opportunity until morning. Are you certain?”

Sam started at him wide-eyed, taking this information in.

“If I do, will you untie me and give me some privacy?”

Cas shook his head.

“The bathroom window is more than large enough to escape through. Even for you. I can’t allow it, I’m sorry.”

Sam sorted through his options, not finding one he liked.

“Is this a power trip thing? Like if I yell for you in the middle of the night are you gonna let me piss myself to prove who’s boss?”

Cas wrinkled his nose.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Then I’ll let you know when I need to go. We’ll address it then.”

“If you insist.”

“I insist.”

Sam became very aware of the weight of Cas’s hand on the small of his back. He rolled onto his side, trying to force his body into a sitting position, but his head pounded and a wave of nausea went rolling over him. Cas caught his shoulder and pulled him up until they were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, their legs hanging off the edge of the bed, Sam’s hands still bound behind him.

“Would you like me to heal you?” Cas asked, and Sam frowned.

“What are you?”

“Same as you. Please, it looks like it’s hurting you a good deal.”

“What do you want back?” Sam asked. He’d never met a member of the supernatural who didn’t ask some payment for their magic, but Cas just shook his head.

“Nothing. It is worth it to me to relieve your pain.”

“Swear?”

Cas smiled, canting his head slightly to the side.

“I swear.”

Sam swallowed, hoping he wasn’t falling into some trap.

“Fine.”

Cas’s fingertips rested on his jaw, turning his head, and before he realized the man’s intention, Cas was pressing his lips gently against Sam’s mouth.

His first impression was that Cas’s skin was cold, cold enough to freeze his whole body, like he’d plunged beneath the icy surface of a frozen lake and he couldn’t find the surface- but then it was gone, along with the pounding headache and the dizziness and the only thing left was Cas’s skin, warm and soft against his lips.

Sam jerked back.

“The fuck was that?”

“I healed you,” Cas replied simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’m going to untie your hands now, after which you will lie on your back and I will secure your wrists to the bed frame.”

His left hand remained on Sam’s jaw, but his right tightened around the teen’s bicep.

“Please know that I can break your arm if I need to. I will repair it afterward, but it will not be pleasant for either of us. Do you understand?”

Sam swallowed hard, his face suddenly pale. He didn’t know what he was dealing with, but he didn’t doubt in the least that Cas was telling the truth. He glanced down, to where Cas’s hand rested on his arm. He’d broken that bone once before, when he was a kid. He wasn’t interested in having it happen again.

“Yeah. I got it.”

He held very still as Cas guided him down onto his stomach again, ignoring the instincts that told him to fight and run.

The bonds around his wrists loosened and Cas backed off, giving him a little room. Just enough rope to hang himself with.

“Can I take my shoes off?” Sam asked, and Cas hesitated a second before nodding. Sam bent awkwardly, fumbling with his laces, very carefully keeping clear of the ropes binding his ankles. He loosened one, then the other, kicking them off and letting them land on the floor beside the bed. Cas watched him carefully as he did all this, nodding in approval when he straightened up without attempting to interfere with his bonds.

“Would you prefer to sleep on your front, or your back?”

“Back.”

“Alright. Lie down.”

Sam did, being very careful not to touch Cas with his bound legs as he pulled them up onto the bed. He got as close to the headboard as possible, laying his head on the pillow. He raised his hands above his head, crossing his wrists deceptively- the way the bones crossed, a secure tie could be easily slipped by relaxing both hands.

Cas smiled down at him, condescending, like Sam was a child he was deciding not to humor.

“I don’t think so, Sam.”

Cas’s hand closed around his wrists and a moment later the older man was straddling him, pinning him at the waist, holding him still between strong thighs.

He measured the rope out between his hands, holding a segment of it between his teeth, and then he made a loop which he slid over Sam’s wrist. It tightened instantly, and Cas released Sam’s left hand in favor of fastening his right to the headboard.

Sam took the opportunity, turning his free hand to reveal the silver blade he’d removed from the sole of his shoe.

Cas was already off balance, leaning toward the corner of the bed, and Sam hit him hard, burying the small blade into the side of his throat and then, a second later, between two of his ribs. He twisted the blade, driving it against the bones, feeling blood gush over his hands. Cas made a peculiar groaning sound which Sam assumed had something to do with one of his lungs no longer being airtight.

Cas’s grip on Sam’s hand loosened and Sam pulled free, ripping the loosened rope off his wrist and shoving at the other man with all his strength.

Cas went sideways, one palm pressed against his bloody throat, and Sam didn’t spare him a glance, just attacked the ropes binding his legs. He could feel the point of the blade pressing against his thigh but he didn’t have time to slow down.

The bindings around his knees snapped loose and he pulled his feet closer, spreading his knees to draw the rope as tight as possible. The knife slid easily through them and then he was free.

He grabbed his boots with bloody fingers, not bothering to put them on before he ran. Cas was struggling to his knees, coughing, and Sam wasn’t naïve enough to think that he was dying, silver blade or no.

He hefted his boot in one hand, feeling the heavy weight of the sole, and when Cas looked up at him he brought it down on the other man’s temple.

Cas went back down, crumpling into a boneless heap, and Sam ran.

The house was deceptively normal looking, mail scattered on the living room table, coat discarded over the back of a chair, a collection of DVDs on a stand near the television. Sam cast around quickly, looking for car keys, a cell phone, anything. Nothing obvious presented itself so he headed for the front door, pulling his boots on as he went.

The truck they’d arrived on was parked outside, the back still hanging open, and Sam went there first. It was unlocked, and he slid into the front seat, punching the cabin light control and searching the meager space for anything he could use to crack the dash panel open. He flipped both visors, pawed through the center console, even checked under the seats, but there was nothing. Just some maps and a pair of sunglasses. The tiny blade he had wouldn’t do anything against the thick nylon of the paneling, even if he had the time to try to pry it open.

There was a crash inside the house and he ignored it; there wasn’t any useful information that could be gleaned by turning to check on what Cas was doing.

Sam swore and pushed the door back open, taking a moment to kneel and drive the pocketknife into the side of one tire. The air began hissing slowly around the puncture, and he worked the knife back and forth, trying to get it out of the sidewall.

The screen door slammed, and this time Sam did glance back, because if Cas was coming out with a hunting rifle, that was information he needed.

Cas had no weapon. He looked like something out of a bad horror movie, blood splattered all down one side, black in the half darkness.

He called Sam’s name and Sam abandoned the knife, turning his back and bolting into the woods.

It was still raining lightly, and that would cover his tracks. This would work for him and against him; Cas knew where they were, likely knew the basics of the layout, knew the general direction of civilization. Sam didn’t, and what’s more, if he lost track of his location, he could end up circling around in the woods until he died of starvation or exposure.

Sam set off at a course parallel to the gravel driveway, twenty or thirty feet off the path, and almost immediately he lost track of where he was in comparison. It all looked like trees. Fortunately, Cas couldn’t see any better than he could, and didn’t know where he’d gone- following the road was the obvious choice, but Cas didn’t know which side he was on, or how close he was following. Maybe if he had a car with headlights, he could do it, but Sam had taken care of that.

“Sam!”

Sam rolled his eyes and continued deeper into the trees, letting the gentle patter of rain cover the sounds of his footsteps.

Chilled water was soaking through his clothes. It didn’t bode well for a long-term escape attempt. He hoped they weren’t too far from a road- he didn’t know how long he’d been out, but the color of the sky indicated that they were on the tomorrow side of midnight, so he had two hours- maybe three- before the morning rush. He had maybe six before the cold started giving him real problems.

He couldn’t hear Cas, not any more, but he knew the man was behind him somewhere and so he kept moving, keeping the vague line of the driveway somewhere off to the side of him.

Light flooded through the trees, harsh and directional, and Sam couldn’t help it- he turned to look, his eyes stinging at the sudden flash.

The light- whatever it was- was coming from the forest, not the house. Sam held his breath, listening- just his luck that Cas would have an ATV with hunting lights- but no, the woods were silent. Even the insect noise had died down when the lights turned on.

“Sam!?” Cas shouted again, this time like he was worried, and Sam turned away from the light, trying to move faster now that he could clearly see where he was going.

He broke out of the woods onto the gravel way, not bothering to try to hide anymore, not with that much light streaming through the trees.

Something hit him from behind and he went down, hard, his assailant coming down on top of him. His knee jarred against a stone, turning awkwardly, and he flailed at the person behind him, trying to get their weight off his body.

“Sam. Sam, stop, stop it, stop-”

“Get off me!” he screamed, turning onto his side and beating at Cas with his fists.

The light was Cas. Or, Cas was the light. Or had been. His skin held a dusky gold glow, rapidly fading, and Sam felt a thrill of fear because he didn’t know of anything that glowed.

Cas’s hands were on him, pushing him down, trying to hold him still, and he could feel a rough line of rope dangling from Cas’s hands.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sam,” Cas was saying, and Sam responded with a punch to the ribs, on the bloody side, just below the place he’d put the knife. Cas barely reacted at all- either he was immune to pain or else he actually had healed that fast. Sam hit him again, harder, just to check, but there was no reaction at all.

Cas anticipated the hit and used it as an opportunity to get the rope around Sam’s hand. It tightened painfully around his wrist and Cas pinned it to the ground. There was too much weight on it- Sam winced as the bones ground together.

He shoved his weight against his good leg, forcing his body upwards, trying to squirm out from underneath Cas, but it was no good. He couldn’t get the leverage, not with one arm pinned. He ended up on his back, Cas straddling his hips, and the other man looked almost pained as he tried to wrestle Sam’s other arm into submission.

Sam brought his good knee up, driving it hard into Cas’s back.

Cas let go of his arm, but Sam had only a moment to celebrate before he felt Cas’s hands closing around his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

Cas’s voice was thick, and he kept repeating himself.

“I have to, Sam. I have to. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I have to, I have to…”

Black clouds were rolling across Sam’s vision. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t bother pulling at Cas’s hands- he aimed for the face, the eyes, but nothing he did had any effect. His hands were slow to respond, there was nothing to see but blackness.

And then, just before everything faded out-

“I’m sorry, Samael…”

Chapter Text

Sam opened his eyes to light, too much light, spiking down through his eye sockets into his brain. Somewhere out in the world, someone was banging pots and pans together loud enough to make his teeth ache.

“Dean?”

The banging stopped. Sam heard a rustling, someone moving around the room, and he relaxed. Dean was up.

He looked up to see if his brother was equally hung over, but it wasn’t Dean.

Everything came rushing back and Sam let out a whine of disappointment, falling back onto the bed. He tugged at his wrists- sure enough, he was strapped down, his hands near his waist.

“Please don’t be like that,” Cas said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Fuck off,” Sam groaned.

“Who’s Dean?”

“My brother.” Sam opened his eyes again and stared at Cas. “My older brother. Besides my dad, I’m all he’s got. He’s expecting me to call today, to let him know I made it to Stanford. He’s going to freak out when he realizes I’m gone.”

Cas sighed, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. Sam was undeterred.

“Please. Please, Cas. Please, let me call him. He’ll come get me, nobody ever needs to know this happened. I don’t even care what kind of creature you are- we’ve met lots of them and never told.”

Because we killed most of them, he didn’t add, but Cas stayed silent.

“I can’t let you call him yet,” he said regretfully.

“Yet?”

Now Cas did look at him, his blue eyes wide and earnest.

“I need time. A month. After a month it will be safe to let you call.”

“A month? Cas, I can’t stay for a month.” Sam’s mind was racing- the stupidest, most illogical things filling his mind. “I need to be at school in three days or I’m going to lose my scholarship. Cas, I’ve been trying to do this my whole life, do you understand?”

It was stupid and trivial but Cas looked hurt nonetheless.

“Let me go. Please. I don’t even need a ride back to town. I don’t want anything. Just let me walk out the door and you’ll never see me again.”

Cas’s face cracked at that, in one moment filling with so much pain that Sam drew back.

“That’s what I was afraid of. I was afraid I’d never see you again. It’s been… Sam, it’s been so long. Finding you like this- do you know the chances?” He shook his head. “You’ll understand soon. I’m not taking your future, Sam, I’m giving you another one, one so incredible, you can’t understand.”

“I’m flattered, really, but Cas, I can’t-”

“We aren’t discussing this!” Cas snapped, and Sam flinched back. The shout was like an iron spike into his head. His whole body was bruised and sore- the fight in the woods hadn’t done much for him. He scowled.

“So then what are we doing?”

Cas set his jaw.

“For the moment, you’re going to stay exactly as you are. The restraints may be a bit… severe, but unfortunately, you’ve proved to me that you need them. I… I’m going to keep working on this room. I’d like to get to a place where I no longer need to keep you constantly restrained.”

He stood without another word, and a moment later, the banging resumed. Sam groaned.

“Oh my god, do you have to?”

He turned his head. Cas was standing at the window, fixing a metal contraption across the bottom. Sam tried his best to focus his eyes.

“Are those… bars?”

Cas nodded.

“Hmmm. I made them last night out of some scrap material I had in my workshop. They aren’t the most aesthetically pleasing, but once they’re adhered to the casement, they should prove effective.”

“Do you have to adhere them right now? My head is killing me.”

“That would be the oxygen deprivation.” Cas frowned. “I didn’t want to do that, but I was afraid you were going to injure yourself further. You’re quite a determined fighter.”

“Yeah, I get that from my dad.”

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of Sam’s stomach rumbling. He listened to it in surprise- he hadn’t even realized he was hungry. He searched back, trying to find the last time he’d eaten.

“Would you like me to make you something?”

“No.”

Cas paused.

“You will eventually need to eat. There’s no point putting it off.”

“Or you’ll what? Tube feed me?” Sam looked over at him, shuffling up onto his elbows and glaring. “How hard are you willing to work at this, Cas? You think you’re gonna keep me here like I’m a pet- how much mess do you think I can make, here?”

Cas set the hammer very deliberately on the windowsill.

“I like to think I won’t have to. But I’ll force you to eat if you need it. I’ll force fluids into your body. I’ll clean up anything you manage to soil or destroy. And if you injure yourself-” he paused, considering. “I’ll make you a deal. I’m going to go out into the living room and make some food. And if you eat it, I’ll heal you.”

He turned toward the door. Sam said nothing.

“You have until I get back to decide.”

The minute he was out the door, Sam began to wrestle with his bonds for real. It looked like he was strapped down with a combination of belts, rope, and twine. It was messy and knotted but ultimately effective. His hands were held at his waist and his feet were pinned about shoulder width apart. He couldn’t move his feet in any direction, and when he tried, his knee screamed in agony. He couldn’t tell, but he thought he might have torn something.

He sighed. He wasn’t going anywhere for a couple days, at least, not with his leg like that. He’d be able to hold out a hunger strike that long, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he had a real chance of being released voluntarily. A physical breakout was his best bet, which meant prioritizing the knee over the protest.

It took Cas roughly three minutes to come back with a steaming bowl.

“Have you made a decision?”

“Depends on what’s in the bowl.”

Cas was holding something in his other hand, being careful not to show it as he tipped the bowl toward Sam.

“Just oatmeal. Apple cinnamon. You always liked apples.”

Sam decided not to comment - he didn’t have a preference on apples one way or another.

“I eat that and you fix my leg?”

“Yes.”

Sam pretended to consider.

“Can you let one of my arms loose so I can actually eat it?”

He really hoped Cas wasn’t planning on spoon feeding him like a baby.

“I thought you might ask that.”

And now Cas extended his other hand, fingers open so Sam could see the four little blue pills resting in his palm.

“You take these, I’ll untie your arm.”

Sam gaped.

“You can’t be serious. What even are those?”

Like the answer mattered and he had any intention of taking random pills from his kidnapper.

“They’ll put you to sleep. Or at least, keep you foggy enough that it will be safe to leave you alone for a little while.” Cas sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the twine circling Sam’s wrist. “This isn’t ideal. I think we’ll both be more comfortable once I can set up a more permanent arrangement, but to do that, I need things I don’t have here.”

There was an idea winding its way through the fog of the headache. Sam looked at the pills. He could shake off a couple sleeping pills. And if he took them, Cas would leave him alone- probably for a couple hours. That would be plenty of time to get clear of the house. If he could find his knapsack, he could get his cell phone- and with Cas gone he’d have plenty of time to look for it.

“I take those, you untie me, I eat the oatmeal, you heal me,” Sam clarified. He had no way of knowing whether Cas would stick to the agreement once it was made, but if nothing else, he was about to find out.

“That’s right.”

“And you think they’ll knock me out?”

Cas nodded.

“I’m fairly certain that they will render you immobile, at the very least. Human medications don’t work well on me, but these are strong enough…” he trailed off, thinking, then shrugged. “I have a high degree of confidence in this.”

Sam had a sudden thought.

“I want to add something. If I take those… if it does work…” he paused. “Don’t touch me. While I’m out.”

Cas gave him a small smile.

“I will not molest you while you are drugged. Don’t concern yourself on that front.”

Somehow, Sam did not feel better. He stared at the pills a moment longer.

“Aright. Give them to me.”

“Thank you.”

Sam scowled, but said nothing. Cas gave him the pills one at a time, giving him sips of water between them so he could swallow. He cheeked the first one but Cas caught him immediately, and after that he just swallowed them like he was supposed to.

Cas didn’t bother untying him, just left and returned with a pair of scissors that he used to cut through the twine holding Sam’s right hand. Sam shook it out, getting the feeling back into his stiff fingers, then balanced the hot bowl on his lap and ate quickly, trying to get the food into his stomach before the pills had a chance to fully dissolve. He didn’t feel anything yet, except maybe that his headache was fading slightly.

Cas took the bowl when it was empty, and Sam took several seconds to realize he was gone, and had left Sam with one hand unbound. In the time it took him to formulate a plan with this information, Cas was back, and securing his hand to the bedframe once again. He stared at the other man numbly.

“’Sposed to fix me,” he mumbled, and Cas laid a hand gently on his cheek. Sam tried to pull away, but he couldn’t get his balance right. Cas had to guide him back until he was lying down, with Cas leaning over him.

“That was the agreement,” Cas agreed quietly, and then he pressed his mouth to Sam’s. Sam felt a rush of cold, at the same time that Cas’s tongue was darting into his mouth, fire-hot between his frozen lips. The pain melted from his body, leaving a quiet, placated feeling of warmth and happiness.

Sam relaxed, letting it happen, letting Cas kiss him. Then the other man drew back, smiling.

“I shouldn’t be long,” Cas told him, but Sam was already out.

Sam sat on the dry ground, knotting a strand of long grass between his fingers. The bison had been here recently; the grass was cropped and trampled. He picked another strand and wound it idly around the first.

It was warm. He was enjoying himself. A family of prairie dogs lived in this field, and if he stayed quiet, they would come out of their holes and he could watch them. They got up to mischief and it always made him laugh.

He drew another strand, working it around his creation. This one was a darker green, it contrasted with the first two. He worked a tan strand into the braid.

He kept braiding, watching a pattern emerge. The sun began to go down, the smell of a cook fire wafted across the plain. He stood, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders, and walked back toward the shelter. His mate was waiting for him, sun bronzed skin glowing in the firelight.

Sam joined him, leaning against a shoulder. He took his mate’s hand in his, tying the braided grass around his wrist.

“Thank you,” the man told him, and he spoke their tongue, the old tongue, the tongue of Sam’s people. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Sam murmured, and his mate laughed and nudged at him, chiding him for the line.

“It’s true,” Sam told him in the old tongue, and he pulled his mate in for a kiss and only when he saw the vibrant blue eyes did he realize it was Cas.

Sam jerked back, his eyes flying open. The room was dim, the light the orange-gold of late afternoon. He tugged absently at his hands, but his body felt as though he were moving through mud.

He should be working harder at this, he knew. Pulling harder. He could figure out a way out of this.

His thoughts came slowly, wispy and nebulous. He couldn’t hold them.

His eyes slid shut, and he did not dream.

Chapter Text

Sam woke to the icy rush he was beginning to associate with Cas’s kiss. His mind cleared, quickly losing the drug-muddled fog he’d been swimming in for the last few hours. Cas’s tongue glanced across his lower lip and he bit at it, shoving his forehead forward into the bridge of the other man’s nose.

Cas withdrew quickly, his hand over his mouth, and Sam was satisfied to see he was bleeding. The damage would heal quickly, and he’d probably pay for it later, but for now it felt weirdly gratifying, to know he could still inflict that small amount of injury.

“Welcome back,” he said sweetly, giving Cas a smile. “Have fun shopping?”

“No. I had to go a good deal further than I originally anticipated, and the place I ended up was… unsavory.”

Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position, noticing for the first time the paper sacks on the floor by the wall. Two of them were from a hardware store, the others were unlabeled.

“So what’d you bring me?”

“All sorts of things. I wasn’t sure what would work, exactly, so I bought a variety.”
“Oh, good,” Sam said dryly.

“The first of which is these,” Cas continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. He went to the closest bag and retrieved a small, unmarked cardboard box. When he opened it, Sam saw two shiny silver cuffs, connected by a short chain. There was a key on a small metal keychain, which Cas took and tucked into his pocket.

“They’re stainless steel, so they won’t rust,” Cas explained, and Sam felt his stomach drop a little at the idea of needing restraints that wouldn’t rust. “I thought you might want to use the shower.”

Sam looked toward the small attached room. It’s tiny window was covered with Cas’s patented homemade metal bars, but maybe he could find something else in there to work with?

Not to mention, he was starting to need to pee.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Cuff me.”

Cas gave him a smile, then returned to the paper sack.

“Hey, I thought we were doing handcuffs. What gives?”

“Just more of the same,” Cas responded, returning to the bed with a second unmarked box. This one also contained a set of cuffs, slightly larger, connected by about two feet of chain. “I’ll put these on after you get undressed.”

“Sorry, what?”

“After you get undressed,” Cas repeated, without inflection. “I assume if you’re going to use the shower, you’ll be undressing first.”

“Not in front of you.”

Cas actually laughed.

“This isn’t a choice you’re being presented with, Sam. You can’t go a month without bathing and in any case, modesty is going to be the least of your worries, trust me.”

“Yeah, that’s not creepily ominous at all,” Sam answered back. It came out a little weaker than he’d intended it to sound.

“I know. I know this is hard on you. And it’s going to get harder. If there were an easier way, I would take it, but there isn’t. This is just how it has to be.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam insisted, leaning forward and yanking his hands against their restraints. “You can let me go. You can cut this stupid rope and walk away.”

Cas’s face hardened. Sam glared at him, not dropping his gaze.

Cas’s hand shot out, fisting itself in his hair, yanking his head back until his throat was exposed.

“Here,” he said evenly, pressing his finger to the skin at the corner of Sam’s mouth. His finger dragged lower, coming to rest at the edge of the teen’s jaw.

“Here.”

He forced Sam’s head to the side, his finger moving to the hollow of one clavicle.

“Here.”

Sam jerked, but Cas held him tight. He met Sam’s eyes as his fingers moved across his chest and down his belly.

“Here. Here. Here.”

The outside of one hip. The skin just below his navel. And then, finally, the inside of Sam’s left thigh, high enough that Sam’s heart beat faster.

“Here.” He stared pointedly into Sam’s eyes. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Birthmarks. Sam’s body was peppered in the small, dark spots, and Cas had just pointed out the darkest of them.

“You stripped me while I was out, had yourself a look,” Sam accused. Cas just shook his head.

“I know every inch of your body, Sam. I know you as well as I know myself.”
His hand was still resting on Sam’s thigh and Sam shifted, trying to pull away. Cas’s fingers stroked him absently.

“I’m going to make some more preparations while you’re in the shower,” Cas said, and his eyes were faraway now, like he was seeing something else, a long time ago and far away. He blinked, focusing. “Do you want to get undressed or do you want me to do it for you?”

Sam gaped.

“You’re not serious.”

Cas stared silently back.

“I’ll do it myself,” Sam said. “Untie me.”

“Not yet,” Cas said, picking the handcuffs back up. He closed one around Sam’s left wrist, then stood, moving around Sam’s body to sit on the bed behind him. “Hold very still.”

The words had the opposite of their intended effect, and Sam jerked, trying to turn and see what Cas was doing. Cas grabbed him by the back of the neck, holding tight.

“I said hold still.”

Sam heard the sound of scissors opening, and god help him, he actually whimpered.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and his voice sounded quiet, too high.

The scissors closed a second later, and Sam felt the cold edge of the blade pressing against the base of his spine.

His shirt. Cas was cutting through his shirt.

“I said I’d take it off.”

“I can’t risk letting both of your hands free,” Cas answered evenly, and the scissors closed again, further up this time. “And there’s something else I need to do.”

Sam stayed still and quiet as Cas sliced up the back of the cotton tee, neatly cutting through each worn sleeve so that it fell in a puddled heap in Sam’s lap. Sam didn’t look at it. Cas let go of him.

“This might feel strange,” the man said, and then something hot and wet was dripping onto Sam’s right shoulder. He closed his eyes, trying not to feel whatever sticky crap Cas was putting on him. A fat drop rolled down his spine, making him shiver.

“What is that?” he finally asked.

“Blood,” Cas answered.

“Blood?” Sam actually forgot that he was tied down, and tried to jerk away. He had a momentary vision of some string of prisoners Cas was keeping here, using bizarre rituals to try to transfer souls from one to the other. “Whose blood?!”

“Mine.”

Cas reached forward, showing Sam his bloody palm. He’d sliced it open with a scissor blade and it was already healing.

“The second life, freely given,” Cas explained, as though that statement was supposed to explain a damn thing.

His palms pressed into Sam’s back, the pressure increasing as he massaged the sticky substance into his shoulder blades. It tingled. Sam felt like it shouldn’t tingle. He’d gotten blood on himself before- lots of times- and it had never tingled. This was wrong. Something was wrong here.

The feeling increased, less like a tingle and more like a heat, like he was tasting a chili pepper with his back. He pulled away but Cas followed.

“Does it hurt?”

“It burns.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So stop.”

“I can’t, Sam. It will probably stop once it’s washed off.”

“You’ve never done this before?”

Sam turned his head, regarding the other man from the corner of his eye. Cas’s gaze was far away.

“No. How could I? I’ve never found you before.”

Right. Cas thought Sam was his… long lost soulmate or something.

Cas stood abruptly, holding his hands away from his body as he walked to the bathroom. He was bloody up to the wrist. Sam swallowed, watching his back as he scrubbed the blood from his hands. His shoulders still stung.

“What was the first life? You said the second.”

“My grace,” Cas said without turning. “I used it to heal you, but it should work to fulfill the requirements of the ritual.”

He returned to where Sam was sitting and quickly released the twine-and-rope bonds, snapping the silver cuffs around the teen’s wrists.

“Is that too tight?”

“No.”

Cas sat back and picked up the larger cuffs, the ones Sam knew were supposed to go around his ankles. Sam twisted at the chain connecting his hands- it was only a few inches long, not long enough to work as a stranglehold even if he could wrestle his arms around Cas’s neck, which he doubted.

Cas worked the scissor blade under the rope binding Sam’s left ankle. He glanced at Sam’s face and was apparently satisfied with what he saw, because a second later, the limb was cut free. Cas moved to his other ankle, then paused.

“I don’t have another pair of jeans that would fit you- you’re too tall for mine. So if I have to cut these off you, it might be some time before you get another pair. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

Cas cut the rope around his other ankle, and Sam pushed down the urge to run. He’d tried that once already- if he couldn’t get away under the cover of night and rain, he sure as hell wasn’t jogging to freedom during the day. Best case scenario, Cas caught him and beat him down again. Worst case, the man might actually kill him.

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m not a stripper. You’re looking right at me.”
“Wouldn’t you watch for danger, in my position?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never kidnapped anybody,” Sam snapped. Cas frowned.

“I don’t like that word.”

“I don’t like being tied to a bed.”

“You’re still stalling.”

Sam paused, evaluating his options.

He had none.

The handcuffs made it difficult to work his jeans down over his hips. Once, it looked like maybe Cas was going to step in and assist him, but Sam gave him a stare sharp enough that he retreated. Sam scooted backwards, dragging the hemline dangerously low.

Sam paused, his hands fisted in the denim. Cas was still looking at him.

He could still fight this. He could refuse to go further, he could fight and thrash and make Cas fight for every single inch.

And in return, Cas would hurt him. And then take what he wanted anyway.

Whatever that was.

He pushed the waistband down a little lower. Cas was still looking at him.

“You get off on this or something?”

“You’re as beautiful as I remember,” Cas replied quietly, and that didn’t make anything better. Sam hadn’t been naked in front of anybody since he was a kid, so whoever Cas remembered, it wasn’t him. In any case, he wasn’t beautiful.

“So you did undress me while I was out.”

“I knew you before. A very long time ago.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Cas reached for him and Sam flinched back. The man’s hand stilled, then dropped.

“You’re stalling.”

“Yeah, you know what? I am. Fuck you. Fuck you and whatever fucked-up tragedy you’re playing out here, because I don’t know you and I don’t want to.” Cas’s face hardened, but Sam kept going. “I don’t care what happened to you or your boyfriend or any of it, it’s not my problem and fuck you for trying to make it.”

“It was you, Sam.”

“Maybe it was, but it’s not now and it’s never going to be again.” Sam forced himself to meet Cas’s eyes. “You can strap me down to this bed for the rest of my life, and I’ll die hating your guts.”

Cas slapped him across the face.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” the man growled, and Sam struggled to hear him through the ringing in his ears. “I can bring him back. I can. Whether you like it or not.”

“Fuck you,” Sam spat. His mouth tasted like blood.

Cas slapped him again. It felt like he was getting hit by a car.

“I didn’t want to do it like this,” Cas said, and Sam felt his pants being jerked down his legs. He screamed in frustration, kicking out at Cas as best he could. His pants tangled around his feet and Cas jerked them off, tossing them to the floor.

Sam got a solid hit, straight to Cas’s belly, and the impact went ringing up his leg. Cas didn’t react. He reached for one of the bags and Sam expected another restraint, cuffs or chains or something, but what Cas withdrew was a bottle of what looked like lotion.

“I didn’t want to do it like this,” he repeated, and Sam saw the letters KY and he kicked out at Cas again, scrambling away as best as he could with his hands bound.

“You stay away from me, you fucking freak.”

He was backed into a corner and he knew that, but going for the door meant getting closer to Cas and Sam couldn’t make his body do it.

Cas stood and pulled his shirt over his head, and Sam saw an opportunity. He was on his feet in a second, but Cas was faster, catching him around the waist and hurling him back onto the bed like a rag doll.

He landed on his belly and he tried to get up again, but Cas was there already, bracketing Sam’s legs with his own, keeping Sam’s head down with a hand on the back of his neck. Sam screamed again, rage and fear, and then Cas’s weight was on him, crushing him down into the mattress.

“This is the third part,” Cas was saying, but Sam wasn’t listening. He tried to throw an elbow back against Cas’s ribs, but his arms were trapped underneath him. “The third life, freely given.”

“No!” Sam screamed, and he could feel Cas hardening, could feel the length of him rutting against the small of his back. “Cas, no. Get off me!”

The metal cuffs were driving into his chest, their combined weight digging the metal hard into his breastbone.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Sam, just let me-”

“No!” Sam screamed again, but he was trapped, there was nowhere to go but up and he couldn’t lift Cas off him. There was blood on the pillow- his nose must be bleeding.

Cas rose until he was kneeling, his legs holding Sam’s thighs together, his hand between Sam’s shoulder blades, keeping him down.

“I need you to relax, Sam,” Cas said evenly, and Sam felt his hand against the side of his ass- hot and firm. He rubbed in small, concentric circles, making soothing noises as Sam groaned and struggled.

He was wearing himself out, he knew that, and he couldn’t seem to stop. There had to be a way to get away from this. This wasn’t going to happen to him. It couldn’t.

Sam arched his back, trying to force his muscles to respond, trying to drive his body up and out of Cas’s grip by pure force of will. It wasn’t happening. He was starting to develop tremors in his arms from the exertion.

The bottle cap snapped open and Sam wanted it to inspire a new strength in him, wanted it to drive him into some adrenaline-fueled fury that would allow him to rise up and escape this, but it didn’t. It just made his blood run cold and his heart beat fast.

Cas’s fingers were pushing between the cheeks of his ass, slick and wet against the skin there, and Sam choked. It was too strange, to have someone touch him there, stroking against the sensitive skin.

His ass was spread wider and he dug his face into the pillow, tears of frustration and shame forming without his permission. He was exhausted and pinned, even as he tried to jerk away from Cas’s probing fingers, the other man seemed to barely notice that he was trying.

The lube was cold, sending a shiver up his spine when it dripped unexpectedly onto his hole. He hissed in a breath, shifting so the cool gel landed elsewhere.

“I know, but it will warm up,” Cas told him. “Like I told you, I would have preferred to do this differently.”

Cas’s hot weight was on top of him again, the solid form of his body flush with Sam’s back. Sam didn’t want to try to identify things. Didn’t want to feel Cas’s lips on the back of his shoulder. Didn’t want to feel his hand, sliding beneath Sam’s belly. Didn’t want to feel the hard jutting length of Cas's cock, sliding wetly between his cheeks and coming to rest against his hole.

“This might hurt,” Cas told him, and his lips were soft against Sam’s shoulder. “I will try to be gentle with you, but I need you to try to relax. Can you do that for me?”

“Please don’t do this,” Sam whispered. His eyes were clenched shut now, trying to keep the tears inside, because it wasn’t just frustration now, it was fear and denial and pain and he didn’t want any of that showing on his face. “Please, Cas, please. Don’t.”

Cas hesitated, then pressed a kiss to the side of Sam’s throat.

“I have to, Sam. You’ll understand soon, I promise.”

At first there was nothing, just a gradually increasing pressure against him. He reacted involuntarily, his balls pulling up tight, his whole body clenching taut, trying to keep this from happening.

“Relax, you’re going to make it worse,” Cas told him, and Sam felt a sob escape his throat, because how the hell could this get worse.

Cas’s hips shifted against him, and the angle changed, and Sam felt his body give way. There was a burning, hard push and then Cas was inside him.

“No,” Sam said again, and it came out as little more than a whisper. It hurt, but the pain was far away. Like it was happening to someone else. Cas was rocking deeper into him, pausing at one point to add some more lube, but it was miles away. Sam wasn’t here. Sam was at Stanford. He was dropping his duffel onto the floor of the efficiency apartment he’d rented and he was trying to figure out where to print his class schedule. He was finding a good coffee shop and making friends with the blonde girl in his English lit class.

Something deep inside him gave way and Cas slid deeper, a quiet gasp escaping his lips.

Cas was inside him. That’s what Sam was having the big problem with, he supposed. There were words, that he knew, that described this. Words he knew about in an abstract sense. Words that described things that happened to other people. That could happen to other people.

The words that he knew didn’t really seem like they had anything to do with this feeling inside him, this stretching burning pressure that was pulling him open. They didn’t have anything to do with Cas’s weight rocking against his back, the hot, sweaty slide of his skin, the scrape of body hair, the sound of his breathing in Sam’s ear.

The fingers of his right hand were starting to tingle. Circulation was getting cut off somewhere, and he should really check on that. It was the cuffs, probably. It was hard to tell.

“You’re so good for me,” Cas murmured in his ear. “Always so good for me, just like this. Always so perfect.”

It suddenly seemed very strange to Sam, the idea that this had happened before. He’d remember it. He was sure. There was something happening to his mind right now, some fissure cracking open, some fundamental shift, and as he felt it breaking open, he knew it would be there forever. He’d never been here. He’d know.

“No,” he said, but it was just a whisper. He couldn’t put any force behind the words. His voice was gone.

The hand on his belly was sliding lower, Cas hiking his hips up to press deeper into Sam’s body. His fingers glanced across Sam’s soft cock, and Sam hissed, burying his face into the pillow. Cas’s hand closed around his shaft, stroking gently. Sam felt sick. He shifted onto one shoulder, taking some of the weight off his chest, and he was able to slide his cuffed hands down lower. His shoulder bore both of their weights now, but for all he cared it could come full out of its socket if it meant pushing Cas’s hand away.

The cuffs dug into his pubic bone now, and he could feel the rhythmic tug on his balls as Cas-

He couldn’t breathe. His body was twisted too hard, Cas was crushing him, he was being torn to shreds from the inside and he couldn’t breathe.

“Shhhh,” Cas was saying, and he was taking his weight onto his own elbows, rising up off Sam, and Sam realized he was crying, his breath coming in deep ragged sobs. “Sam, shhh, you don’t have to be afraid of this. You’re beautiful and perfect and you’ll love it when you get used to it.”

Sam’s eyes and throat were burning, and he knew he was crying into the pillow, big ugly gasping sobs that he couldn’t stop because it hurt.

Cas pulled out of him and something trickled down over his balls and Sam realized that Cas had come inside him. It occurred to him to worry about that- but it’s not like there was anything he could do about it now. It’s not like he could ask Cas to use a condom.

Cas was stroking him, rubbing his back in wide, gentle circles, trying to stop his crying, and Sam grit his teeth. He forced himself to breathe deep, deep and steady, breathe through the pain, just like Dean and his dad had taught him. Breathe deep.

Cas fastened the second set of cuffs around his ankles, and Sam didn’t even bother to kick at him. He waited for Cas to finish, then rolled to his side, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“You should take a shower,” Cas said quietly. “You needed one before but it- you’re worse now.”

You weren’t supposed to take a shower, Sam remembered distantly. Some health class he’d taken in high school- he’d half-paid attention, in case there was some girl he’d need to help some day, but they said you weren’t supposed to take a shower, he remembered that. You were supposed to go to the police and they’d do a- a kit.

He remembered that.

That wasn’t going to happen to him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and his voice was ragged. He sat up, wincing in pain.

“Let me heal you-” Cas started, but Sam jerked away, staring at his outstretched hand in terror. Cas sighed and let it drop.

The bathroom had nothing of use in it, as Sam might have expected. A collection of fluffy blue towels were the only things in the closet. There was a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a plastic cup. Under better circumstances Sam might have considered shattering the mirror and using a shard as a weapon, but he’d stabbed Cas twice with a silver blade and had no effect. All he was going to do with a mirror was cut himself.

Sam didn’t want to look at the mirror. He knew what he looked like. There was blood on his nose and mouth from where Cas had slapped him. There were bruises on his chest and belly where the cuffs had dug in. There was blood smeared across his back and shoulders from whatever Cas had been doing there. There was tearing and bruising on- between his legs, and it was wet there, too from the-

Sam’s stomach lurched and he distracted himself by turning on the shower. Hot water- as hot as it would go. He looked around the small space- glass door. Shampoo. Soap. Washcloth.

The water ran a reddish brown at first, big flecks of dried blood coming off and washing down the drain. He stood for a while, letting the water run over his body, and then without warning his knees buckled and he ended up kneeling, the water pounding down over his back. He watched it spiraling down the drain, slipping past the plug and simply vanishing, never to return.

He flicked the lever and the water stopped draining, pooling quickly in the bottom of the fiberglass tub, splashing between his fingers.

Out in the main room he could hear Cas doing something with power tools, but he ignored it. It wasn’t important.

He wondered if he could dissolve, if the disconnection he felt in his mind would extend to his body, and he could just melt into the water and escape down the drain. Ghosts did it. All the time. He’d seen it.

He leaned forward, closing his eyes, letting his forehead rest against the bottom of the tub. The sounds vanished. All he could hear was the splash of the faucet, and beyond that, a deep, muffled banging. He could hear his blood in his veins. He could hear his heart beating. He couldn’t hear his own labored breathing or the sound of the mattress or the words Cas had whispered in his ear. Just the water.

Eventually, he needed air.

Chapter Text

Eventually the water got cold. Sam ignored it.

He was too big to lay out flat, but if he pulled his knees up, he could lay back and let his head sink under the water. At first it was hot, so hot it felt like his skin would blister and slough off, but it didn’t. And then it got lukewarm and then cold, until the water coming out of the tap was cool as the ground it had come from.

That’s when Cas had come in, drawn by the sound of water splashing onto the ground. He shouted something Sam couldn’t hear- everything was pleasantly muffled beneath the water.

Cas shut the tap off and yanked the drain open, and Sam’s head filled with the pleasant gargling of water down a pipe.

“-not know how to take care of your vessel?”

Sam frowned. The water was too low. He could hear the real world now.

It all came crashing back, Cas, the unpleasant feeling of the cuffs on his wrists, and now the violent shivers wracking his body.

Cas put a towel around his shoulders, and it slid almost immediately down his back, into the water. Cas pulled it back up, taking Sam’s hand and pressing it to the cloth.

“Hold this.”

Sam’s fingers tightened. Cas’s fingers were on his chin, tipping his face up. The man looked into his eyes, concerned.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

He held up his hand, keeping it about eight inches in front of Sam’s face.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three?” Sam said slowly, because Cas was being weird. Cas’s hand dropped.

“Sam, listen to me. Is there anything wrong with your vessel? Anything you take medication for?”

“’m fine,” Sam grumbled. His teeth were chattering. He was tired. He wanted Cas to go away. He sat up and eyed the lip of the tub, trying to figure out how to navigate his way out despite the ankle chains. He’d do it in a minute.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. His skin was wet, and cold.

“How do I help you?”

Sam frowned, thinking about it. What would help right now?

He wanted to talk to Dean. Not to tell him he’d been- not to tell him what happened. But to tell him he was in trouble, maybe. Ask how things were going on the road. How dad was taking it.

He needed his phone. His phone was in his knapsack, he needed to find-

His phone was in his knapsack.

Sam stilled, remembering. His phone was in his knapsack. And his knapsack was- here, hopefully. He hadn’t seen it in the main room, but maybe it was in the truck, or in a different room. Worst case scenario it was back at the gas station and-

And Dean could track his phone’s GPS.

It was a very dim light at the end of a very long tunnel but it was something, something he could hold on to. It was a long shot. It depended on Dean realizing he was missing, before the phone battery ran out. Long shot. But something.

His eyes focused and he pushed Cas’s hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

He shifted awkwardly in the slippery tub, shifting onto his knees so he could sit on the lip of the tub. It was a trick, but he was able to swing his chained feet over the side. Cas watched him the whole time, letting him work it out on his own.

He pulled the towel off his shoulders, holding it in front of him to try to cover himself as best as he could.

For all the good it did him now.

“I want my pants back.”

“I’m doing laundry, it’ll take another hour or so.”

Sam blinked.

“You’re doing… laundry.”

“Yes. Your clothes and the sheets were both stained with dirt and blood. I’m doing laundry.”

Which made sense, Sam supposed. He’d just never thought of psychotic kidnappers as having to do laundry, before.

Cas was looking at him closely, watching his hands. He reached out, taking Sam by the wrist and pulling his hand away from his chest.

“Cas? Cas, no.”

Sam tried to drop him, tried to keep his hands close to his body, but Cas was unrelenting and Sam had to drop the towel, letting it fall into his lap.

“You’re bruising.”

Cas’s fingertips were light on his chest, his wrists, where the cuffs had dug in and left their mark. He was right- the skin was turning a mottled dark purple. Cas looked up at him.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Yeah, Cas. It hurts a lot.”

Lots of things hurt.

“Let me heal you.”

Sam looked into his eyes.

“I’d rather have it hurt.”

Cas’s face hardened.

“You’re so much more fragile than you used to be. I will try to keep this in mind, and be more careful with you in the future.” His thumb stroked the inside of Sam’s wrist. “It doesn’t need to be like this. I’ve made love to you a hundred thousand times and you always found it enjoyable.”

Sam’s stomach tightened.

“I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I.” Cas’s fingers tightened around his wrist. “There’s only you for me. And there’s only me for you.”

“You mean the other guy. The one who looks like me.”

“It’s you. You just need to remember who you were.”

Sam opened his mouth, not sure whether he wanted to ask.

“What if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“Yeah, but what if I don’t. I’m a whole person, Cas. My name is Sam Winchester and I have a brother and a dad and a scholarship and a future. There aren’t holes. I don’t have stuff… missing from my memory, you know?”

Cas was looking away now, and it made Sam’s stomach turn, but he pressed on anyway.

“Cas, what happens when I get those memories back? Do I just… remember, before? Or is this a Total Recall type situation?”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“When he comes back. What happens to me.”

Cas hesitated.

“I… don’t know.”

“And you just went ahead and did it anyway?” Sam swallowed hard. “How long do I have?”

Dean probably wouldn’t be here for two days, maybe three, longer if he didn’t realize Sam hadn’t made it to Stanford- he might not have that long. He needed to figure out how this spell worked and how to counteract it- now.

“A year and a day,” Cas answered, still not looking at him. Sam let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t help it. He had time. The spell wouldn’t work for another year, that was plenty of time to get out of here, to find Dean, maybe Bobby had something on this.

“In the meantime,” Cas continued, “I wish you’d let me heal this. It pains me deeply to see it. And it’s ultimately pointless to turn it down- it’ll be healed in the morning, anyway.”

Sam’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.

“Why will it be healed by morning?”

“The three lives must be given again, after dawn.”

Sam’s jaw tightened and his vision went vaguely white. He fought it down, forcing his voice to work without a tremor.

“How- how many times?”

It was three. It had to be three. That was the spell, groups of three, three lives, given three times, it would be three, it had to be three-

“Once after dawn. Once before sunset. Until the spell has completed.”

No.

He thought he might be talking but he couldn’t hear himself over the sound of the mantra in his head.

No. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“You’re going to d- do that to me twice a day? For a year?”

“Probably more, if our previous experiences together are any indication.”

“That’s not me, Cas, that wasn’t me, I’m not your damn soulmate! Whoever he was he’s gone and maybe he had my face but it’s mine now, I’m using it and he can’t have it!”

He tried to yank his hand back from Cas, but Cas wouldn’t let go. His fingers dug into Sam’s wrist, too tight. And then he let go.

“I’ve made some changes to the room,” he commented, changing the subject. He stood, indicating that Sam should follow him.

With his hands chained, Sam didn’t have enough slack to wrap the towel around his waist. He pinned it under one elbow and managed to get it around his hips that way, but he had to hold it, awkwardly, off to one side.

He wanted his jeans back.

The first thing be noticed was that the doorknob had changed. The door no longer locked from the inside, though there were no fewer than two deadbolts on the outside of the door. Sam wasn’t going to be picking the lock any time soon. He could still probably break the door down, but he wouldn’t be able to do it quickly, or quietly.

“On the bed,” Cas told him, and Sam’s heart skipped a beat. He had to take a deep breath before he could bring himself to look at it.

The sheets had changed, and Cas had rotated it ninety degrees, so that the left side was now pressed to the wall, rather than the right.

Two solid-looking chains trailed between the slats of the headboard, and Sam saw that they were bolted- actually bolted- to the wall on the far side. The chains, not surprisingly, ended in a pair of wide leather cuffs. There was a band of silver metal around the outside, so Sam wouldn’t be able to cut through them, even if he found something sharp enough to slice the leather.

Cas saw him looking.

“The plates are bolted into the studs- you may test them if you’d like.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I thought these might be more comfortable, in the long-term. They’ll allow you a slightly wider range of movement.” Cas paused. “Sit down, Sam.”

Sam’s gaze was glued to the cuffs, sitting neatly on the clean pillowcase, the chains just short enough that they couldn’t touch. He could imagine what they’d feel like, snug and hot against his skin, the skin would chafe eventually but he wouldn’t bruise- Cas was right, it was a better long term solution, and secure, too. He knew a fair amount about escaping from various forms of restraints, and he could see right now that he wasn’t getting out of those. If he got on that bed, he wasn’t getting back up, not unless Cas decided to let him, and that wouldn’t be until tomorrow, until after-

Sam’s breath was coming faster, he was shaking his head.

“No, I don’t- I don’t want to- I don’t-”

He stumbled backwards but the ankle chain was too short, he’d forgotten about it, he tried to step backwards to catch his balance but he didn’t have the slack. He went down hard, landing on his sore ass and narrowly missing hitting his head on the ground.

Cas was on him in a second, pulling him up by the wrists, yanking him into a standing position and then actually lifting him.

Sam kicked out, screaming, using the edges of the cuffs to dig and tear at Cas’s arms. He wouldn’t go, he wouldn’t go, he could-

And then Sam was dropping back onto the mattress and Cas was straddling him, holding him down, and his jeans were rough on the bare skin of Sam’s hips.

“No!” Sam screamed, and he kept it up. From somewhere outside himself, he realized he sounded like a toddler, screaming out a repetitive litany of defiance as Cas buckled him in and secured the cuffs with tiny padlocks.

“This doesn’t need to be like this,” Cas told him, sternly, and Sam yanked at the chains with all his strength- nothing. The leather bands were wide enough that he didn’t even hurt his wrists when he tried. “You’re being stubborn. Stop it.”

His hand was on Sam’s throat, holding his chin still, and then came the icy-hot feeling of Cas’s mouth and grace. Sam felt a chill wash over him, and a second later, the throbbing aches in his body began to fade. It felt better.

He didn’t want it to feel better.

“Give them back,” he hissed at the man above him. “Give them back.”

“I wouldn’t if I could,” Cas said, stroking his hand over Sam’s bare chest. “You’re beautiful, and it’s terrible to think that I’d hurt you.”

“You did, you hurt me and you should look at it.”

“It was an accident,” Cas said quietly. His hand stilled on Sam’s chest. “I didn’t realize how fragile you’d become. I miscalculated, but I’ve fixed it now.”

“No!” Sam screamed, and the chains rattled as he yanked once more. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“You’re having trouble adjusting. That’s to be expected. But there’s no reason for you to suffer needlessly.”

“I am suffering, needlessly,” Sam responded, and it dawned on him that he’d dropped the towel and that he could feel the denim of Cas’s jeans on his cock. He turned his hips, trying to dislodge the older man. “Get off me.”

To his surprise, Cas obliged him, sliding easily off to the side. He lifted the clean sheet and settled it over Sam’s legs and groin, giving him at least that modicum of privacy. Sam looked away. Cas sighed, then stood and went to gather his tools.

“I’ll bring your clothes back when the dryer finishes,” he said, turning to leave. Something caught Sam’s eye and his stomach lurched.

“Cas, wait-”

Cas turned back to him.

“The shirt- my shirt- I want it back.”

Cas glanced to his shoulder, where he’d thrown the torn garment as he gathered his things.

“It’s ruined- I can get you a different one.”

“No, I want-” Sam’s voice caught. “That was Dean’s, you can’t just- don’t throw it away, I want it.”

Sam had been dressing almost exclusively in his brother’s hand-me-downs ever since he could remember. It’s not like the damn thing had been a gift. He remembered the day they’d found it at the thrift shop- Dean had been thirteen and thrilled to have a shirt with an actual AC/DC logo on it, even if the damn thing was four sizes too big. He’d worn it until it was a size too small and John had made a comment about it and he’d reluctantly turned it over into Sam’s care. It was almost too small for Sam now, too; his body was filling out just the way his brother’s had. There was a hole in the left armpit that was getting noticeably large, but it was worn and comfortable and Sam had wanted something familiar, when he got to Stanford.

And now it was hanging there, limp and ruined in Cas’s hand and it seemed suddenly very important that it not be thrown away, not yet. Not here. Not like this.

“Cas, please, just- I want it back, please don’t throw it away, Cas, please-”

Cas’s eyes widened a little and he returned to Sam’s side, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed and pressing the worn cotton into Sam’s hand. Sam felt his eyes beginning to burn and he shut them tight, because he wasn’t going to get all worked up over a damn shirt, after everything else.

“Of course, Sam,” Cas was saying, sounding a little surprised that Sam was surprised. “Anything in my power to give. Forever. You have to know that.”

“Let me call my brother.”

Cas sighed.

“I can’t. Not yet. I need a little bit more time. One moon cycle- twenty eight days. Thirty, to be sure. But you will see him again, Sam. To our lifespans- thirty days is nothing. An afternoon nap, a conversation with a good friend- time slips away and is negligible in the scheme of things. But you will see your brother again. Do you understand what that is worth? To know?”

“He doesn’t know- all he knows is that I never made it to school.”

“Is there an address? Somewhere I could send a message?”

Sam thought, frowning. Bobby’s, maybe?”

“I think so.”

“Give me the address. I’ll tell them you’re alive.”

“Alive, and being held somewhere, by an unknown someone- that’s almost worse. If I go missing they might just think I’m avoiding them.”

Cas held out his hands.

“Then they will just have to wonder, for the time being. I know it’s cruel- but it’s necessary. It can’t be any other way.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, so you keep saying.”

Cas’s face hardened.

“The first day of the thirty has already passed. And at the end of thirty days, I’ll give you a phone, some money, and a ride anywhere you want to go. If you don’t want to stay with me by then, all you’ll have to do is walk away. You have my word.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something but Cas pushed on.

“You’ll speak to your brother before the season turns, but I have been without Samael for five hundred years.” His hand rose to his chest, as though feeling an old wound. “My soul has been torn for centuries, and I have pressed on, in the hopes of finding you again.” He turned to Sam, and his blue eyes were cold and hard. “You’ll have to forgive me if I have difficulty sympathizing with your brother’s plight.”

Sam’s fingers tightened around the shirt, holding tight.

“Fine. You want to give it a month? Fine. But the countdown isn’t on my side, it’s on yours. Because my family will find me and when they do, they’ll kill you for what you’ve done.”

Cas’s smirk was infuriating.

“Will they, now?”

“We’ve killed stronger things for less,” Sam hissed.

“I don’t doubt it. You’re very good at that, aren’t you? Rooting out the creatures that dare to inhabit your world-”

Cas’s voice was rising but he caught it, let it out in a long exhale.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Sam. I’m not the monster you think I am.”

“Prove it. Let me go.”

“No. Ask again and you won’t like the consequences.”

Sam let out a laugh.

“Is that how it’s going to be? That’s how our relationship is, you tell me what I can do, what I can say, where I can go- why do you even need me? You can crush anybody into the right shape-”

“It wasn’t like this!” Cas shouted, and there was an echo in his voice that made Sam’s skin crawl. “It was never like this! I’m doing the best I can with what you’re giving me to work with, which is nothing!”

“Nothing but my face, right? So why hold me a year? Why drag out the charade? Kill me now, you can dress me up nice and I won’t even fight-”

Cas’s nose wrinkled in distaste.

“That’s disgusting.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“You’re upset, and this conversation is going nowhere productive. Do you need anything?”

“Bolt cutters and a phone.”

Cas huffed out a breath through his nose. He reached out, pressing his hand to the wall.

“My bedroom is just on the other side of this wall. If you call for me, I will be able to hear you.”

“I won’t call.”

“Suit yourself,” Cas said, standing. “But if you change your mind, I will be able to hear you. I will see you in the morning.”

Sam watched him leave, kept glaring at the door even after it was shut. He could hear the deadbolts on the far side sliding home. Cas had left the light on, but that was fine. Sam didn’t think he would be sleeping too much.

He looked around the room. Cas had removed most of the things he’d brought in, after he’d finished making his alterations.

The bathroom door no longer had a knob- there was only a rough hole where it had been. The bed had obviously been moved, and the bedside table was nowhere to be seen. The bookshelf and the paperbacks remained- not surprising. The shelves were probably made of particleboard and would crumble if they were put to a use any more demanding than remaining unsteadily upright.

There was another change, too, Sam noticed. There was a small flat plate screwed to the floor in one corner. A ring protruded from the plate, and Sam assumed he would end up chained to it in some fashion, before too long.

He closed his eyes and let himself relax onto the mattress. It was strange to be sleeping with his hands pulled up and out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, necessarily. He tightened his hold on the t-shirt, reminding himself that it was still there.

There were footsteps in the room next door, and Sam froze, then let out a breath. There was no point trying to hide. He knew that, the training just ran a little too deep to be shut off that easily.

Cas moved around his room, humming lightly. Water ran, a closet door opened, bedsprings creaked. Sam tried not to imagine what he was doing. The first step to killing any creature was to know it, know it’s habits, it’s routine, it’s basic needs… and yet somehow Sam couldn’t bring himself to picture Cas dressing for bed like a normal person.

He closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to steady. He needed to focus. He couldn’t be drifting in and out like he’d done after- in the bathroom. He had to figure out a plan, some course of action, before Cas- came back.

The hairs along the base of his neck stood up and he pushed back a shiver.

He couldn’t drop out like that. Not again. Because Cas was going to come back and he knew what would happen then.

His breath was trying to come faster, but he wouldn’t let it. He focused on breathing, slow and steady, letting the air out, drawing it back in. There was plenty in the room, the feelings to the contrary were a panic response.

He set the shirt down carefully, making sure it wouldn’t slide out of his grasp. He began a very slow, methodical inspection of his bindings. He could see them, if he twisted his neck up just right. Thick, leather, padlocked shut. They fit snugly against his wrists. He wasn’t slipping them, not unless he dislocated his thumb, and he didn’t have the leverage to do that from this angle. In any case, he couldn’t do it silently and he’d have to do both thumbs, which meant he’d be making his escape with two crippled hands.

There was silence from the room next door.

Sam reached up, trying to feel for the plate that attached the chains to the wall, but the slats of the headboard were too close together. He couldn’t get his hands between them far enough to touch the wall.

He yanked anyway, pulling at them as hard as the angle would let him, with no effect at all.

He slumped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking.

He couldn’t fall asleep. He was going to be up all night, he knew that much already, there was no way he’d be able to drift off with an unknown creature in the next room over, just waiting for the sun to rise so he could-

He was painfully aware of his own nakedness. The sheet had settled low on his hips, too low, and he caught it between his knees, trying to pull it higher.

He scooted his body into a sitting position, raising his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them as best as he could. He wanted to rest against the wall, but he made do with leaning back against the headboard. He didn’t want to touch the wall.  

He let his head fall back, looking at the ceiling. He needed to plan. He had eight hours or so, probably, and he needed to come up with something to do, before then. Some plan.

There had to be something he could do. To talk him out of it. To make him see reason.

There had to be.

It was hot. Beastly hot, nauseatingly hot, the kind of hot that stole all life from the body.

Sam sprawled on a couch in the courtyard, stripped down to the absolute bare minimum he could wear without causing problems. He was in the shade now, not that it mattered, not in this heat. The air didn’t move, not even a little half-breeze to chill the sticky sweat beading on his skin.

He turned his head to eye the courtyard, the clear water of the impluvium flat as glass. He had half a mind to stride over and throw himself into the pool, but it had been in the sun all morning- it was probably hotter than his own blood, by now. He groaned.

“Staying busy as usual,” Cas told him, emerging from inside the house. Cas, somehow, was fully dressed, though his hands and knees were dirty and scraped, and there was a smudge of what looked like mud on his cheek.

“We’re going north next summer, I don’t care if I have to carry you on my back,” Sam muttered at him, shifting to try to find a cool spot on the couch.

“We may not be here by then. I want to finish the mosaic, and then we can move on.”

Cas sat next to him, leaning down to nuzzle at his shoulder.

“Where would you like to go next, beloved?”

“Stop it, you’re getting me dirty.”

Cas grinned against the nape of his neck, and then Sam felt his lover’s strong arms around him and he was being lifted.

Sam swatted at him playfully, laughing, and Cas pulled him into an easy bridal carry.

“We’ll just have to clean you off then, won’t we?”

“Don’t even think about it- Cas!” Sam protested indignantly, then shrieked when he was dumped unceremoniously into the pool. It was cooler than he’d expected it to be. He sat waist-deep in the water, laughing.

“Is that better, love?” Cas asked, and Sam splashed him. Cas was standing between him and the sun, and he had to shade his eyes to look up at the other man. The light put him into silhouette, forming a halo around his face, and for a moment, Sam saw the shadow of wings, dark and terrible, spreading from his shoulders.

And then Cas shifted, and the shadow was gone. He leaned down, offering his hand. Sam took it, but rather than rising to his feet, he pulled Cas down into the water with him, splashing him relentlessly as he spluttered.

“Shouldn’t you be working on your mosaic?” Sam asked innocently, and received a face full of water for his trouble.

Cas’s wet clothes stuck to his skin, and Sam felt a stirring in his lower belly, his mind finally on something other than the oppressive heat.

“Maybe we will be here next summer, if I keep progressing at this rate,” Cas groused as Sam pulled him close, kissing the cool water off his lips.

“Good,” Sam said, moving to kiss the water off his jaw. “I love this language on your tongue.”

“You love every language on my tongue.”

“Maybe it’s you I love, then, Castiel,” Sam murmured, and Cas laughed.

Sam bolted awake, not realizing he’d been asleep. The sound that had awakened him repeated, two hard knocks, and then the door opened. Sam’s heart dropped.

“You knocked?” he asked incredulously. “Were you going to make sure I was decent?”

His knees were still pulled up to his chest, the sheet feeling like poor protection from what was to come.

“It seemed polite,” Cas said, shrugging. He stayed standing by the door. Sam laughed.

“Know what else is polite?”

“Please, let’s not start this way.”

Sam stared. Cas held out his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“I feel badly about how yesterday went. I know you don’t believe me, but there’s no reason it needs to be that way. I’d like for today to be better. We can both be reasonable about this.”

There was a hysterical sound rising in Sam’s throat, but he kept it down.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sam. I never want to hurt you. And if you can be… calm, and let me do the things I need to do, there’s no reason for them to cause you any discomfort.”

“I’m pretty sure some things are inherently uncomfortable.”

Cas didn’t react.

“After the blood, you’ll need to bathe again. Other than that- is there any order you’d prefer? We can have breakfast first, if you’d like?”

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. Food would delay the spell maybe half an hour- but he wasn’t sure he could force it down, and if he did, he might puke, during. He didn’t want that, didn’t want Cas to see that.

“I had a thought, last- last night,” Sam said quietly. He looked up at Cas. “There’s nothing I can say? You’re determined to do this?”

Cas nodded once. Sam’s stomach twisted.

“Then drug me. Those blue pills you gave me when I first came to. Then you can- do whatever you need to.”

Sam’s voice got thick toward the end. He couldn’t meet Cas’s eyes, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want this, but if it had to happen, he didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to know.

“Sam…”

Cas’s voice was sad.

“I’m not agreeing to it!” Sam snapped. “I don’t want you, Cas!”

Cas crossed the room in silence, reaching for Sam’s face. Sam pulled away as the man caressed his cheek, but with his arms bound, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“I’d like to try something. Something I learned about yesterday, from the people who sold me- all this stuff,” Cas said, gesturing to the chains and the stainless cuffs discarded on the floor. “Something I think might help you.”

Sam balked.

“You’re taking advice from the employees at a fucking sex shop?”

“Yes. They actually had quite a bit of interesting knowledge on the subject of power imbalances in a sexual relationship.”

Sam swallowed hard.

Sexual relationship.

Cas thought they had a sexual relationship.

“This goes way beyond just a power imbalance,” Sam said. “Do you understand that? This is not a relationship. I am being held here against my will and you are assaulting me. Do you understand that?”

“I have a relationship. If not with you, then with the man you have locked away inside your head. He was here first.”

Cas removed something black from his pocket, unfolding it and showing it to Sam.

“I’d like to put this on you,” he said quietly, holding out the blindfold. Sam pulled away from it involuntarily.

“Absolutely not.”

“One of the women I spoke to swore by it, for getting through difficult scenes. She said it helped her focus and accept.”

“I don’t want to accept!” Sam shouted.

“Then what? You want to keep fighting me, have me keep hurting you? Is that what you want?”

“Better that than give in.”

Cas looked at him for a long time. Sam stared back, not giving him an inch. When Cas turned away, it was to wipe his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“You’re just like him,” Cas said quietly, and he was looking up, at the ceiling, at some thing maybe only he could see. He dropped the blindfold, and a second later, pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor as well. Sam’s heart beat harder, he could feel it inside his ribs, hammering. “Let me do something for you.”

“No.”

Sam pulled his knees up further, trying to make himself a smaller target and knowing that it would fail. The chain between his ankles clinked, reminding him that even under the thin sheet, he was bound.

Cas climbed onto the bed beside him, close enough that Sam could have let his fingertips brush against his bare torso.

“I need you to lie back down,” Cas said quietly, and Sam put his forehead on his knees, trying to stifle the sobs clawing their way up his throat. “Don’t make me force you.”

“I c-can’t.”

It was true. Sam didn’t think his body would respond to commands right now, even if he were capable of giving them.

“I’m going to move the sheet away now.”

Sam closed his eyes as Cas pulled the thin covering away, leaving him completely exposed. And then Cas’s hands were on his hips, pulling them forward until he was flat on his back again. He wanted to kick out but his legs wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t pull out of their protective huddle. Cas forced them flat, pressing his knee high between Sam’s thighs and using his weight to hold the teen down.

Sam couldn’t keep the sobs in now, and he kept his eyes closed, trying not to let the tears show, even as his breath came in small gasps. Cas leaned down over him, pressing his lips to the side of Sam’s mouth, and the tingle-chill of grace raced through his body. It found nothing to heal and so instead it simply circled, bouncing off his extremities like ripples in a pond, until it eventually dissipated.

Cas’s hands made their way down his body, stroking him lovingly, making Sam’s hair stand on end. Shivers travelled down his body, making goose bumps rise on his skin.

Cas lingered at his belly, stroking the hair that grew there, smoothing it down, drawing ever closer to the fork of his legs.

“Just get it over with.”

He meant it to sound disinterested, gruff, but his voice cracked at the end and he buried his face in his shoulder. Cas had paused, and was looking at him- he could feel the man’s gaze on him. He heard Cas shift, lean down over him, and then he felt Cas’s mouth on the soft head of his cock.

He twisted his hips to the side, but Cas was ready for him, his fingers splayed over Sam’s hips, keeping him down. He pulled back and then went deeper, taking Sam deep into his throat.

Sam stared. He couldn’t help it. Cas’s mouth was hot velvet and god how many times had he jerked off to the thought of some girl doing this to him someday-

His cock was hardening, to the point where Cas couldn’t get the whole thing in his mouth any more, and he was stroking at the base with one hand and Sam was transfixed.

Two years ago Jackie Swenson had told the lunch table that the best way to give head was to squeeze the base of a guy’s dong, and she’d demonstrated by stroking the tip of a breadstick and that visual had taken first place in Sam’s spank bank ever since.

This was not like that.

Cas’s hand was bigger, the skin rougher, and there was dark hair across the back of each knuckle. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and there was stubble grazing across the inside of Sam’s thigh and his tongue was flicking over the head of Sam’s cock and there was a guy going down on him and he was totally hard.

Sam stared.

It was his body, obviously it was his body, and his cock, and that was all normal, and then, right next to that, there was Cas, a guy, not in any manner a feminine guy, not at all, and Cas was going down on him, and he was hard. It was like an optical illusion, determined not to make sense no matter how Sam looked and still he couldn’t look away. The muscles in Cas’s shoulders rippled as his head bobbed, and he let out little moans here and there as he worked Sam’s shaft.

“No,” Sam breathed, and Cas glanced up at him, his eyes a startling blue, and Sam had a moment of déjà vu, just one, just a flash, and it sent him over the edge and he was coming into Cas’s throat.

Cas cleaned him up while his breathing slowed, licking his way up Sam’s softening cock, cleaning the evidence off him in wet little swipes.

He was right. It didn’t hurt. It might even have been nice, under other circumstances. In this case it just left him kind of boneless, not sick exactly, just tired.

He felt Cas move, felt him push his knees further apart, and he whimpered then, because his ankles were still chained, and the cuffs were biting into his skin, but Cas saw too. He adjusted again, moving closer, kneeling on the bed between Sam’s legs. Sam’s ass was pulled up onto Cas’s lap, making his back arch. His legs were wrapped around Cas’s waist in an odd parody of a lover’s embrace.

This wasn’t where he was supposed to be, Sam knew.

Cas was taking the little tube of lubricant out of his pocket, and Sam stared at it dully.

“This shouldn’t be as bad as it was yesterday,” Cas was telling him.

“If you don’t fight me, I can prepare you,” Cas said.

“This might be cold,” Cas said. “Sorry.”

And there it was again, that strange and foreign touch, the cold slickness of Cas’s fingers pressing against his hole.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He knew how this worked. Dean had sat him down one day and laid it all out.

For someday, Dean had said.

The most important thing, Dean had said, was to make sure she was wet.

Otherwise it’s crap for everyone, Dean said, while Cas slid a finger into Sam’s body.

Being wet is the key.

It felt like he had to use the bathroom, but it was just a second finger, stretching him, getting him ready.

Cas was watching him carefully, murmuring things to him, telling him he was beautiful, just like Dean had told Sam to do, all those years ago.

“’M not a girl,” Sam muttered, but there wasn’t any force behind it. Cas was working him open, getting him ready, and in a couple minutes he’d slick up his cock and fuck him.

Sam turned his head, looking to the wall.

They’d never talked about guys.  

Never even thought it was a possibility.

Cas’s fingers withdrew and Sam pictured the look on Dean’s face, if he knew.

Cas leaned forward, sliding into him easily, and it didn’t hurt this time. It wasn’t great, but it didn’t hurt. Cas wasn’t moving as much, just kind of rolling his hips upwards, thrusting shallow.

Wait ‘til Dean heard he’d gotten a blowjob, Sam thought. Didn’t even have to get all the way to Stanford, didn’t have to talk up a sorority girl or anything.

Wait ‘til Dad heard, Sam thought.

Cas’s hands on his cock, stroking him, getting him hard.

Not so bad, Cas was telling him.

Sam thought of Dean, kicking down the door, one of his heroic rescues, standing dumbstruck in the doorway while his little brother gave it up to a dude.

His face, though.

His face would be priceless.

Sam smiled, and Cas came with a gasp.

The blood still burned, the heat penetrating deep into the muscles of Sam’s back as Cas rubbed him. His face was pillowed on his free arm, the other stretched up above him. Cas was straddling his ass, his bare ass, still slick with come and lube. Cas was talking to him but Sam wasn’t listening. He wanted Cas to hurry up so he could go take a shower.

Cas cuffed his wrists together before releasing him from the wall shackle, and Sam trudged wordlessly into the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Sam stood under the water and wondered if he was still a virgin.

He didn’t think so.  

The towel was still damp from the night before.

He dried off as best he could. His back still itched a little bit, and he thought maybe he hadn’t gotten all the blood off.

He shuffled back into the bedroom, towel clasped awkwardly around his waist.

The door was open. Daylight flooded the living room. Sam stared.

Cas was sitting on the bed. He’d straightened the sheets and blanket, letting the loose shackles lie on the pillow.

Sam’s jeans were on the bed next to him. Sam stared at them. His boxers were sitting beside them, folded, for christ’s sake.

Cas looked up at him hopefully. There were two steaming bowls in his lap. Chili. He held one of them out to Sam.

“It’s a little overcooked,” he said apologetically. “I’d meant to have it Saturday night, but. Well.”

But he’d been busy, Sam thought bitterly. He ignored the bowl.

“Can I have my pants back?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll have to unchain my feet.”

Cas nodded, setting the bowls to the side.

Sam approached him warily, then sat on the edge of the bed. His cuffed hands were in his lap, holding tight to the towel.

“It smells good,” Sam remarked, as Cas fished the keys out of his pocket. The older man nodded.

“It’s a South American recipe. It’s made with green chilies and chicken.” He knelt on the floor, turning Sam’s cuff so he could reach the keyhole. He only unlocked one cuff, and he didn’t look away when Sam stood to dress. “I’ll teach you to make it.”

“I’d like that,” Sam responded, and then he was fisting his fingers in Cas’s hair and pulling, hard, driving his knee straight up into the bridge of Cas’s nose.

Cas fell back, clutching his bloody face with a curse. Sam didn’t wait to hear it, just bolted.

He didn’t need to go far this time. He wasn’t trying to make it to civilization. He just needed a phone. A phone. Preferably his phone, but any phone would work, really.

The living room looked the same as he remembered, television, couch, no sign of Sam’s knapsack. Or a phone.

Sam went left, through a doorway to the kitchen. It was big- stainless steel everywhere. Clean. A small table stood in one corner, flanked by two wooden chairs. Papers were strewn across it in piles, and by the wall, a phone cradle. No handset.

Sam rifled through the paperwork, awkward with his hands chained, but they weren’t concealing the handset underneath them.

He glanced around the counters, not seeing the handset or his knapsack on the marble surface.

He looked back to the cradle. There was a locator button. He hesitated for just a second before pushing it, and from the distance, a high pitched trilling sound began to repeat.

It was coming from the living room, the direction he’d come. He frowned, he hadn’t seen-

Cas appeared in the doorway. He held up the handset without a word, punching the button to silence the ringer. Sam glared at him.

“Are you done?” Cas asked. Sam didn’t answer. Cas was going to hurt him for this, he already knew that, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid.

He cast around the room, looking for something he could use as a weapon. There was a knife rack- magnetic, stuck to the wall beside the oven- but it was empty. Sam had a feeling the drawers would be empty, too. Cas had predicted this.

There was a crock pot, though, still three-quarters full of the chili that Cas had brought him.

Sam went for it, hooking two fingers through the handle of the glass lid and winging it at Cas as hard as he could. He didn’t wait to see if it landed, just retreated through the doorway on the far side of the kitchen from where Cas stood.

He didn’t know what he was hoping for, but finding himself outside again was not an improvement. He was naked, barefoot, his hands chained- he’d die of exposure before he got any distance, which he wouldn’t. Not with Cas on his trail.

The air was misty, cold, and he shivered as he looked around. It was no good going for the truck, he already knew that. But there was another building- a barn. Cas had mentioned a workshop- if there were metalworking tools in there, that might be exactly what he needed.

Sam bolted for the barn doors, ignoring the cold and the feeling of stones cutting into the soles of his feet. The blood would leave a trail but he didn’t have time to worry about that now.

Halfway across the yard, the kitchen door slammed open. Sam didn’t look back. Cas would catch him or he wouldn’t, there was no point looking back now-

He made it to the doors, shoving them open with all his strength. They rolled easily along the tracks, banging into the stop on the far side.

Lights flickered on automatically, filling the space with a shining silver light.

Wings, Sam thought, and then Cas was on him.

“I went back for the blindfold,” Cas said gruffly, twisting his fingers in Sam’s hair and shoving his head down. He forced Sam forward in a kind of bent-over shuffle, heading for the center of the room.

There was a wide table covered in miscellaneous metal pieces and Cas cleared it with a sweep of his arm. He hauled Sam up onto the flat surface and Sam scrambled away the moment he was released. Cas caught him easily, hauling back and slapping him across the face. Sam staggered, and Cas shoved him back onto the table, one hand around his throat while the other yanked his wrists above his head. Sam kicked and writhed and Cas hit him again.

The wrist cuffs were secured to something- Sam couldn’t tell what. Cas moved to the far side of the table and grabbed the cuff still dangling from his right foot. Cas knelt and wrapped the chain around the table leg, pulling it almost painfully tight before securing it.

“That fucking hurts,” Sam snapped. Cas ignored him, leaving and returning a moment later with a length of rope. Sam felt fear twisting in his belly and he kicked out at Cas with his free leg, ineffectively, as it turned out. The man looped it easily around his ankle, pulling it tight and securing it to the other table leg.

Sam pulled at the bonds, hard enough that he was pretty sure his wrists were bleeding, frustrated screams building in his throat. Cas pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, rolling it over twice and shoving it between Sam’s jaws. Sam tried to spit it out, but Cas’s hand was over his mouth, keeping it there.

“If you spit that out, I’m going to tape your mouth shut. Do you understand me?”

Sam nodded. Cas withdrew, and Sam immediately spat the makeshift gag out.

“Fuck you.”

Cas sighed and retreated to the workbench, returning with a roll of duct tape. He held it up where Sam could see.

“Happy now?”

He tore off a strip the length of his hand, pressing it over the hard line of Sam’s mouth. He added two more, just as long, just to be sure. Sam breathed hard through his nose, still glaring at his captor, refusing to give him an inch.

“I’d like to tell you something, and I think it’s going to take something a little more concrete than just words.”

Cas leaned over the table, searching Sam’s face for something that he didn’t find. He sighed, and disappeared from Sam’s vision. A few seconds later, a reedy whoosh sound filled the air.

“Before we begin here, I just want you to know that I can heal you. And I will. I don’t want you to be frightened of me, but I don’t want to have to fight you every day, either.” The whooshing sound continued. “This is going to scare you. Unfortunately. But I want to make it clear just how scared you should be. I can heal you the way your own body would heal, or I can restore you. Or both. Or neither. Whatever else happens, none of this has to be permanent.”

Sam closed his eyes, trying not to listen to the sound behind Cas’s voice. He knew a switch when he heard one. That’s fine. Okay. He’d been switched before. Never on his belly, that was going to suck, but he could handle it.

“Open your eyes. I want you to see this. Just this.”

Sam clenched them shut, then looked up at Cas. Cas wanted him to watch? Fine.

Cas was rolling up his sleeves, letting them rest just above his elbows.

“I want you to know just how much damage this can do, if I let it.”

He picked the switch up off the table, and Sam’s heart dropped. It was thin, made of some light, springy metal. It shone a cruel silver in the light, and Sam’s stomach twisted. He knew how much damage that could do. He grit his teeth. He wasn’t going to beg.

Cas flicked it through the air a few times, then brought it down hard onto his own forearm. The skin split instantly, hot blood splattering down onto the table beside Sam’s chest. Cas turned his arm toward Sam, so he could see.

It looked like he’d been gouged with a knife. The wound was healing, but it was probably half an inch deep at it’s worst. Sam swallowed hard, imagining that springy little cane laying across his belly, his chest, his underarms-

Cas picked up the handkerchief from before, using it to wipe the blood from his arm.

“I can hit harder than that,” Cas said evenly. “I could probably lay you open to the bone, if I felt so inclined.”

Sam wasn’t going to beg. He focused on his breathing, keeping it steady as Cas circled the table, looking him over.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas remarked. “And you always have been. The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you. But I won’t lose Samael. Not again. And I won’t continue to fight you on this.”

He paused just to the left of Sam’s shoulder, drawing the black blindfold out of his pocket. Sam jerked away from it, not getting far. He could feel his heart beginning to race- whatever Cas planned to do to him, he wanted to see it coming, he needed-

“You have to understand that you have no control here,” Cas told him, slipping the dark cloth over his eyes. Sam shook his head, trying to dislodge it, but there was velcro or something on the back and it held fast. “And if you can accept that, I think that this will go over easier for both of us.”

The cane whipped through the air and Sam froze, waiting for pain to blossom across his body.

It didn’t come.

Cas set it gently across his thighs, letting it rest there, letting it’s miniscule weight speak for itself.

“I could punish you,” Cas said quietly. “For yesterday’s escape attempt, for today’s. That could be the standard, if you’d like- every time you seek to escape your bonds, I could switch you until you were unconscious from the pain. I’m fairly certain you’d develop an anxiety disorder before you stopped trying to escape, but it might be worth a shot.”

His voice grew distant as he talked, and Sam could hear him moving around the room. He had a sinking feeling Cas wasn’t going to whip him- that his captor had something a lot worse planned.

“I have these, too,” Cas said, laying a heavier tool on Sam’s chest. “They’re tin snips. They’ll cut through bone without too much trouble. I’m assuming you know how to pick a lock, but I also assume you’d have difficulty without your thumbs.”

Sam’s stomach lurched. There was no way Cas was serious. There’s no way he was that crazy.

His hands formed involuntary fists. Cas didn’t react, just kept talking.

“Or I could leave the thumbs, and take the last joint of each finger. There’s also the matter of the phone. I enjoyed talking to you in the cab of the truck, I think you could be a great conversational partner. I’d hate to give that up, but I also think you’d be far less likely to attack me for a phone if you were missing your tongue.”

Sam desperately wished he could see what Cas was doing. The other man had moved away from the table again, and Sam could only imagine what he was going to come back with. He tried to keep his breathing even, drawing in each breath deep through his nose. His heart was pounding and he knew he had to slow it down- if Cas cut him, he’d only bleed out faster.

“I don’t expect you’ll know this one,” Cas said, setting something heavy on the table, right at the fork of Sam’s spread legs. “It’s a butane torch. Nod if you know what that is.”

Sam could feel the blood draining out of his face, could feel the adrenaline rising in his body, and he whined, pulling at his bonds. They held tight.

“It works. I use it all the time,” Cas continued, and there was a click, followed by the steady hiss of gas burning. Sam could feel the heat of it on his belly. He couldn’t breathe. His body jerked against the bonds, even as he tried to stay still- the last thing he wanted was to knock the torch over. He tried to beg, but the tape reduced his pleas to wordless mumbles.

“Your palms,” Cas said. He was walking around again. “Or the soles of your feet. You wouldn’t be running too far if that were the case.”

The torch clicked off, and Sam let out a sob of relief. He was crying openly now, too terrified to try to stay stoic. His nose was running, and it was getting hard to breathe through the tape. He could feel the canister of the torch resting gently against the inside of his thigh, just below his balls.

Cas was down by the end of the table, doing something to the cuff around his right ankle. Sam wanted to kick at him, but he couldn’t make himself move.

“I could take your eyes, Sam,” Cas said sadly. “It would be terrible to see your face without them, they’ve always been one of your best features. But I could take them away from you. You might still be able to escape without them- but I’m the only one who could ever heal you.”

Sam moaned, shaking his head desperately. His whole body was wracked with shivers, and he couldn’t make them stop. Cas’s voice came closer, and Sam felt the man’s hand rest on his cock.

“There are other things I could take, too,” Cas said, and Sam dissolved into a stream of unintelligible pleas, begging through the tape.

Cas let him finish, waited until his captive dropped into deep, wordless sobs, and then he brushed his thumb across the bridge of Sam’s cheek.

“I want you to think about this, Sam,” he said as he wiped the tears away. “The epoxy takes fifteen minutes to set. And during that fifteen minutes, I will not touch you. I will not speak. I will not answer. This time is for you- I want you to think, very carefully, about how badly I’ve treated you. And how badly I could treat you if I chose to. I want you to think about the things that I risk by continuing to leave you able-bodied and whole, and I want you to think very carefully about how you want to repay me for that risk.”

What epoxy? Sam had time to think, and then Cas was retreating across the open space, settling down into something that sounded like a rolling chair.

And then there was silence.

Complete, utter silence.

Sam didn’t move. Didn’t dare pull against his bonds. Cas had promised him fifteen minutes but he was afraid of what the man would do if he were provoked into returning sooner.

Sobs were threatening to claw their way up Sam’s throat. The darkness was complete, and he couldn’t help flinching when he imagined Cas returning. He couldn’t see. He wouldn’t know. The man could be right there, bringing something sharp and terrible down onto Sam’s exposed skin-

His body was screaming at him to run, but there was nowhere he could go, nothing he could do-

Something clattered against the roof of the barn and Sam screamed.

He didn’t know how long it had been. A minute? Two? Five? Would Cas even come back after fifteen?

It occurred to Sam that Cas could just leave him here, bound and helpless and waiting-

He was panicking. He was panicking and he knew it and he couldn’t make it stop. He couldn’t breathe.

The tape was too much.

He gasped in air, huge lungfuls, sucking through the spaces where the tape had pulled away from his skin, it was sticky on his tongue and it tasted like chemicals-

The tape pulled away from his mouth and he could breathe but it meant that Cas was there and his time was up-

“Please, no, Cas, please-”

He was babbling and Cas was shushing him, wiping the tears from his cheeks, but he still couldn’t see. Cas’s other hand came to rest on his belly and Sam arched, keening, trying to escape whatever was coming.

“Have you thought about it?” Cas asked quietly.

“Yes, Cas, please, don’t, I’ll do anything, I swear, please, let me see, please just let me see.”

“In a minute,” Cas said. His hand stroked gently down the side of Sam’s face and Sam forced himself to be still, to be silent, to try to listen for whatever it was that Cas was doing. “I want to make sure we’re clear on what’s happening here.”

“Yes, Cas, I’m clear, please-”

Cas’s hand closed over his mouth, not hard enough to cut off the air, but enough that Sam knew he was meant to be silent.

“This is three times now you’ve tried to fight me. I’m stronger than you. You will not win in a physical confrontation. Can you accept that?”

Sam nodded, once.

“You cannot kill me, not with your hands, not with a weapon you can wield. If you run, I will come after you, and I will find you long before you reach anyone else. Can you accept that?”

Sam hesitated, then nodded again. Cas’s other hand had vanished from his belly and he shivered as he waited for the touch to reappear.

“Twenty nine days. After twenty nine days I will take the chain off, and you’ll be free to leave, if you still want to. I swear on your life. Now, the last and most important question. And I want you to think before you answer. Can you cooperate and act civilized for that time? Or do I need to force you?”

Cas took his hand away from Sam’s mouth and Sam had to stop himself from begging again. It was impossible, there’s no way he’d be able to do this for a month, not with what Cas was doing to him, he’d fight, he wouldn’t be able to help it, and then-

Something touched him, just below his ribs on one side, and he jerked away before he could even process what it was.

“No, please, I won’t fight. I won’t- please don’t, whatever that is, please don’t, please-”

“Shh, Sam. It’s alright.” It was just his fingertips, Sam realized, Cas was stroking the taut skin of his belly and he gasped in relief even as his stomach turned. “I know this is hard on you. I know you feel like you need to fight. But you don’t, Sam. You can just let this happen. You’re helpless and you’re hurting yourself fighting it.”

“Just let me see, Cas, please-”

“You don’t need to, beloved, what did I just say?”

“I don’t-”

“Tell me what I just said.”

Sam swallowed hard.

“I can let this happen.”

“Why.”

“Because I’m- there’s nothing I can do about it.”

The words came out almost inaudible.

“Good. Then there’s no reason I’ll ever need to do any of these terrible things to you. You don’t need to be afraid, as long as you remember to behave.”

Sam clenched his eyes.

“I’ll try.”

“Then it’s all forgiven.” Cas hesitated. “Say it.”

“It’s all forgiven,” Sam whispered.

Cas’s lips were warm where they pressed to Sam’s mouth. His tongue flicked against Sam’s lower lip, and Sam hesitantly opened his mouth.

Cas tasted like coffee. His kiss was firm, delving, and Sam kept his eyes closed, letting Cas do what he wanted. Eventually, he pulled away.

His fingers ghosted across Sam’s thighs as he removed the torch, the tin snips, the cane.

The tension on Sam’s arms let up, and he realized Cas had loosened whatever tie kept the handcuffs attached to the table. Hesitantly, he reached for the blindfold. Cas didn’t stop him. Sam pulled it away and sat up, blinking in the light.

The first thing that he saw was Cas’s blood, cooling on the table. He didn’t look at it. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the end of the workspace and the small plastic tubes sitting there.

“It’s cold weld,” Cas told him.

There was a small clamp around the cuff on his right ankle, and Cas set about removing it, showing Sam the place where the keyhole had been.

“After the month is up, I’ll get the bolt cutters and take it off.”

Sam stared at it, dumbstruck. He could see where the white epoxy had been forced into the keyhole, into the hinge. He wasn’t getting that open. Even if he could pick it, the hinge was stuck shut.

He closed his eyes, refusing to look at it, refusing to see it locked around him.

Nothing I can do about it.

He opened his eyes, exhaling. Cas was inspecting a length of chain that trailed along the floor. Two sizes of chain were linked by a second clamp, and Cas yanked at them, testing the hold.

“This should make it a little easier on you,” he said, gesturing with the chain. He began wrapping it around his arm, drawing it up, and Sam saw that it was linked to the cuff around his ankle.

“Let me down,” he said hollowly, unable to take his eyes off the chain. “Let me down, I’m going to be sick.”

Cas sized up the knot around Sam’s left ankle and went for the trash can instead, dragging it over to the worktable just in time for Sam to empty his stomach into it. There wasn’t much there- he spat a mouthful of bile onto the assorted metal scraps and tried to remember the last time he’d eaten.

Cas stroked his hair away from his face, and Sam flinched away, wiping his mouth with one cuffed wrist. His mouth tasted sour.

“I’d offer you some water, but we’d have to go back into the house,” Cas said apologetically. He was still wrapping the loose end of the chain around his arm. Sam guessed there was maybe fifty feet there. “Can you walk or do I need to carry you?”

“I’ll walk.”

Cas nodded, and untied the rope.

The chain clinked when Sam slid off the table, taking his first hesitant steps toward the barn doors. The floor was littered with debris, but he’d rather walk back bleeding than have Cas touch him again. Maybe if he got tetanus, the man would have to take him to a hospital.

He didn’t step on anything, making it all the way to the door without incident. It was raining again, and the ground was cold and gritty as Sam made his way across the yard toward the house. The chain pulled awkwardly at the cuff, but he didn’t look at it. He looked at the sky.

Chapter Text

Sam sat on the edge of the tub, watching the water pooling around his muddy feet. There was a cut on his right heel that was deep enough to bleed sluggishly, the red mixing with the brown as it spiraled down the drain.

Out in the living room, he could hear power tools.

Sam shut off the water. He was clean, or as clean as he was going to get.

He stepped out onto the tile, leaving tiny half-moons of crimson on the clean surface.

Good.

The chain snaked off through the doorway, through a pair of boxers and his jeans, before disappearing under the door. Sam pulled the clothes on and tried not to feel grateful for the meager protection they offered.

It was almost noon. So he had… maybe six hours?

Until Cas wanted him again.

Sam shivered, just as the door to the bedroom swung wide.

“Good, you’re done. Come see.”

Sam stared at him dully, then followed him out into the living room, leaving a trail of spiteful blood smears behind him as he went. He’d almost reached the door when he paused and turned back, pulling the blanket off the bed and wrapping it around his shoulders. Cas hadn’t left him a shirt, and he didn’t want the other man looking at him.

Cas noted the change and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Instead, he gestured to the chain, where it trailed through the bedroom doorway and across the floor.

There was a plate screwed to the wall, vertically, and Sam could see where the screws had been sunk deep into the stud. The plate contained a single eye hook, and it was to that that the chain was fastened.

“I thought this might be easier than just keeping you strapped to the bed,” Cas explained, surveying his handiwork. “You’ll be able to reach the living room and parts of the kitchen. You can dress and undress without needing to be unchained, and if I need to disconnect the chain for any reason…” Cas shrugged. “I can lock the bedroom door so you aren’t tempted to fight me over it.”

Sam knelt, taking the chain in both hands and yanking.

The plate didn’t move. Didn’t even groan.

Sam pulled again, leaning his whole weight against the chain.

Nothing.

He dropped the chain then, and began walking along the wall. Cas watched him silently as he walked into the kitchen, trailing the chain behind him as he went.

It pulled tight just short of the electric range. Sam turned, walking across the open area to the kitchen island.

The crock pot had been moved safely out of his reach, but he could get to the sink.

There were a number of drawers he could reach, as well. He opened the top one to find it full of cutlery- forks, spoons, chopsticks.

The knives were notably absent.

Sam closed the drawer, and opened the one below it.

“Do you need help finding something?” Cas asked, coming up behind him.

“No,” Sam answered. The second drawer held office supplies- tape, pencils, a stapler. Sam picked out a felt tipped marker and closed the drawer.

The third and fourth drawers were empty.

He moved back around the island, being careful not to touch Cas as he passed.

He circled the living room, marking out his perimeter. He could reach the couch, the television, part of the bookshelf.

The front door was out of his reach, as were the windows.

“You’re bleeding!” Cas exclaimed suddenly. Sam didn’t respond, just kept marking his perimeter in red crescents.

Cas’s bedroom door was right next to his. Sam paused with his hand on the doorknob.

He’d be able to navigate Cas’s room almost as thoroughly as his own. He didn’t need to verify that.

“Sit down,” Cas ordered. “You’re making a mess.”

Sam went back into his room. He retrieved a hand towel from the bathroom and sat on the tile, wrapping the cloth around his foot.

A minute later, Cas came in with a roll of bandages.

“Let me see.”

“Give me the gauze, I’ll do it.”

“Nonsense, if you won’t let me heal you, at least-”

Cas reached for him and Sam jerked back, pulling in close to himself.

“Don’t touch me.”

Cas rolled his eyes.

“I hardly think-”

He reached out again and Sam scrambled back, kicking out at Cas’s hand as he did.

“Don’t.” Sam repeated.

Cas narrowed his eyes, and dropped the gauze into Sam’s lap.

“Have it your way.”

Sam pulled the blanket tighter around himself and waited for Cas to leave.

When he was sure the man had gone, he unwrapped the towel and examined the cut. Not that it would matter. His whole damn foot could come off and a couple hours later, Cas would just-

He wrapped the gauze tight, tying off the ends once it was secure.

Then, for the first time, he let himself look at the cuff.

It wasn’t coming off. That he determined almost immediately. Not unless he was willing to do some very permanent damage to the bone structure of his foot, and that would certainly hinder the remainder of the escape process.

He rubbed his thumb over the keyhole, feeling the smooth grain of the epoxy there. It already felt as hard as the surrounding metal.

He took the rest of the gauze and wrapped it around his ankle, creating a barrier between the metal and his skin. So it wouldn’t chafe.

Because it was going to be there a while.

29 days.

Sam shoved at the cuff, pressing it down against his heel until the skin felt almost ready to split- no difference. Not even close.

29 days.

He stood back up and limped into the bedroom, the chain clinking along behind him.

The wall opposite the bed had a large blank area. He stood in front of it, surveying.

This was his third day in the house, which meant it was Saturday.

Class started in two days.

Sam uncapped the marker and reached up, writing Sat in neat block capitals.

The rest of the week followed, thick black letters spreading evenly across the wall.

Underneath that, Sam made rows of squares, seven wide, five high.

The first Fri he filled with a black X. That was his first day, the first of the thirty.

One down.

Twenty nine to go.

He set the marker on top of the bookshelf and sat on the bed, surveying his handiwork. The calendar was nearly four feet wide. He had a feeling that the black X’s would be visible even in the dark. Letting him know how far he’d come.

And how long he had left.

Sam didn’t doubt that Cas was being honest about taking the chain off. Or at least… Cas thought he was being honest.

The man truly thought that a month of captivity was going to make Sam fall in love with him. That much was clear.

So he was delusional, and that made him unpredictable.

Cas said that after a month, he’d let Sam go free.

Sam had a sneaking suspicion that what Cas had in mind, might be more of the Jonestown variety of freedom.

But Sam would need to come up with a better plan than just tearing free and running. Cas was right- he was never going to win in a physical fight.

The cuff hung heavy on his ankle, making little metallic sounds as his foot shifted.

That would have to be the first thing to go.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to catalogue his assets.

I’ve got a blanket and a marker, he thought sourly, and then shook his head.

I’ve got a brother who’s probably looking for me right now.

Better. Still not good enough. Unless…

He wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders and went back out into the living room.

Cas was nowhere to be seen, and Sam returned to the drawer where he’d found the marker. There were pens and pencils, but no paper.

“What are you looking for?”

“Paper,” Sam answered, without turning around.

“I’ll get you some.”

Cas searched the bookshelf for a moment before returning with a spiral-bound notebook.

College ruled, Sam noted without humor.

“If I write a letter, will you still send it to my family?”

“Depending on the contents, yes.”

“What can I tell them?”

Cas frowned, considering.

“That you’re unharmed. That you will contact them in a month. That there are reasons you cannot call sooner.”

“That someone’s holding me?”

“That you’re with someone,” Cas said slowly.

Sam didn’t react to that. Instead, he sat down at the kitchen table, stared at the paper for a minute, and then began to write.

Dad, Uncle Bobby,

If you’ve tried to call, you’ll know I’m not at school. Something happened on the way down. I can’t tell you more right now.

It is August 25^th. I will call you September 23^rd. As early as I can.

Sam paused, and then added another line.

I’ve met someone I want to introduce you to.

On the bottom of the paper, he scrawled Bobby’s address- deliberately misspelling Singer with two r’s. Between that, and leaving Dean off the introduction, (not to mention sending a letter) they were sure to know something was up.

And they’d know it had happened somewhere between Seattle and Stanford.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Sam tore out the paper, handing it over to Cas without looking. The other man took it and read it over.

“Don’t you want to tell them you’re all right?”

“I am not all right,” Sam muttered.

“Unharmed, then,” Cas corrected, and Sam did look at him then. There was a cut on his lower lip that was beginning to swell, and he was sure it made a nice counterpoint to the shiner he could feel developing. Sam shifted, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. In the process the blanket slipped down his forearm, revealing the marks that the handcuffs had left on his wrists.

Sam continued staring. He made no comment, just let his skin speak for itself.

Cas was the first to look away.

“I’m going to type this,” he said at last. “I don’t know your handwriting and I don’t trust that you don’t have a code.”

“You have a computer?” Sam asked, perking up.

“Yes, I have a computer. No, you may not use it.”

“I didn’t think so,” Sam answered.

Cas made no move to leave, so Sam did it instead, pulling the blanket tighter around him and going for the fridge.

He wasn’t in luck; there was nothing alcoholic in there. There was bottled water in there, though, tucked between the assorted Tupperware containers. Cas either cooked frequently or cleaned infrequently.

Sam didn’t investigate. There was a bag of green apples on the bottom shelf, and he chose one of those.

A blanket, a marker, and an apple, he thought sullenly.

The apple was sour, it stung the cut on his lip. He ate it anyway, determined to get something in his belly. He had twenty nine days to figure out a plan, and he wasn’t going to be able to do anything on an empty stomach.

Cas watched him eat for a few minutes, then went back into Sam’s room.

Sam didn’t bother speculating what he was doing in there.

He heard Cas’s groan only a few seconds before the man reappeared, the forgotten breakfast bowls in his hands.

“I could have gotten you a calendar,” Cas said, irritated. Sam flipped him the bird without looking, and kept eating his apple.

Chapter Text

Sam sat on the floor of his room, his back to the wall, and listened to the printer. There was an office on the far side of the kitchen; by the sound, that’s where the computer was.

He begrudgingly added that to the list of his assets. The chain wasn’t long enough to reach it, but it was there.

He closed his eyes, thinking.  

There weren’t clocks in the house. The digital readout on the stove was at least eight hours fast. Apparently Cas wasn’t the punctual type.

By the light shining through the window, Sam would guess late afternoon. He fingered the marker, considering the possibility of a sundial on the far wall.

Not that it mattered. His time here would be measured in days, not hours and minutes. It’s not like he had anywhere to be, or anything to look forward to.

Cas was moving around in the living room, on the far side of Sam’s closed door, and Sam stiffened momentarily before forcing himself to relax. There was no reason the other man would come in here. Sam was safe until sunset, he had a few more hours until-

Stop it.

He wasn’t going to think about that.

The chain. He was going to think about the chain.

Not the weight of it, or the way his body warmed the metal cuff around his ankle.

Sam drew a length of it into his hands, measuring.

It wasn’t silver, which made sense because Sam wasn’t a creature and that much silver would cost a fortune, anyway. By the looks of it, he was dealing with regular steel, probably zinc-plated so it wouldn’t rust.

He twisted it in his hands, wondering if he could get the zinc off, maybe he could get it to rust through-

No. That would take too long, and there’s no way Cas wouldn’t notice.

Maybe if he could figure out how to twist it…

Out in the living room, Cas stilled again and Sam froze, listening.

A bird trilled outside the window and Sam leaned his head back against the wall.

Think. Think. Think.

He had to have something he could work with.

Blanket and a marker, his brain supplied helpfully, and he cursed.

His ass was going to sleep. He couldn’t stay in this room for a month, he’d go insane.

He crawled to the bookshelf, being sure not to let the chain make any sound.

Paperbacks- sci-fi, fantasy, a couple westerns.

He picked one at random and flipped through it for a few seconds.

Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it, and in a sudden burst of anger he hurled it at the wall.

You could chew your foot off, he thought sarcastically.

He let his head rest in his hands. He needed to be productive. He could do this. It could be worse. He could be in a cave somewhere, waiting for a wendigo to come eat him. He could be chained to a pole in a vamp nest, that was always uncomfortable. At least here it was warm. He had a mattress, he had hot water, he had electricity-

Sam’s eyes flew open.

That was something he could work with.

It was going to take time, Sam realized as the light from the window slid across the wall. Maybe more time than he had. But he didn’t have anything better. And he wasn’t going to give up.

He was going to have to be very careful. And he was going to have to keep from antagonizing Cas. He was going to need all the freedoms he was currently being afforded- and maybe a few more.

Cas thought Sam was going to fall in love with him. Sam had that advantage.

He’d just need to pretend… not to hate the older man.

Over time, of course.

Sam shuddered to think of what that might entail. What he might need to do to convince Cas… but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

Sam fingered the chain, and watched the light fading to a dull orange.

Eventually, Cas knocked on the door, only waiting a few seconds before pushing it open anyway.

The two men stared at each other.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” Cas said at last.

“Wasn’t hungry.”

Cas was silent for a moment.

“It’s almost sunset. Are you ready?”

Panic clawed it’s way up Sam’s throat and he shoved it down.

“I don’t- I’m not sure I can do it.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.”

Cas crossed the room, reaching for him, and Sam’s heart went wild. He scrambled back.

“Please, no- please, the drugs you gave me before, not all of them, just one-”

Cas sighed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Just to help me relax, just a little.”

Cas looked down at him for another few seconds, then turned and left the room. Sam rose unsteadily to his feet and followed the other man out.

When Cas returned with the pill, Sam took it gratefully, swallowing it dry. He didn’t know how long it would take to kick in, but even knowing that he’d taken it seemed to relax him a little bit.

“Do you want the blindfold?” Cas asked. Sam shook his head.

“But… can we do it in your room? Or out here?”

Cas blinked.

“Why?”

Sam swallowed, considering.

“I just… I’d feel better if I had a space. Where I was… safe.”

Cas reached out to him then, stroking a lock of hair back from his forehead. Sam forced himself to remain still, to let Cas touch him.

“Of course you’re safe here, Sam.”

“You wanted me to be afraid of you,” Sam whispered. He couldn’t make his voice louder, not when Cas was this close to him. “I’m afraid. Please.”

Cas leaned in, pressing his lips gently to Sam’s mouth. Sam shivered as the creature’s power flickered through him. He felt it centering on the wounds Cas had given him, the pain in his mouth and eye dissipating.

“Whatever you want,” Cas whispered.

Cas’s room was dark, the walls painted a deep burgundy. Cas skipped the overhead light, instead switching on a small lamp beside the queen bed. Sam hesitated in the doorway, watching.

“You should get undressed,” Cas told him, pulling his own shirt over his head as he did. Sam watched, trying to reconcile what was happening here.

Cas rolled his shoulders, stretching out the day’s tension, and Sam watched the fluid motion of his muscles beneath his skin.

I’m going to sleep with him, he thought suddenly. He couldn’t do this.

“I think… you might need to tie my hands,” he stammered.

Cas gave him a sideways glance but complied, producing a pair of handcuffs and locking Sam’s wrists together.

He took hold of the blanket, sliding it off Sam’s shoulders, leaving him bare to the waist. His hands trailed down over Sam’s body, coming to rest on the hem of his jeans.

Sam closed his eyes, trying not to hear the sound of the zipper opening, or his clothes slithering down his body. Cas’s breath was hot on his belly, and Sam whimpered as the man’s lips closed over a nipple.

He pulled back. He couldn’t help it.

Cas looked sharply up at him. Sam didn’t look back.

“I want to lay down.”

Cas stood wordlessly, moving to the side so that Sam could pass him.

Sam stepped out of his jeans, keeping his eyes on the floor as he crossed to the bed. The chain trailed behind him, snaking through the empty clothes.

Sam climbed onto the bed- it was nice, the bedspread soft beneath him.

This shouldn’t happen like this, he thought to himself. This should happen on dirty mattresses in some freak’s basement.

And then Cas was behind him, pressed against the length of his body, guiding him down. His mouth was hot on Sam’s shoulder, his hands strong where they held the teen’s sides.

Every instinct in Sam’s body told him to fight- if he threw his head back he could probably break Cas’s nose. The cuffs would hinder him but he could still-

Sam heard the hiss of the torch again, the heat of it on his belly. His blood ran cold and he made himself still.

Let Cas do what he wanted.

There’s nothing I can do about it, Sam told himself as Cas pulled his hips back. His face burned red. Cas nudged his knees apart and Sam tried not to imagine how he looked.

Cas withdrew, and Sam could hear him undressing. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see Cas retrieving the bottle from the nightstand, or coating his fingers with the slick liquid. Sam pulled the pillow down, burying his face in the darkness.

He forced himself to stay still and silent as Cas worked him open. Cas worked slowly, letting Sam’s body adjust to the intrusion. With his free hand, he stroked up the length of Sam’s back, calming him. Sam pulled the pillow tighter.

“Does that hurt?” Cas asked, and Sam let out a humorless chuckle.

“Stop playing with me. Do it and get it over with.”

Cas’s fingers withdrew, and Sam had only a moment to adjust before the blunt head of Cas’s cock was nudging at his rim.

“Tell me if I need to slow down,” Cas murmured, and then he was pushing into Sam’s body, filling him deep. Sam let out a pained groan, muffling the sound in the pillow. Cas paused.

“Too much?”

“Just do it!” Sam snapped. Tears were rising to his eyes and he wanted to be done with this. Cas didn’t move for a moment, and then he obliged, burying himself deep.

Sam’s hands fisted in the sheets. He braced against the headboard, trying to keep his hips up as Cas’s weight pushed them down. He could hear himself letting out pained little whimpers, like the girls in porn. He didn’t bother trying to stop.

It still hurt, the dragging friction hot against his sore hole. He hoped it felt better for Cas than it did for him, or they’d be here all night.

“Relax, Sam,” Cas told him. “Your body is fighting, it’s making it worse.”

“I don’t know how.”

Cas moved slowly inside him, the man’s hands firm on the small of Sam’s back. Cas stroked his back, fingers travelling from Sam’s shoulders down to the curve of his ass. Sam shuddered. He was getting tired- probably a side effect of whatever Cas had given him.

He stopped pushing back against Cas, letting the other man’s weight pin him to the mattress. The bedspread was soft beneath his belly, and he breathed deep, trying to let the tension out of his muscles.

It worked, maybe a little.

He was still relieved when Cas came inside him with a hiss.

Chapter Text

Sam woke up with a headache, a sharp, pounding thing that coincided with the rapping on his doorframe.

“Fuck, what?!” he snapped, sitting up and rubbing his temple.

Cas was standing in the open door, watching him.

“It’s morning,” he said simply.

“And?”

“And the spell needs to be worked again before the sun gets much higher.”

Sam groaned. His head was killing him. He rubbed his eyes.

“Fine. Give me a minute.”

Cas nodded and vanished from the doorway. Sam watched the place where he had been. When he was satisfied that Cas was really gone, he slung his legs out of bed and trudged to the bathroom.

He used the toilet and brushed his teeth, catching sight of himself in the mirror as he did so.

He looked like shit. There were dark circles around his eyes, probably because that’s what happens when you’re up half the night staring blankly at a wall. When he’d finally fallen asleep, he’d dreamed about a rocky path through frozen mountains.

Sam scowled at himself.

Cas was waiting for him, when he came out. Sam didn’t look at him, just trudged into the other bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and waited for Cas to follow.

“You can go back to sleep after,” Cas told him, and Sam didn’t answer, just grabbed Cas by the collar and yanked him down.

Cas’s lips were like ice, soothing away the pounding ache in his skull. Sam shivered, breaking the kiss and shoving Cas away. The man stared at him with wide eyes.

“Sam, I-”

“I had a fucking headache,” Sam interrupted. “Don’t look too deep into it.”

Cas frowned.

“The pill. I shouldn’t have given it to you, it’s not meant for this.”

“You got anything that is?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It would be better,” Cas said slowly, “if you could learn to relax on your own.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Cas eased back into Sam’s space, resting his hands on Sam’s shoulders and pushing him steadily backwards. Sam turned his head, focusing on the light streaming through the living room door.

“Try,” Cas said.

Sam lifted his ass so Cas could work his jeans down over his hips.

Cas was gentle with him, moving slow and easy against his body. Sam hated him for it. Hated Cas for treating him like a lover. Sam wished he would just be honest about it, tie him down and fuck him till he bruised. At least then, he’d would be able to look himself in the eye afterward. He’d have the marks to prove he hadn’t wanted it.

Not like this.

When Cas finished, Sam rolled wordlessly onto his belly. For a moment, he didn’t think Cas was going to move, but then his captor sighed, and Sam felt the hot trickle of blood landing on his back.

It stung, and that worried him. Cas’s grace was cold and the other thing- well, that didn’t feel like much at all. Wet. But the blood itched and burned and seemed to sink deep into the muscles of his back.

Sam focused on it, grimacing, letting the burning ache of the blood overshadow the feeling of his cock, half-hard beneath him.

Sam pushed a piece of chicken around his bowl. He set it back on the table, pushing it away even though it was still half full.

Cas was still staring at him.

“Do you want something else?”

“No,” Sam muttered. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders. He was still damp from the shower. “Yes. A shirt.”

“Sure. Later.”

Sam glanced over at Cas, interested. Cas took it as an invitation to continue.

“I ordered you some clothes yesterday. They’ll be delivered today.”

Cas took a sip of his coffee, glancing at Sam as he did so.

Sam was doing everything in his power to not look at the door. If someone was coming maybe he could get a message- write something on the windows maybe-

“The mail drop is at the end of the road,” Cas said, interrupting his train of thought. Sam had the sudden horrifying suspicion that Cas could read his mind.

“I had some shirts in my bag,” he said cautiously. “A couple pairs of jeans, too.”

Cas frowned.

“Bag? I don’t remember you having a bag.”

“I had a bag,” Sam insisted. Cas shrugged.

“It must have gotten left at the gas station. What was in it? I’ll replace it.”

“Just… stuff,” Sam said. “Some clothes and a toothbrush and… and stuff.”

Cas looked at him carefully for a moment, then changed the subject.

“I’d really like it if you’d eat something.”

“Know what I’d really like?” Sam countered. Cas scowled.

“Yes, Sam, you’d like to leave. I’m aware.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that,” Sam protested. His fingers tightened on the bowl and he kept his eyes on the tabletop. Whatever else happened, he needed to sell this. He couldn’t be suspicious, not if he was going to have any chance of escaping.

“Class starts, day after tomorrow,” he said hesitantly.

“Sam…” Cas warned.

“No, I know, I’m not going to be there. But since I’m gonna be here for the next month, not really doing anything, I was thinking maybe I could get a couple textbooks? Get a head start on next semester?”

Sam risked a glance at Cas. To his surprise, the man didn’t look angry. In fact, as Sam watched, he broke into a grin.

“Of course.”

Cas wouldn’t let him on the computer, obviously. He sat with the laptop just out of Sam’s reach, reading off the course list until Sam could identify the times and teachers he’d been enrolled for.

He was making most of it up, of course. He knew he had a business law course, a humanities elective dealing with ethics in technology, some kind of math or another, (he guessed calculus but it didn’t really matter anyway, he wasn’t going to read it) and a science course. He didn’t remember which of the sciences he’d signed up for, and he told Cas it was physics.

The textbook requirements were listed right on the rubric, but Cas copied down the UPCs and switched over to Amazon, rather than buying them from the university bookstore. Sam didn’t blame him. It hadn’t actually occurred to him that a purchase like that could lead an investigator to an address.

He shivered, wondering what other bases Cas was covering.

“They’ll be here tomorrow,” Cas announced, looking up at him. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No.”

Sam’s hand dropped to his pocket, only just then realizing that the money he’d been carrying was gone.

“Did you-?”

“It’s on top of the dryer,” Cas answered, shutting down the computer and setting it to the side. He frowned. “I meant to ask you about that, actually.”

“No law against having money,” Sam said, looking away and holding tighter to his blanket.

“It’s not the money that interests me. It’s the credit cards. And the identification. And the colorful assortment of names on them.”

He looked at Sam, one eyebrow carefully raised. Sam didn’t answer.

“You have lived an interesting life, then,” Cas concluded. “I’d very much like to hear about the kind of childhood that leads a man to carry fake IDs and knives concealed in his boots.”

“What do you care? In another couple months you’re going to wipe my brain and overwrite it with someone else’s memories.”

Cas pursed his lips.

“You don’t know that for sure. It’s entirely possible that you’ll regain Samael’s memories and carry on, having lost nothing.”

“I’ll have to have lost something,” Sam argued. “He’s not me.”

Cas sighed.

“I was just trying to get to know you, Sam. I don’t want to be enemies in this.”

Sam almost said something unkind, but he remembered the weight of the tin snips on his chest and thought better of it.

“What time does the mail come?” he asked, dropping his eyes. Cas glanced outside.

“Mid day, usually. I usually only check it once every few days, unless I’m waiting for something.”

“Can you check it now?” Sam asked. “I’d really like to get dressed.”

Cas nodded.

The minute he was out of the house, Sam went back to the panel where the chain anchored to the wall. He prodded at it, but it was mounted flush to the wall, and clearly wasn’t going to go anywhere.

Sam glanced at the windows, not seeing anyone in the front yard.

Taking a deep breath, he ducked into Cas’s room.

The dark walls gave the place a dark, vaguely foreboding aura, and Sam shivered as he looked around, dragging the chain after him.

He checked under the bed first, not sure what he was expecting to find, but finding nothing anyway. The dark crawlspace was empty- not even dust bunnies.

The only other possibility was the nightstand, standing on the far side of the bed. Sam glanced back behind him again, listening for any sign of Cas’s approach.

Hearing nothing, he sprawled across the unmade bed, pulling the chain taut as he reached for the nightstand.

There was no way he’d be able to reach the bottom or middle drawers, but by stretching absolutely to his limit, his fingertips were able to brush the corner of the top one. He exhaled, closing his eyes and focusing everything he had into forcing that fingertip to move.

The drawer slid open, moving easily on oiled slides. Sam raised himself up onto his elbows, peering into the drawer.

The first thing he noticed was a plastic bottle, orange with a white cap, and filled with the familiar little blue pills. Sam reached for it, straining, and was just able to reach the cap. He pulled it toward himself, hurriedly twisting off the lid and dumping a number of the capsules into his palm. The bottle was about three-quarters full, and Sam didn’t dare take more than ten or eleven. More than that would be immediately noticeable.

He shoved the pills into his pocket and replaced the bottle, turning his attention to the remainder of the drawer’s contents.

On top of everything else, was the picture frame that Cas had removed from Sam’s room. Sam picked it up, turning it around so he could see what the photo was of.

His breath caught in his throat.

The girl in the photo was maybe seventeen or eighteen. She was sitting at a picnic table, smiling at the camera in the kind of artful pose that probably indicated a professional photographer. Her hair was gleaming auburn, and there was a mischievous, playful expression in her gray eyes.

He’d seen her before.

He knew it.

Sam stared at the photo, searching it for any indication of when it had been taken, or where, or of who.

He flipped it over, looking at the back of the frame for a note or a clue, but there was nothing. He considered trying to pry the frame open to see the back of the photo, but he thought better of it. If he damaged the frame, Cas would know he had been in here.

He set the frame on the table and went back to the drawer. There was just one other thing inside. It was a large, thick book, bound in unmarked black leather. Sam pulled it out, letting it fall open as he did.

His own face stared back at him.

Sam blinked, looking at the rough pencil sketch. The similarity was undeniable.

The face in the drawing looked older, the eyes sharper, the hair longer. His jaw was covered in a dark, thick stubble that Sam didn’t think he could grow if he tried- though he held out hope for the future.

The drawing’s face was turned just slightly away from the viewer, catching him in a profile. His shoulders were just slightly out of view, but Sam thought he could see the rough outline of a collar, made of some kind of fur.

Sam shivered. The drawing was unsettling, because of the ways it didn’t resemble him, almost as much as the ways it did.

Cas must have drawn while Sam was asleep. He’d probably been staring at him while he was out, to get the resemblance so close.

Sam flipped back through the pages, looking to see if Cas had drawn anyone else.

It was all him.

He was various ages, ranging from late teens to early thirties. The clothes and occasional backgrounds made no sense, but the face and body were clearly Sam’s.

Sam flipped through the pages, faster and faster, trying to understand how Cas had managed to draw all these in two days. Didn’t he sleep?

The book fell forward to one of the earliest drawings. Sam gaped, feeling a cold tightness crawl up his belly.

The drawing was of him, and he was naked. He was sitting in shallow water, leaning back on his hands, looking up at the artist. There was a smile on his face, and a gleam that Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen in his own eyes. His cock was thick and hard between his spread legs, the head just barely breaking the surface of the water.

Sam swallowed, trying to reconcile this.

He knew he’d never looked like that. Not at Cas, not at anyone.

He studied it a few seconds longer, but he was out of time and Cas could be back at any second.

He slammed the sketchbook shut, shoving it back into the drawer next to the pill bottle. The picture frame went back on top of it, face down, like he’d found it. He pushed the drawer shut and went back out into the living room.

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Sam put the dates back in the fridge.

The number and variety of foods in Cas’s kitchen had been steadily increasing since Sam’s arrival. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure they’d eaten the same thing twice. He certainly hadn’t.

He wondered how much it cost to have all this shit delivered, since Cas hadn’t been further than the mailbox for the last month. Not since Sam got here.

He closed the door, scowling, and went back into his room.

He still had a few hours until sunset- it was coming earlier and earlier now. His eyes flicked to the lion, debating about whether to get an early start, but he decided against it.

He climbed into the bed instead, pulling the blankets over his shoulders and trying to ignore the sweet taste in his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to take the corkscrew. It was stupid and reckless and he should have known better, but Cas had apparently decided not to punish him for it. Not beyond the few minutes of heart wrenching terror on the couch, that is.

He rubbed the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying not to think of Cas’s promise, all those weeks ago. He shuddered, thinking of tonight’s plan.

What would Cas do if he failed?

He’d considered that he’d die in the woods, of exposure or withdrawal from the spell. He hadn’t put much thought into what would happen if Cas caught him, again.

He remembered his last, desperate flight through the forest, Cas’s face, furious as his hands closed around Sam’s throat, cutting off his air.

Sam pulled the blanket tighter. He considered taking another one of his pills, but he pushed the desire away. Tonight was his last chance. No matter what happened.

The rain pelted onto Sam’s hood, dripping across his eyes and making it difficult to see in the dark. His boots slipped on the muddy road, but he knew the way. He’d made it a dozen times in the last few months, though always before, he’d had the daylight to help him.

The Mann’s cottage was lit up bright, and when he pushed the door open, half a dozen eyes turned to meet him. All women; Stuart Mann had gone out on the water some three months ago and neither he nor his vessel had been seen since. Isobel Mann struggled in his absence, the progression of a difficult pregnancy being the prime of her worries since her husband’s death.

Isobel herself was laid out in the center of the room, her face screwed up in anguish. Her copper hair was stuck to her face and throat, damp with a cold sweat that covered her body. A hush fell over the room, and only then did she look up at him. A smile cracked her face, though her eyes remained glassy with pain. She reached for him weakly, and Sam saw that her fingers were smeared with blood.

Sam bolted upright, his heart going fast and a familiar pain already building behind his eyes. His dream, vividly clear only moments ago, was already fading. The one thing that stayed with him was the sound of rain, and when it did not fade, he realized that the sound came from outside.

He scowled, rubbing his face, because of course it was raining. On top of everything else, he’d be making his escape in the rain.

He dropped his hand to the bed and only then realized that his door was open. Cas stood there silently, silhouetted against the light from the living room, watching.

“Jesus fuck, Cas, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Apologies,” Cas answered, stepping through the doorway. “I was coming to get you. The sun is setting soon.”

He held out his hand and Sam saw that there was a single broken pill sitting there. He took it reluctantly, making as little contact with Cas’s hand as possible. He swallowed the pill whole, not taking his eyes off Cas as he did. The older man sighed, and turned back toward the door.

“You missed lunch,” he said. “Come have supper while we wait for that to kick in.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sam groaned. He still felt uneasy, something to do with his dream, he thought, though he couldn’t remember now. Cas cut a look back at him.

“I know you’re not. But you have to eat something anyway. That’s the cost of the drug.”

Sam groaned, collapsing back onto the bed.

“Fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Cas stayed in the doorway, his face turned back, watching. Sam covered his face with his arm.

“I said a minute, Cas.”

The doorway brightened as the man vanished. Sam dropped his arm and looked over to the lion. It stared dourly back at him.

“Couple more hours, buddy,” Sam told it.

The lion said nothing.

They ate in silence. Cas set the bag of dates onto the table and Sam ignored it, his stomach dropping when he remembered the feel of the first sweet between his lips.

Cas was quiet, as well, and Sam was sure the meal would have been awkward if he weren’t so busy being fucking terrified.

The pill helped a lot. Sam could feel his heart slowing as the medication filled his veins, taking the edge off his worry, letting him relax.

He didn’t protest when Cas stood and gestured to the bedroom. He followed numbly, stripping off his shirt as he went. Cas caught him in the doorway, his arms around Sam’s waist, leaning up and kissing him deep. Sam opened his mouth, letting Cas have him.

When the older man eventually pulled away, Sam turned toward the bed but Cas stopped him.

They ended up in the shower, Sam’s hands braced against the cold tile, hot water beating against his back as Cas fucked him. It ran down his spine and over his ass and thighs like a lover’s caress. It wasn’t a good position- the height difference wasn’t working in their favor and the water diluted the lubricant even in the short time it took Cas to reach climax. Sam stayed soft all the way through, and he could see Cas’s disappointment when he noticed.

Sam pushed his face beneath the water, letting it wash away the wet streaks across his cheeks.

He’d been here a month. Twenty eight days since Cas started doing this. Which meant... fifty six. Cas had done this fifty-six times. And Sam was still crying over it.

Sam rubbed vigorously, trying to scrub the shame off his face. Cas waited behind him, saying nothing. Eventually, Sam dropped to his knees, resting his forehead against the tile and waiting for the blood.

Cas didn’t disappoint, and even with the water, Sam screamed.

Sam was limping when he got back to his own room. Cas had offered to heal it for him, but Sam healed pretty fast on his own, now, and he didn’t really want Cas to touch him any more than he needed to.

He closed the door and considered barricading it, but he thought that might be too suspicious. Instead, he sat on the floor with his back against his bed, so he could shove the ruined lion beneath it if Cas decided to barge in.

He looked the thing in its face, or what passed for a face on this mushed-in abomination.

“Sorry buddy,” he murmured, and bent one of it’s legs back. It folded easily, more easily than he expected. He looked at it again, but it was still copper. All the way through.

He caught the end of one thick wire, pulling it straight and unwinding it from the others.

It wasn’t difficult to disassemble the thing. He’d built it to be taken apart, refusing Cas’s offers of pliers and hammers because he didn’t want it wound too tightly.

Within a couple minutes, he had ten identical lengths of copper wire. He looked down at them, his heart thrumming in his throat.

He had them. Here, in his room, with Cas sleeping and the whole night ahead of him.

Now, it just came down to the math. The math, and the craftsmanship.

Exhaling carefully, Sam selected eight of the wires. Holding the ends together, he twisted them quickly into a coil. It would have been easier if he still had the rubber casing, but then again, it would have been easier if he had a lot of things.

He went over to the microwave, picking up his notebook. A pen and a roll of tape sat on top, waiting for him.

He’d spent the last couple days taping rough ‘drawings’ to the wall of his corner. By now, Cas should be used to the sounds of tearing paper- and tape, for that matter.

Very carefully, Sam began tearing sheets out, making sure to stick to the perforated edges. He had no idea what the electrical insular properties of paper were, but hopefully, they’d be enough to give him at least a couple minutes.

He wrapped every inch of the twisted bundle in paper, securing it carefully with the tape. After three layers, he felt it was probably about as safe as it would get.

He cast a glance at the broken door, then crossed the room on his hands and knees. The back of the microwave came off easily, revealing the butchered transformer. Closing his eyes and begging for silence, Sam took hold of the power cable sprouting from the microwave’s rear cover. He needed to yank it out quick and easy, but if the metal reverberated, it was almost certain to wake Cas.

He held it between his thighs, steadying it as much as possible. He twisted the cable in the housing, ensuring that it moved freely. On the outside, it was a normal power cable, ending in a three-prong plug. On the inside- or what had been the inside, it split into three equal sized, bare-ended wires.

Closing his eyes, he yanked at the outside of the plug. It slid silently from its rubber housing, slipping free of the microwave’s rear panel in a single jerk.

Sam stared at it for a second, unable to believe it had been that easy.

He didn’t have time to waste, thanking his lucky stars. Outside the window, the sky was pitch black, which meant it was already at least midnight. And he had a lot of work left to do.

He set the back panel aside and retrieved the transformer. He didn’t need any of the microwave’s other internals, so he screwed the back panel onto the device again, pushing it back into the corner.

The transformer had only a single remaining coil. The other had left nothing but two empty holes when Sam had removed it. He threaded his paper-wrapped cable through these two holes, wrapping it once around the central spindle, so that the two ends emerged from the two holes, running parallel. A single turn of paper-wrapped wire sat between them, looking damn insubstantial.

Sam looked at it, swallowing hard.

That... should do it. In theory.

He looked at the chain, running along the floor to the cuff around his ankle.

If he fucked this up, that chain was about to light up with a hundred and twenty volts, and there would be nothing he could do to shut it off.

He shivered, standing and walking away from his contraption. The chain jingled pleasantly, reminding him of its presence.

There was a towel hanging from the hook near the sink, and he gathered it up, making sure not to make any sound as he returned to his original position. It wasn’t until he sat down that he realized that his limp had vanished.

Very carefully, he tore the towel into strips, shoving it between his ankle and the cuff. It was a tight fit, but it was the best he could do in this circumstance. The towel was at least dry, which should help protect him somewhat.

He looked at the cobbled-together contraption again. The length of disembodied power cable sat beside it, looking innocuous.

Carefully, he dug his fingernails into the rubber housing surrounding the positive and negative cable ends. The ground, he left alone for now.

There were prongs on the primary coil where the original power circuits had been connected, and he stared at them for several seconds before realizing that they would wrap around the bare cable ends. It wouldn’t stand up to any kind of abuse, but it should be good enough to transfer the current, at least.

While he connected them, he had a burst of inspiration. Pinching the second prong so it folded double, he glanced over at the microwave and the gutted notebook sitting atop it.

It took him a couple minutes to unwind the coil of the notebook, unthreading it loop by loop until he had a good five inches of wire. His, he bent methodically back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the wire snapped.

It left him with five inches of very thin wire, sitting unconnected to anything else.

He picked up the notebook wire and jammed it into the center of the paper-wrapped end of the secondary coil. The silver wire stayed lodged between the copper strands, and he repeated the gesture with the other end of the secondary coil.

He picked up the plug, holding it tight.

With any luck, the electricity feeding into the primary coil would transfer to the secondary coil via the shared spindle, converting from high-voltage low-amperage into the reverse situation. Anything spanning the two loose ends of the secondary coil would be subjected to a couple hundred amps- enough to melt a notebook binding, at the very least.

Or, he was totally wrong, the entire device would burst into flames, the breaker would pop, and Cas would come in here and flay him for his troubles.

What’s life without a little risk? he thought to himself, and shoved the plug into the outlet.

Almost instantly, the transformer began to emit a quiet crackling sound. A wisp of smoke rose from the coils, light and acrid.

Sam yanked the plug out.

The lights were still on, which meant he hadn’t tripped a breaker, which meant he had another chance.

He waved his hand slowly over the notebook binding.

He poked it quickly, then let his finger rest on the bright metal.

Not even warm.

He closed his eyes, thinking.

The secondary coil was cool and the primary was overheating, which meant the transfer wasn’t efficient, which meant... which meant...

He lunged for the book again, turning to the page numbers he’d long since memorized, looking over the formulas again. They hadn’t changed.

He just didn’t have the information to convert this into a practical application. There wasn’t enough data and he didn’t have the tools to test any hypothesis he could come up with.

He stopped just short of throwing the book across the room. Instead, he set it gently on the floor next to him, careful not to make any sound.

The transformer sat on the ground, cold and useless. Sam picked it up, looking it over. The primary coil was still warm to the touch. Which meant...

Which meant he needed another turn on the secondary coil.

He almost laughed when he realized. It was late and he was getting tired, and Cas’s pill was making him loopy and he almost missed something simple.

Or so he thought.

There was a limited amount of room for the secondary coil to loop through, and the new wires were much thicker than the old ones. When he tried to push the end of the cable through again, it wouldn’t fit.

It would have been a lot easier if he’d had- well, no point going down that trail of thought again.

He braced the transformer against the floor, working the loose end into the tiny space. By moving it back and forth, almost leveraging it through the hole, he was able to just get the end shoved through. He grinned and took hold of the end, pulling it the rest of the way through.

The paper tore. He wasn’t sure where, but he heard it.

He cursed, kicking himself. If the secondary coil dead shorted, the whole damn project was going to be a wash.

Carefully, he worked the end of the cable back the way it had come, exposing the bare wire on the first turn.

It took him about ten minutes to patch the tear, laying two layers of tape on tight, trying to keep the profile small while protecting the paper.

This time, when he pushed the end back through, it didn’t tear. There were now two full wraps on the secondary coil, and if that didn’t do the trick, he was out of options. There was officially no more room to do a third twist.

Crossing his fingers, he bridged the ends of the coil with the section of notebook binding again. Careful to keep his chain from rattling, he backed away, taking hold of the plug.

“Please,” he whispered, plugging it into the outlet. “Please please please please please-”

The transformer buzzed again, and a few seconds later, the notebook coil began to glow red. The red turned to yellow, then white, and then molten metal began dripping to the ground, singeing the floor and breaking the circuit.

Sam yanked the plug back out, staring at the silver drops hardening on the floor.

It worked.

The fucking bastard worked.

He clapped his hands over his mouth before the triumphant noises inside could get out.

It was still too early to celebrate. The notebook binding was still much thinner than the chain keeping him captive, and just because this had worked, didn’t mean he was out yet.

He glanced to the window again. The sky was no longer black. It had lightened to a deep indigo, though what that meant, Sam had no idea. It could be anywhere between two and six AM. No way to tell.

He looked at the chain, trying to find a good link. They were fairly uniform, so one would melt as easily as the others.

The trick would be finding one far enough from the cuff that he wouldn’t burn himself, while still making sure that he wasn’t dragging five feet of loose chain through the forest.

He picked one about eight inches from the cuff. He turned it over in his hands, thinking. He needed to current to stay in that specific link- if it spread out to the others, the effect would be mitigated and none of them would melt through. Not to mention the damage it would do to his ankle.

He went back to the notebook, tearing out more thin strips and wrapping them tightly around the adjoining links, insulating them from his target as well as possible.

The sky lightened further as he did this, but he didn’t rush. Being punctual wouldn’t help him a damn bit if it didn’t work.

Finally, after roughly three layers of tape and paper, he felt satisfied. If that didn’t work... well, then it wasn’t going to work.

The last problem was the ends of the coil. He’d have to hold them against the chain link, and the coil itself was going to get hot. Really hot. Possibly hot enough to burn the paper insulation, though he hoped not.

He took the last scraps of towel, wrapping them carefully around the loose lengths of cable. It didn’t look like much. Certainly not enough to protect from a couple hundred degrees of electrical heat.

Too late now. He didn’t have anything else.

Sam went back to the power cable, ignoring the plug for now, and focusing on the other side. The positive and negative cables were still affixed to the prongs on the transformer, but the grounding plug hung free. Sam took hold of it, pulling it back until the wire-wrapped section hung separately from the others. He took the little copper tip and, after wiping it off on his jeans, bit down on it, holding it between his teeth.

If he was gonna get electrocuted, at least he wouldn’t get electrocuted for long.

In theory.

Exhaling slowly, he plugged the cord in. The transformer began to buzz.

Making sure to keep his hands on the towel, he held the two ends of the coil within a few millimeters of each other.

There weren’t any sparks, no arcing, which meant low voltage. Which meant he wasn’t going to die, probably.

He yanked the plug back out of the outlet one more time. He kept the ground cable between his teeth as he wrapped the coil ends around the chain link and gave them an experimental tug. They held.

In theory, now, he wouldn’t need to hold the ends of the coil against the chain. The wrapped ends would hold the contact on their own.

Exhaling and saying a quick prayer, he plugged the transformer in again.

It buzzed.

For a minute, nothing happened. A small tendril of smoke rose from the transformer, but it didn’t worsen or make any noise, so Sam ignored it.

The edges of the chain link began to turn red. Smoke rose from the paper insulating it, but Sam didn’t worry about that yet. As he watched, the red spread further and further across the link, until the whole thing was glowing a brilliant yellow-white.

The paper burst into flame, and Sam belatedly realized that there might be a smoke alarm in his room. He looked up, spotting the blinking red light directly above him.

He scrambled to his feet, reaching it easily and twisting it off the ceiling mount. The paper continued to burn as he ripped the rear panel off, exposing the battery. His fingers slid over the smooth plastic casing, his pulse thundering as he braced for the shrill scream of the alarm.

It didn’t come. The battery popped out easily, leaving the device silent.

Sam shoved it under the mattress for good measure. The remainder of his pills caught his eye and he scooped them up, dropping them into his pocket. He stripped the blanket off the bed, shoving it into the crack under his bedroom door. Hopefully it would keep enough of the smoke in the bedroom to avoid setting off the living room alarms.

The paper had mostly burned up, and the chain link was beginning to drip.

The zinc, Sam figured. The chain was probably zinc-coated steel and the zinc would go first. After that, he’d need a little longer before the steel gave way. He yanked the case off the pillow and pressed it awkwardly over his face, trying to filter out the smoke. It was getting into his eyes and making it hard to see.

Hot metal was falling onto the wood floorboards, flaring and smoking but cooling too fast to start a real fire.

Sam took hold of the sides of the chain, pulling hard. The link didn’t break, but he could feel the heat through the terrycloth surrounding the secondary coil.

The dripping slowed as the zinc burned off. Sam shut his eyes and pressed the pillowcase tighter against his mouth and nose. The air in the room was beginning to get distinctly acrid, and it occurred to him that the smell would wake Cas, before anything else happened.

Too late now.

The thinned chain link glowed red, seeping toward white where the coil made contact. As Sam watched, the white spread across the link, until the whole thing glowed bright.

He grabbed at the chain again, pulling with all his might.

The hot link warped, but didn’t break.

The primary coil was beginning to smoke. Sam suspected that the enamel used to contain the wires was beginning to burn. If that went and the coil shorted, this little experiment was going to end, quickly.

He bit down on the ground wire, digging his teeth into the metal as he yanked at the chain. The hot link was completely uninsulated, and he could feel the heat seeping up the links into his hands. Soon it would be too hot to touch, not without some kind of real protection.

A drop of steel hit the floor, and Sam almost screamed in relief. He just had to leave it alone... leave it....

Another drop fell to the floor, igniting the wooden boards on contact. The flame burst high and went out when the metal quickly cooled.

The primary coil was smoking consistently now, and Sam yanked at the chain again, holding tight and keeping up the pressure. The chain was hot, almost burning his hands, but he didn’t have time to work on getting more insulation. His hands stung as he pulled, but he could see the glowing link warping and twisting-

It broke.

The two ends of the chain separated suddenly, one of them glancing off Sam’s thigh as it went. The other clattered to the ground.

The broken link was still attached to the secondary coil, and the transformer hissed and spat as the primary coil finally ignited. Foul smoke rose from the device, obscuring deep red flames.

Sam grabbed a thick paperback, using it to shove the burning contraption under the bed. Almost immediately, the books piled there began to turn brown, bursting into light where they touched the glowing metal. Flames licked against the underside of the mattress, melting the polyester cover and releasing a horrible smell. Black smoke billowed forth like a monster in a child’s nightmare.

Sam bolted for the bathroom, soaking the pillowcase and breathing deep through the cooled layers of cloth. He turned back to the bed, where one corner of the sheet had caught fire. The flames spread over the top of the bed. It was already difficult to see the short distance to the door. Sam crossed the room with his head low and eyes closed, kicking the discarded chain as he went. He felt around the floor until he found the corner of the towel that he had shoved beneath the door. He yanked it out and began to wave it in a vague attempt to clear the air. He didn’t open his eyes to see whether it was working.

He heard a dull whoosh and he cracked an eye.

One of the curtains had caught. It went up in only a few seconds.

The window-glass cracked. Sam breathed deep, fighting back the urge to cough.

Time to go.

He stood quickly, not inhaling while he drove his shoulder into the broken door. It moved instantly, opening a wide crevasse. Hot, smoky air bloomed through the new opening, and Sam grit his teeth at the feeling of the wind at his back.

The window shattered and the fire surged, licking across the ceiling. Sam battered against the door again, knocking the bottom portion wide open.

Hands grasped it from the outside, pulling it open. Cas was there in a second, his hands tight against Sam’s shoulders, dragging him into the living room.

The smoke alarm screamed, finally, and Cas looked up at it, wide eyed. The air in the main room was already getting toxic, and Cas bolted for the kitchen. Sam went for the back door, pulling on the soft-soled shoes Cas had given him.

A second alarm began going off- carbon monoxide, Sam suspected. The sound inside the smoky house was deafening.

Cas rose from behind the kitchen counter, a heavy fire extinguisher in his hands. Sam had been betting that the broken chain would go unnoticed in the chaos. It had been a good bet. He heard the pressurized foam being released from the canister, though he could no longer see anything that was happening in his room.

The power flickered out just as Sam slipped out the back door into the yard. He pulled the hood of his sweater up, trying to get a little protection against the rain.

The sky in the east was beginning to lighten, and as Sam took his first steps into the forest, a bird began to sing.

Chapter Text

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This is not a real chapter, sorry.

I've been getting a lot of questions about the wings and several people have asked me to do drawings.

http://hazeldomain. /post/154003073506/365-supplementary-anatomical-diagrams

Here you shall find some brief anatomical diagrams showing the wings and how the wings connect to Sam's body, where they were during various scenes, etc.

(Dammit Jim, I'm a writer, not an artist- )

I didn't do one of him lying on his back, but if he were to lie on his back, he would just kinda lie 'on' them and they would not bother him much.

They're also spindly and horrible right now because they are naked. They will fill out.

Chapter Text

“A case.”

Dean’s voice was flat, and Sam could tell that his brother didn’t believe him.

He opened his mouth and for one wild moment, he thought he was going to blurt out the whole story; the kidnapping, the spell, the wings, everything.

But he managed to keep it in. He clenched his eyes, repeating the lie.

“Yeah, a case. I ran into it on… on the way down.”

“You didn’t make it to Stanford.”

Sam closed his eyes, his throat suddenly tight.

“No. No, I didn’t.”

“That’s all you’ve fucking talked about for the last five years, what did you run across that was so important that you just abandoned it?”

Sam wasn’t sure he could answer. His throat was closing, and he knew Dean would be able to hear it. His brother’s relief was giving way to irritation.

“I’m not sure what it is, exactly,” he answered, fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice. “I was hoping you could talk- talk with Bobby? See if you can figure anything?”

“Where are you, Sam. I’ll come meet you and we’ll take it down.”

“I can’t! ” Sam exclaimed, and he had to take a breath before he could continue. He could almost see Dean’s expression in the silence. “I know a couple things. These creatures- they’re immortal. They have feathered wings, but they hide them. They have magic, the power to heal… but I think maybe they can only heal their own kind. And they reincarnate.”

“I’m guessing you already tried the old standbys?”

Sam glanced toward the doorway, but it was empty. He dropped his voice anyway.

“A silver blade had no effect. I haven’t been able to use a gun, but I doubt it would do much good. They heal very quickly.”

“Hmm. How’s it killing people? Local authorities turn up anything?”

Sam closed his eyes.

“Nobody’s dead yet. As far as I can tell, there’s only one victim. They… they’re under a spell.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Let me guess. You ‘ met somebody ’ and they’re in the clutches of something evil.”

Dean scoffed, and Sam could almost see him shaking his head.

“Damn, Sammy, you have the worst luck. What’s the spell doing, any idea?”

“Yeah. It’s a soul transference, or something like that. The creature is trying to bring someone back from the dead. Another of their own kind.”

“Using a human as the mold.”

Sam glanced at the door again.

“Yeah. But getting less human by the day.”

Silence on the line.

“How far… ?”

“I think it might be reversible,” Sam answered. He tried not to speak too quickly. “Or it might… it might not be permanent. Maybe if the creature dies, it will break the spell.”

“We might not be able to save them, Sam,” Dean said quietly, and Sam closed his eyes.

“I know. I know that. Just… please? See what you can find?”

“You’re sure you won’t just tell me where you are?”

“Dean, I can’t.”

Dean sighed.

“Yeah. Okay, sure. I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“But Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Dean paused.

“Be careful, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The phone disconnected and Sam just held it, the darkened glass pressed to his skin, the silence deafening. It occurred to him that he could call back, that he could tell Dean to check fire tower records, to bring backup.

He could tell them the videos were coming, beg them not to watch…

He closed his eyes.

This could all be over. If he could stand to be that selfish.

“Sam?”

“ What? ” he snapped, turning toward the doorway where Cas now stood.

“Breakfast is ready.”

Sam rubbed his face.

“Yeah. Be right there.”

Cas left, and Sam quickly got dressed. He couldn’t wear a shirt, but he had jeans and underwear, and that was better than nothing.

He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and went out into the living room. Halfway through the door he realized he wasn’t walking normally. He was adjusting for the weight and the resistance of a chain that was no longer there.

Silently, he turned toward the front door. For the last month, it had been a good five feet out of his range. Might as well have been 5,000 miles.

He crossed the living room, pulling the door open and standing in the morning sunlight.

There was nothing special about the front of the house. The driveway was the same one Sam had staggered up, five days ago. White wicker chairs sat unassuming on the deckboards, dappled sunlight playing over the surface.

Sam walked toward the stairs, the plastic boards rough under his bare feet.

The last time he’d been on these steps, Cas had been carrying him. He’d seen them upside-down in the dark, his hands still bound with twine.

He walked down them on his own power now, only stopping when he felt the rough gravel of the driveway beneath his feet.

The illusion of freedom was broken when Cas came up behind him.

“Do you want to have breakfast on the porch?”

“I want to see the video,” Sam answered, surprising himself a little. Cas came closer, but Sam didn’t turn around. “I want to see what happened.”

“Sam… I don’t think…”

“I want to know,” Sam insisted. He still didn’t look back.

“If you wish,” Cas answered, and Sam thought he might be sick. He took a half-step back, lowering himself onto the porch stairs. It occurred to him that he might be about to sit on one of the spindly, naked wings, but he needn’t have worried. The disparate limbs seemed able to handle themselves, crossing neatly at the small of his back and curling around the sides of his hips. The spikes were longer this morning, but not as sharp. The ends were beginning to fray.

“I thought you said they were brown,” Sam noted, pinching one of them between his fingers. The spike frayed further, raining white powder over the steps.  

“They will be,” Cas assured him. Sam frowned at his fingers, then wiped the oily powder off on his jeans. Now that he was paying attention to them, they were beginning to itch.

“They look white to me.”

“They’ll darken.”

Sam nodded, then took hold of one of the spikes and yanked at it. It didn’t come loose, just it sent a jarring flare of pain across the area that his brain was still interpreting as his ‘shoulder.’

“Don’t!” Cas told him, and Sam noted the alarm in his voice. He looked over his shoulder.

“Why not?”

“You’ll hurt yourself, for one,” Cas answered, like he was explaining to a child.

Sam yanked at the feather again. This time Cas caught his hand pulling it back.

“It’s not me,” Sam told him. There was a small bead of blood forming around the shaft of the feather. “These aren’t me.”

“Yes, they are.” Cas stroked the abused feather, flattening it back down amongst the others. “They’re your flesh and blood, and these are rooted in the bone. Your bone. Dislodging them will prove quite a bit harder than you think.”

Sam leaned away from him, but the wing had a mind of its own. It stayed in Cas’s grip, submitting to the slow stroking of the feathers.

“I want to see the video,” Sam repeated, focusing his concentration and pulling the wing away from Cas. Cas let it go.

“Eat your breakfast, I’ll show you afterward.”

“Not hungry.”

Cas sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“We’re doing this again?”

“I’m not ‘doing’ anything,” Sam snapped. “I woke up chained to a headboard and it put me off my breakfast. I’m not hungry. Fucking leave it.”

He didn’t look to Cas, but he could tell Cas was staring.

~~~~~~~~

It was exactly as bad as Sam had feared.

Cas slid a silver disk into the computer, waiting silently as it loaded.

The contents sprang up automatically, three video files and a collection of photos. Sam brought up the photos one at a time, forcing himself to look.

His arms were taped behind him, pinning his wings against his back. At the time, Sam had thought that Cas was working his blood through the tape, but from the back, it was clear that he’d had easy access to the secondary limbs.

So that was one mystery solved.

Sam clicked through them, watching as his bound form developed bruises, then lacerations, then healed, only to have the process repeat.

He was aware of Cas, standing behind him, watching silently.

Sam opened the first video. Immediately he saw himself naked, bent over with his bound arms yanked high behind him. The strain of the position was already clear on his face. Sam forced himself to meet his own eyes as they stared in horror at the camera.

He watched Cas circling around behind him, talking to him, telling him what was going to happen. Sam kept his attention on his own face, the growing pain and despair as the futility of his situation set in.

The picture was clear enough to trace the journey of the cane as it arched down into him. Immediately, there was blood. On the screen, Sam lurched forward, his shoulders wrenching dangerously as he tried to pull away from the pain.

Sam slapped the spacebar, freezing the video as he scrambled out of the chair. He barely made it to the sink before throwing up the coffee that had served as breakfast.

He closed his eyes but the image was burned in. The sound of the speakers crackling as they tried to relay his screams.

He ran the water, splashing his face.

“I told you,” Cas muttered from the office door. Sam gave him the finger, straightening up.

Cas looked like he was going to protest again, but Sam ignored him. He sank back into the desk chair and hit the spacebar again.

Instantly, the speakers roared to life, and Sam watched runnels of blood run down his legs.

Cas hit him again, and Sam could see himself trying to scream but failing to breathe.

Cas paused then, his arm drawn back for another blow. His eyes were trained on Sam, his grip wavering as he watched his prisoner gasping for air.

The third blow came down, checked at the last second.

Sam stared, watching the creature on the screen, listening to himself beg. Cas’s hands wavered a centimeter over the curve of Sam’s back, like he was waiting for permission.

Sam heard himself begging, pleading with Cas to heal him, and Cas’s hands descended.

Instantly, the tension dropped out of Sam’s body, the rigidity of pain disappearing in a moment.

The video froze and stopped, the window closing and leaving the two of them staring at the row of icons.

Sam reached for the mouse, unsurprised to see that his hand was shaking.

“Sam-”

“Shut up.”

Sam opened the second video. The change was obvious- strips of tape covered his eyes and mouth, and his body was smooth and hairless where it hung in the bindings.

Cas didn’t cane him this time- that part was already over.

Instead, Cas asked if he wanted to be prepared, and for the first time, Sam saw the shock and dismay that Cas expressed when he received the reply.

Sam watched Cas’s fingers digging into his hips, the pain on his own face as he was shoved forward. He watched Cas give up the attempt and take himself in hand instead.

The frustration in his face was obvious, and for the first time, Sam turned around to look at Cas’s current incarnation, standing silently behind him.

Cas’s hand was plastered over his face. He watched from between two fingers.

The video ended.

Neither of them spoke.

Sam leaned forward, and set the third video to play.

This one began in Cas’s room. Sam was sleeping in Cas’s bed, the dreamless sleep of the drugged.

At first, Sam wasn’t sure that the video was even playing. Nothing happened. There was no sound.

And then Cas appeared, at the corner of the frame, standing beside Sam’s sleeping form.

Gently, he stroked Sam’s forehead, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Wake up, beloved,” he whispered, but Sam didn’t move.

Cas’s hand trailed down his throat, over his shoulder, catching the blanket and pulling it back.

He stripped the bed, leaving Sam lying on the fitted sheet. The cold was enough to wake him, but he did little except reach for Cas, or the blanket, or both.

Sam could see that his eyes were open, but the man on the screen saw nothing. His eyes were blank and vacant as he reached for Cas.

And Cas went to him, kneeling between his thighs and leaning in to kiss him deeply.

Sam’s fingers tightened around Cas’s upper arms, and as Cas began to move, the speakers crackled again.

“What are you saying?” Sam demanded, spinning around to confront the man behind him. Cas didn’t answer. He just watched the screen, his face unreadable.

“What are you saying ?” Sam repeated. Cas’s voice continued to echo from the speakers.

“You should remember,” Cas said quietly. “It was your language too, once.”

“It was his, ” Sam snapped, and something broke in Cas’s face.

“It’s ours,” he said quietly. His eyes didn’t leave the screen. “I’m telling you I love you.”

“While you rape me,” Sam hissed. Cas opened his mouth, maybe to protest, but before he could, the speakers crackled again.

Sam turned slowly back to the screen, needing to confirm what his ears were telling him.

On the video, his own mouth was moving, his words slurred but undeniably his.

“What is that?” Sam asked, his voice rough. He felt the touch of Cas’s hand on his shoulder, before he heard the response.

“You’re begging me,” Cas answered. “It’s enochian.”

Chapter Text

Any hits on that language?

You’re sure it was “enochian”?

No. But that’s what it sounded like.

Your source is fucking with you. It’s a made up language. Some douchebags came up with it playing DnD in the 1600s.

There’s no mention of it before that? This guy seemed to think it was old. Really old. Like, Sumerian type old.

Well then he shoulda said fuckin’ Sumerian, shouldn’t he?

Seriously Sam, somebody’s playing you.

Wings? Immortality? Fuckin’ enochian?   

So?

Angels, dude. Your source says you’re hunting a fuckin’ angel.

What does the lore say?

It says you’re an idiot and you should come help me gank this wendigo before I get my nuts chewed off, that’s what it says.

Isn’t dad with you?

He figures it’s time I started handling hunts on my own.

After all, you are.  

Sam had nothing to say to that.

He let the screen go dark, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree. It was getting close to sunset and his wings were itching like crazy. He rolled his shoulders back against the bark, enjoying the minor relief it provided.

He stood and turned back towards the house. It was probably a half an hour walk back, but he had plenty of time before it got dark.

~~~~~

Cas said nothing when Sam returned. There was a smear of something dark across one cheekbone, which meant he’d been out in the barn again.

Sam was spending his time in the woods. He was sick of this house and sick of Cas and sick of being cooped up with nothing to do. The woods were only slightly less monotonous than the house, but at least he could be alone.

Cas had food on the table and Sam ate it without tasting. The phone was heavy in the pocket of the windbreaker Cas had bought him, and though Sam listened, it never buzzed.

~~~~~

Sam slept in Cas’s bed. He left his phone in his pocket, the jacket wrapped around it, shoved under his pillow. It was possible that Cas could monitor it without accessing it, but Sam didn’t think so. He never let it out of arm’s reach.

When Cas fucked him, he reached under the pillow and felt the hard rectangle, reassuring himself that he would escape this. He’d figure it out. He and Dean would figure it out.

~~~~~

Cas reached for him at night. He ran his fingers through the growing feathers, scratching at the tender skin in a way that Sam tried hard not to find satisfying.

~~~~~

It SOUNDS like a proto-language.  

Sam moved the scrubber back half an inch. On the screen, Cas was cuffing his hands to the headboard. Sam arched up against him, his cock leaving wet streaks on Cas’s thigh.

Sam closed his eyes, listening to his own voice.

Basic, monosyllabic. Lends credence to the claim of how old it is.

Wendigo’s dead, by the way. Thanks for asking, your concern is heartwarming.

On the video, Sam spoke faster, his voice interrupted by the rattle of the chains as he protested his confinement. Cas’s head dipped over his chest, and the words stopped.   

Sorry. Kinda preoccupied.

Yeah, I got that from the whole ‘not calling for a month’ thing. Seriously, man, where are you? I’ll come pick you up, we’ll take your proto-whatever and go see what Bobby can make of it.

Sam swallowed hard.

I can’t.

Yeah, yeah. I know.

Can’t leave your damsel to fight an angel all by herself.

You know I would if I could.

Whatever. I’ll let you know when I’m back at Bobby’s.

Bitch.

Jerk.

~~~~~

He didn’t cry anymore. He didn’t fight, and he didn’t cry.

For the most part, he tried not to think about it.

He didn’t make Cas come and get him. They didn’t talk about it.

Sam stripped and lay on his belly and Cas did what he needed to. That was all.

~~~~~

“I’m going into town. Would you like to come?”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“That’s just mean, Cas.”

He spread his wings slightly, ruffling the feathers as if to remind Cas of why, exactly, he could not go into town.

“You could stay in the car,” Cas suggested. “Put a blanket around your shoulders. It shouldn’t raise too much attention.”

“Or maybe you could just put a leash on me and tell everyone I’m your service animal.”

Cas pursed his lips. Sam ignored him. He was sitting in the yard, twisting a couple long pieces of grass between his fingers, thinking.

Or he had been, until the front door had slammed and Cas had come striding across the yard.

“I’m trying to be nice, Sam. Do you want to go, or not?”

~~~~~

Sam went.

~~~~~

His wings settled in, flush with his back, the main joint only a few inches above his shoulders. Cas threw a sheet over the seat, and it covered him fairly well. Enough to survive a cursory glance, at any case.

It took a very long time to get to the end of the driveway. Sam watched in vain for the place where he and Cas had come out of the forest, but all signs of his escape attempt seemed to have vanished.

At the end of the gravel drive, Cas turned onto a track only slightly more qualified to call itself a road. Sam watched out the window, noting the changing colors of the trees.

Fall.

It was fall.

Sam closed his eyes, and tried not to think about that.

“How’s Dean?”

“Fine,” Sam answered, not turning around.

“Was he glad to hear from you?”

“He’s been looking for me.”

Cas made a noise deep in his throat.

“It must have come as a relief to him, to know that you’re safe.”

“I am not safe, Cas,” Sam groaned, opening his eyes. They were travelling along the side of a mountain. Sam could see the switchbacks he’d tried to count, when he’d first awoken in the back of the truck.

Down in the valley, he could see signs of human development, but the mountain itself was untouched, aside from the road.

“You really like your privacy, huh.”

“It suits me.”  

“It didn’t suit him ,” Sam said, frowning. There were pieces of a memory coming back to him now. “He liked people. He helped them.”

“Yes,” Cas answered. He didn’t add any more.

“Will you move?” Sam pushed. “When he’s back. Will you move closer to people?”

“No,” Cas answered. His voice had taken on a harsh edge. “No, I don’t think so.”

They made a switchback, Cas turning the wheel hand over hand to make the turn. Sam thought of how easy it would be to grab the wheel, to send them both careening over the edge.

Would it kill them?

He didn’t know.

The wheel straightened and the urge was gone. Before too much longer they passed into the trees. Sam continued to stare out the window.

“What if he wants to?” he asked at last. Cas sighed.

“Being near people is not safe for us. Now more than ever. What protected us in the past will not be enough now.”

“So just you and him, shuttered away on the top of some mountain somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It is preferable to the alternative,” Cas answered. Sam doubted it, but also doubted he’d change Cas’s mind on the subject.

“Will you really live forever?” he asked instead.

“We both will. As long as I can keep us safe.”

“Do you get older, though?” Sam asked. He glanced over to Cas as he asked, trying to disguise his interest as simple curiosity. Cas was nodding slowly.

“I don’t believe we were ever children. At my earliest memory, we were breaking the threshold of adulthood. I believe we were created in that form.”

“By who?”

“I don’t know. “

“So in all this time, you’ve aged, what, fifteen years?”

Cas glanced over at him then, a smile touching his lips.

“Are you afraid you’re never going to grow up, Sam?”

It hadn’t occurred to him, but it seemed as good an excuse as any.

“Thought I might have a couple more inches coming to me,” he answered, shrugging.

They made another turn.

“You do,” Cas informed him, keeping his eyes on the road. “We’re about the same height now, but you’ll eventually be taller than me.”

“What if…” Sam paused. “What if you slowed the spell down? Gave me a couple more years, to catch up to you, you know?”

“No.”

“It’s gonna look weird though, where you’re so much older than me-”

“Cultural norms shift faster than you can imagine, Sam.”

There was a hint of warning in his voice, and Sam decided to drop it.

They passed another house, at last, and Sam’s eyes widened when he realized there were children playing in the front yard.

Six weeks.

He hadn’t seen another person in six weeks .

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He drew in a long, deep inhale through his nose, focusing on the feeling of the air inside him.

“Are you alright?”

The truck slowed, but Sam waved off the other man’s concern.

“Just… it’s been a while.”

Cas nodded. Sam looked out the window, picking at the denim of his jeans.

“What was it like? Just appearing one day and being a teenager.”

“It was very pleasant to exist,” Cas answered. He was smiling again, Sam could hear it in his voice. “I don’t pretend to know what part of the globe it might have been, but it was warm and temperate and very good for us. We spent many years simply looking around us.”

They came to an intersection; Cas went left. Sam looked for a road sign but saw nothing.

“There’s so much to see, Sam. And you’ll see so much of it, I promise.”

Not if I’m stuck at the top of this damn mountain, Sam thought, scowling. Not if someone else takes over my body and I cease to exist.

“Did you already know… what was it? Enochian?”

“We were created with it, yes. Samael and I, and the others.”

“There are others?”

Sam tried to keep his voice level, to keep the interest from showing.

“Not many. There were several hundred to begin with. I don’t know how many have survived. We mate in groups of two or three, beyond that, we’re not particularly social creatures.”

“I noticed.”

Cas glanced at him, but let it slide.

“I’ve thought of looking for others. We have… ways of finding each other. But… it wouldn’t replace what I lost.”

They passed another house, this one apparently unoccupied.

“Can I meet one of them?” Sam asked suddenly.

“Not yet. When the spell is complete.”

“Why? Why not sooner?”

“You’re not ready.”

“Ready for what?” Sam prodded, but Cas didn’t answer.

~~~~~

They drove for more than an hour before reaching anything that could be termed ‘civilization.’ Sam didn’t know whether Cas had chosen an out-of-the-way town, or if he literally just lived that far out in the wilderness.

In any case, Cas seemed to know where he was going, navigating the streets with an air of familiarity. Sam looked out the window, picking out familiar logos and signs. It had come as a shock to realize the seasons had changed; it came as another to see just how much things hadn’t changed.

Cas hooked right, pulling into a parking lot. He maneuvered into a remote corner.

“I’ve called this in ahead of time,” he told Sam, removing his seatbelt. “This won’t take more than fifteen minutes. I’ll leave the engine running, so the music and climate control will work.”

“It’s A/C,” Sam said, fiddling with the knob. “Nobody says ‘climate control.’”

“It’ll work, ” Cas repeated. When Sam didn’t answer he rolled his eyes and left, slamming the door behind him.

Sam waited a few seconds for him to retreat, then pulled out his phone.

It’s definitely Enochian.

~~~~~

True to his word, Cas was back in less than ten minutes, though what he’d bought, Sam didn’t know. The back of the truck rolled up and Sam heard voices. Something heavy- or several something heavys- were loaded into the back.

Sam pulled the sheet closer around his shoulders, wondering if any of the workers would come around his side of the truck. Beneath the thin fabric, he could feel the feathers beginning to stand on end.

Cas’s voice cut through the babble, though Sam couldn’t tell what he was saying. It sounded like it might be Spanish. Whatever he said, the others laughed and Sam heard their voices retreating.

Several seconds later, Cas’s door opened and he got back inside.

“Any trouble?”

“What trouble could I possibly get into, I can’t even leave the fucking truck.”

“Just checking.”

The engine roared to life and Cas kicked it into gear. Sam glanced back.

“What did you buy?”

“Raw materials. I have a new project I’m working on.”

Sam nodded. Nothing that would further his goals, then.

Time for the consolation prize.

“Go straight,” he said when they reached the main road. Cas glanced at him, startled, but complied. Sam pointed out the sign he’d noticed while Cas had been gone.

“There. Go in there, they sell ground hazelnut coffee, and I want it. Lots of it.”

Cas wrinkled his nose.

“I have coffee at the house.”

“Not this coffee.”

Cas stared at him.

“The brand I have is imported. It’s harvested from plants which have not been modified through selective breeding, and is the closest to the original-”

“And the shit they sell in there probably doesn’t even come from actual plants, but if it weren’t for you, I could go buy it myself.”

Cas froze, a retort dying on his tongue. Sam stared at him, refusing to give an inch.

Cas put the truck in park.

Chapter Text

“As fast as you can,” Sam said, looking down at the freckled girl in front of him. “Watch for the cliff face. Are you ready?”

Margaret nodded solemnly, her small fingers clutched around the bobbin of string. Sam nodded.

“Alright. Go.”

Margaret went like a jackrabbit, the wind in her face as she pelted through the grass. She held the kite high above her, releasing it when she felt the wind catch. It rose into the air behind her as she ran. She played out string to give it altitude.

From their place on the picnic blanket, Castiel and Isobel cheered her on, their words of encouragement mostly lost in the gale.

She was letting out the string too quickly, Sam could see it from where he was standing, but he remained silent. She needed to be able to feel it herself, in the strength of the wind and the tension on the string.

Sure enough, she realized her error and tried to reign it in, but it was too late. The kite flipped, barreling toward the ground.

Sam and Margaret met beside the fallen toy, looking down as she re-wound the spool.

“It went pretty high that time,” Sam offered. Margaret scowled.

“I can’t get it to stay up. It’s never gonna fly for me like it does for you.”

Sam laughed.

“I’ve flown many kites in my time, child. You just need practice.”

She finished winding the spool and picked up the toy, brushing a smudge of dirt from one corner.

“Can I go again?”

Sam glanced to the picnic blanket, where Isobel was telling Castiel a story that had them both howling with laughter.

“I think so.”

~~~~~

Sam woke up to the smell of hazelnuts.

The bed was empty and he quickly spread out across it, twisting in the sheets and enjoying the last ebbing moments of his dream.

The house was quiet, which meant Cas was probably out in the barn already. He spent a lot of time out there, more or less willing to leave Sam to his own devices.

It’s not like he was going to burn the house down again.

Sam groped under the pillow, pulling his jacket out and retrieving the phone.

Bobby wants to know why the sudden interest in monsters with wings. You’re gonna have to pony up an explanation at some point, dude.

Sam scowled and rolled over. Nothing new then.

His own research was at a standstill as well. Lots of lore, lots of legends, but nothing about reincarnating monsters with wings and healing powers. Certainly nothing new on the language Cas had mentioned- the language Sam had been speaking on the video.

Sam had been trying to work on a transcription when Cas had gotten fed up and taken the DVD away. They’d had a fight about it. Cas said it wasn’t good for him to focus on it like he was, and Sam had snapped back that there was nothing about this that was good for him.

In any case, Cas didn’t give the DVD back, and though Sam had torn the office apart looking for it, he hadn’t found anything.

Sam considered sending a message back to Dean- once again trying to reassure him that he had everything handled… but he didn’t have the energy to lie, and Dean was becoming more and more suspicious with each passing exchange.

Leaving the jacket on the bed, Sam slipped the phone into the pocket of his sleep pants. The smell from the kitchen was drawing him in, and when he left the bedroom, he was pleased to see a half pot of coffee waiting.

The good stuff, not Cas’s paleo-organic shit.

Cas himself was nowhere to be found, which suited Sam just fine. He poured himself a mug and took it out onto the porch. It was just on the cool side of comfortable, but the sun was shining, and that was something.

Sam took a sip of the hot beverage, looking out over the empty yard. The hair on his skin was standing on end, but that was just the cool, damp air.

His wings itched.

He left the mug on the wicker table and walked out into the morning sunlight. It felt good on his skin and he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

Then, slowly, he let his wings unfold.

He tried to keep them tucked behind him most of the time. He didn’t particularly like looking at them, and in any case, they tended to knock things over. At least since the feathers had come in, they’d been more or less waterproof.

The first time he’d gotten out of the shower, they’d done some kind of weird jittery shake, throwing droplets in all directions but leaving the plumage more or less dry.

Sam didn’t like to think about them, about how they seemed to have mannerisms and reflexes all their own.

Now, as he looked at them, the feathers began to spread wide, absorbing the sunlight.

They weren’t like bird wings. He’d spent some time looking at the anatomy of various bird wings, and these were not like those. For one thing, they were jointed in five different places, differentiating them from the arm-like bone structure of most birds. It made them almost prehensile, and Sam didn’t like to think about that, either.

The feathers, though, looked similar to bird feathers, or at least the bird feathers Sam had seen. On the inside, and in the areas closer to his back, they were small and fluffy. They grew longer and more sturdy as they approached the ends.

Fully extended, the primary feathers added a good eighteen inches to the wingspan, which Sam estimated was something like ten feet.

And they weren’t brown.

That’s the thing that Sam liked best about them.

Cas had been sure that the feathers would come in brown and tan and gold, but they hadn’t.

Every single feather was white. The small feathers on the underside were mottled with fine striations of gray, and the longer flight feathers were tipped with a gleaming silver, but everything else was snow-white.

Cas didn’t know what to make of that. In every other aspect, Sam was identical to the man he’d known before. Everything except for the color of his feathers.

He’d speculated that they might change, later on in the transformation. Sam hoped they didn’t. He hoped they stayed white forever, a silent and everlasting reminder of the body that had been stolen to make Cas’s future possible.

He raised his hands above his head, stretching out the last of the morning’s lethargy. His wings followed his arms’ lead, straining themselves outward and temporarily relieving some of the irritation.

A small sound caught his attention and he turned his head slightly.

Cas was leaning against the doorway to the barn, watching him. His t-shirt and jeans were spotted with paint, and he was wearing a pair of rough leather welder’s gloves, reaching almost to his elbow.

Sam scowled and looked away, pulling his wings in tight. He stalked back up onto the porch, dropping into a wicker chair and sullenly retrieving his coffee.

Cas didn’t move, just stood there, watching.

Sam pulled his legs up onto the seat, crossing them underneath him so he could rest his elbows on his knees. He was suddenly very aware of his bare torso, and the fact that Cas was pretty obviously enjoying the view.

Stupid.

Sam didn’t look back, and a few minutes later, the back door slammed.

Suddenly the sweetened coffee was bitter in his mouth. He stared at the dregs in the cup and sighed. He stood and dumped the rest onto the grass, before returning inside.

~~~~~

Cas did the backs in the morning, and the insides in the evening.

That meant that in the morning, Sam got to lay on his stomach, his wings draped prone over the sides of the bed, while Cas worked his blood into the skin.

He had to work at it, digging his fingers deep into the plumage to reach beneath them. It had to hurt; he’d slashed both his palms wide open to give him enough to work with, but to Sam it was like a balm. The irritation faded immediately, and it was growing less and less by the day.

Like he was healing.

He relaxed into it, ignoring Cas’s weight on him as the other man’s hands carded through the feathers.

“Did I get it all?”

Sam rolled his shoulder, wordlessly bringing the tip of his left wing closer. Cas saw the place he had missed and a moment later, his fingers were working his blood and grace into Sam’s skin.

He made his way back up the wing, his touches growing stronger when he reached the muscles joining the wings to Sam’s shoulders. There was a new set of bones there- Sam could see them when he looked at himself in the mirror- and the added muscles were often weary at the end of the day.

Cas said he would get used to it, that the connecting tissue had to grow from nothing, it made sense that he would tire easily.

In any case, Sam had a hard time telling Cas to stop when he did this. His hands were firm and sure as he navigated the unfamiliar muscle, and Sam could almost forget where the interaction was going.

Still, it couldn’t last forever.

Cas’s hands delved lower, toward the downy feathers where the wings tapered into Sam’s lower back. He stroked along the muscles of Sam’s spine, and Sam caught the scent of the massage oil Cas had taken to using. It had a spicy, earthy smell, and it seemed to leave warm streaks along Sam’s body.

It also meant that the platonic part of the interaction was over.

Sam buried his face in the pillow, holding it tight between his fingers as he tried to keep his body lax. If Cas noticed, he didn’t remark. His hands slid lower, cupping the soft part of Sam’s ass, his thumbs slipping between the cheeks.

And this was the part that Sam hated the most, when Cas’s slick fingertips began to circle his hole, seeking ingress and getting it, because Sam couldn’t fight this and if he tried then Cas would hold him down and do it anyway and-

Cas’s lips were soft against the hollow of his shoulder.

“Breathe, Sam,” the man reminded him, and Sam nodded. He inhaled deep, letting out a breath that turned into a hiss as Cas breached him.

Cas did his best to make it good and Sam did his best to ignore that, keeping himself rigid and still, refusing to participate. He knew Cas was watching him, was looking down at Sam’s naked body, watching Sam stretch to accommodate him. When Cas looked down, he could see where Sam was spread wide for him, could see himself fucking into Sam’s ass and Sam hated it.

The best he could do was keep his face buried, keep his tongue between his teeth so he’d never make a sound.

He could deny Cas that, at least.

Cas leaned down, his body flush with Sam’s as he thrust slowly inside. It didn’t hurt- Sam had learned to relax enough that the indignity was worse than the pain. Cas promised to make it good for him, and he tried; Sam could feel his cock swelling against the sheets, an automatic response to what Cas was doing. But he wasn’t going to get off on this. Never again.

Cas finished inside, peppering his shoulders with soft kisses, and Sam ignored him. He ignored the feeling of Cas softening and slipping out, ignored the last light stroke of his hands. Instead, he stood up and headed silently toward the shower, his pants a tight bundle against his chest.

When he got out, Cas was gone.

~~~~~

What about harpies?

What about them?

According to the lore, they’re winged women

they’re supposed to have wings instead of arms

But one of Bobby’s books does reference an ability to regenerate

Regenerate, or reincarnate?

Fuck if I know, I had to spend three hours on the phone with some egghead in Santa Clara just to get it translated that much

Must have been torture

don’t joke

He conferenced in a collegue and to talk about pre-grecian verb tenses

I damn near fossilized with boredom

Sam rolled his eyes, smiling at his brother’s characteristic disdain for anything that didn’t involve weapons or Patrick Swayze.

So you’re thinking that angels and harpies may be separate mythologies from the same original creature?

Could be? Story changes in the telling.  

I’ll see what I can do to confirm. In the meantime, see what you can find out about the lore. There might be something in there about how to counteract their magic.

Yeah yeah. Hit the books, Dean. Don’t worry, Dean. Cover for me with Dad and Bobby, Dean.

You owe me for this.

I know, man.

Chapter Text

“I was born at night, kid, but it wasn’t last night.”

Sam’s vision was going dark. He couldn’t breathe.

“Bobby, please. ”

“You thought you’d be able to hide this from your daddy an’ me?”

Sam’s hand tightened on the handset. Bobby couldn’t know. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Your brother all of a sudden pulls outta the field to hit the books, on angels and harpies of all the blessed nonsense things, and you thought I wasn’t gonna connect those dots?”

“I needed help on a hunt,” Sam whispered, and Bobby scowled.

“You ain’t hunting shit, kid. It’s hunting you . Has it got to the wings yet?”

“What wings?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, kid, I’ve been lying about this shit longer’n you’ve been alive. Have you got the wings or not?”

Sam sank to the forest floor, bark scraping across his back as he did.

“Yeah. I’ve got ‘em.”

“Then it’s too late to quit the spell cold turkey.”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, leaning back and pushing the hair out of his eyes. “Yeah I figured that one out on my own. You got any idea on how to reverse this?”

“Maybe. Angels aren’t like regular folks. Each body’s only got half a soul. They can regrow the dead parts, but they need a new body to grow it in . That make any sense?”

“Reincarnation,” Sam summarized. “A tiny seed of the dead partner, that they can grow inside someone else. Does Dean know about this?”

“Not yet. But he’s on the right trail.”

Sam closed his eyes. Matter of time, then.

“We need to find a way to… I dunno. Un-grow the seed. Keep it from overwhelming the vessel it’s growing in. Something.”

“Nothin’ on that, as far as I can tell. Once the soul starts growing, the roots go deep, and fast. Though…”

“What?” Sam asked, sitting up.

“Just, from the way this is laid out here, the spell works through the acceptance of gifts.”

Sam choked, but Bobby apparently didn’t notice.

“Being trapped by food or drink is pretty much a folklore staple- goes back to Childe Rowland and the legend of Persephone, to name a couple. Eat something in fairyland and your ass is stuck there. Only this isn’t a one-time gig. So what’s she givin’ you every day? Pomegranate seeds?”

“Life,” Sam mumbled. “Three lives. Twice a day.”

He didn’t bother to correct the gender. It didn’t matter and it might keep his family away from the truth a little longer.

“You been takin’ ‘em? These lives?”

“Haven’t had a choice, trust me,” Sam answered. Bobby hesitated then, hedging around a question neither of them really wanted to address.

“Are you gonna tell my dad?” Sam asked instead.

“No. And Dean neither. But you’re in a shitpile of trouble, son. Fore this is over, you’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

“I know. I’m just not sure I’m ready for the kind of help that dad’s gonna resort to.”

There was silence on the line and Sam pulled his wings tighter around himself, acknowledging Bobby’s silent agreement.

“He might not be the threat you think he is,” Bobby said after a while. “According to everything I’ve got here, only thing that can kill an angel is another angel.”

“Yeah? What about a soul growing in a human vessel? Think he can kill that?”

“Don’t snap at me kid, I’m tryin’ to help.”

Sam sighed, rubbing his palm across his face.

“Sorry Bobby. I know. Just… kinda feels like I’m running out of time here.”

“You ain’t wrong there. I’ll keep digging into this spell, see what I can find. In the meantime, you need to come clean with your brother. He’s running himself ragged worryin’ about you.”

The line went quiet before Sam could answer, or come up with an excuse to offer. Not like he had one. Bobby was right. It wasn’t fair to string Dean along like this.

Sam tipped his head to the side, letting it rest on his feathered shoulder. The limb reacted by pressing back up against him, snowy-white down brushing his face.

“I just need to figure out how to hide you,” Sam told it.

Not that he hadn’t tried.

Cas was able to make his appear and disappear more or less at will, but no matter what Sam did, he couldn’t figure out how to make them even flicker. He’d asked Cas, but the angel had only replied that he was too young to do it.

Sam scowled at the feathers.

Maybe Samael’s life force hadn’t rooted deeply enough to give Sam anything useful , just these giant ugly growths.

~~~~~

Sam’s phone buzzed that evening. His fingers were wrapped tight around it, muffling the sound while Cas took him from behind.

Cas faltered, unsure about how to react to the interruption, and Sam responded by shoving his hips back, bringing his captor to completion almost immediately.

He knew how to do that now.

How to press Cas’s buttons.

How to get it over with just a little faster.

Sam didn’t do it often- he didn’t want to give Cas the idea that he was into it; that he had any interest in bringing the older man any kind of pleasure whatsoever.

But sometimes, Sam just didn’t have the energy, the strength to deal with Cas’s slow lovemaking. He felt his cock hardening and he didn’t have the willpower to try to force it back down.

So he just… got it over with.

This time, though, Cas didn’t pull out. He lowered his body down over Sam’s, pressing a soft kiss to the junction of Sam’s shoulder.

“Maybe you should leave that out in the kitchen,” he murmured after a moment.

Sam’s hand tightened on the device.

“Not unless you wanna fuck me in the kitchen,” Sam answered back. He wasn’t letting the little thing out of arm’s reach. It was, quite literally, his only hope.

Cas hesitated, like maybe he was going to take Sam up on the offer, but instead he simply withdrew.

Sam’s back felt cold without Cas’s body heat, and he pulled his wings down over himself to try to capture some of the residual heat. He listened to Cas dressing, and waited for the click of the door closing before he withdrew the phone.

It was a text message from an unknown number.

I can help you.

Sam stared at it for a few seconds, before sending back the most obvious response.

Who is this?

Almost immediately, he got the icon indicating that the other person was typing a response.

A friend.  

Yeah? Running a little short on those these days.

The reply came through almost instantly.

I understand your hesitation. Your situation is precarious, to say the least.

Sam raised an eyebrow. Whoever his mystery savior was, they talked a whole fuckin’ lot like Cas.

So what makes you my friend?

I know how to break Castiel’s spell. I might be the only person alive who does.

Sam’s eyes widened. Castiel. This person knew Castiel’s name.

He hadn’t given that information to Bobby- or Dean.  

Which spell would that be?  

The one to bring Samael back.

I know how this spell is cast. What it takes, to nurture the old soul inside you.

I know what he’s doing to you, Sam.

How he’s hurting you.

Sam read the lines over and over again.

They were too vague, he knew that. It didn’t exactly take an expert to know that having a spell cast on you sucks.

What do you know?

I know my brother. He’s gone mad since losing his mate. I know he’s grooming you as a replacement.

I know how he’s giving you his life force. I know he’s taking you to his bed.

Sam looked over his shoulder, glancing at the door.

And you know how to break it? How I can get free?

The response was slow in coming- too slow for the short message that followed.

I do.

So tell me.

You can’t do it yourself. You’ll need my help.

Where are you?

Yep. There it was. Sam frowned at the screen, before shoving the phone back underneath the pillow.

He wasn’t telling anyone where he was. For all he knew, this was Cas testing him. He didn’t think Bobby or Dean would take this route… but his dad might. Or another hunter.

He pulled the phone back out.

How did you get this number?

Again, the response was slow in coming.

I tricked someone and took it from them. They do not know. You have not been betrayed.

That’s super reassuring, thanks. How’d you even know who to trick?

It’s difficult to explain.

For my brother, this has been a long time coming.

I have been watching.

That’s fucked up.

Nonetheless; the truth.

So how do I know you’re not some hunter coming here to kill us both?

This time, the response took so long that Sam assumed his mystery friend had gone away. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and headed for the shower, taking his bundle of clothes with him.

The phone buzzed again just as he was rinsing shampoo out of his hair. He paused a second, telling himself it could wait.

Then he shut off the water and crossed the tiny room, leaving a soapy puddle on the mat. He shook the water off his hand and picked the phone up.

It wasn’t a text message. Instead, the mystery number had sent him a photograph.

Sam stood, dripping suds onto the carpet as he stared at the picture.

It was taken in a mirror , the angle canted to the side to reveal the trappings of an anonymous hotel bathroom.

The photo showed a woman’s body, hip to shoulder. She was turned with her side facing the camera, the curve of her breast visible in profile. Auburn hair tumbled down almost as far as her elbows, breaking like water over her shoulders and the pair of golden wings spreading from them.

Sam glanced at the half-fogged mirror, looking at his own back.

The anatomy was identical. He knew that even without checking. Everything from the downy feathers to the extra shoulder muscles were perfectly replicated. Only the color of the feathers differed.

Does this assuage your doubts?

Sam dropped the phone, wrapping a towel around his waist before cracking the bathroom door. The bedroom was empty. Cas was nowhere to be seen.

Silently, Sam crossed the room, pulling open the top drawer of Cas’s bedside table. Right there on the top was the photo, the same framed picture of the smiling young woman.

Squinting at it, Sam carried it back into the bathroom, picking his phone back up.

It wasn’t the same woman. They both had flowing red hair, but that’s where the similarities ended. The woman in the frame had a much slighter build, and a fairer complexion.

Sam looked at the other angel for a long time, trying to see something- anything- familiar in the shot.

There was nothing.

He snapped a photo of the framed picture, sending it back to the mystery angel.

Do you know her?

Almost immediately he got a reply.

No. Who is she?

Sam paused, but decided to answer honestly.

I don’t know.

He got nothing in response to that.

He put the photo back in the drawer where it belonged, wiped up the water pooled on the bedroom floor, and got back in the shower.

Chapter Text

Sam had been walking for an hour, and he still felt like he wasn’t far enough from the house.

Cas definitely wasn’t following him. Sam knew when he was being followed, but more than that, Cas never followed him. Ever since the stunt where Sam had nearly burned the house down (and been punished viciously for his efforts) the angel had seen fit to… more or less leave him alone, actually.

One of Sam’s wings caught on a branch, reminding him of the nature of his captivity. As long as the spell was working- as long as Samael’s soul was still rooted and growing inside him- Sam had a room at the Hotel California.

When he figured he was far enough, Sam retrieved his phone, staring at the screen.

He’d deleted the texts from his mystery contact, but memorized the number.

She’d been in constant communication for several days now, always persistent, always reminding him that he was running out of time.

Like he didn’t know. Like he was lying down and spreading for Cas twice a day without the acute knowledge that time was passing.

Her persistence, though, that’s what was scaring him.

Altruism was one thing. A desire to help someone who couldn’t help themselves.

This wasn’t that.

Whoever this angel was, she had her own set of motivations, and Sam had no idea what they were. Ideally, she had some deep-seated grudge against Cas, some desire to see him miserable and alone.

Less ideally, she had something against Samael. Or Sam.  

Glancing around one more time, Sam dialed.

She picked up on the second ring with a relieved “hello, Sam.”

Her voice was deep and rich- she sounded young, but Sam knew better than to assume.

He inhaled, looking around the deserted forest despite himself.

“I think… I think I can use your help,” he said at last.

“Oh, thank god,” she answered. The relief in her voice was palpable and for a moment, Sam found it easy to believe. He shook it off.

“I want to know how to kill him.”

There was silence on the line.

“Kill… Castiel?”

“Who else?”

The angel exhaled slowly.

“I will show you how to break the spell. I’m not sure…”

“Not good enough,” Sam countered. “As long as he’s alive, I spend my life looking over my shoulder, wondering if he’s out there, planning to try again.”

“He won’t be able to.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t try.”

“Sam…”

“No, that’s the deal,” Sam insisted. “You tell me how to kill him, and I’ll tell you where we are.”

For a few seconds, there was nothing but the crackle of static.

“Even if I told you how to do it, you wouldn’t be able to. Not on your own.”

Sam grit his teeth.

“Then you have to help me.”

A rustling now- her hair was brushing the speaker as she shook her head.

“I can’t, Sam. Please, you have to understand, he’s my brother. ”

“He’s a monster, ” Sam growled, his hand tightening on the handset. “You know what he’s doing.”

“I know,” the angel said. Her voice was sad, and for a moment, Sam thought he’d won. “I need time. This is not a decision I make lightly.”

“You know how to reach me,” Sam answered sourly. His finger hovered over the icon to end the call, but her voice continued from the speakers.

“Wait!”

He raised the phone back to his ear, cutting off her request.

“You can’t pretend you didn’t see this coming.”

“No,” she sighed. “It’s a predictable request.”

“And?”

“I don’t want to kill him, Sam. But I can give you some information. I assume he has healed you?”

Sam snorted.

“Once or twice, yes.”

“That energy goes both ways. You can use your life force to heal him, as well.”

“I already knew that. What else have you got?”

“You can use that same energy to hurt him.”

Sam sat up a little straighter. Suddenly, the colors of the forest seemed a little brighter; he could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

“Hurt how?”

“Enough to disable him. Maybe kill him, if you were determined.”

“How do I do it?”

The angel sighed.

“Like I said; you can’t. You don’t have the focus and your energy isn’t strong enough. But I could. If you tell me where you are.”

“I’ll test it,” Sam answered. His mind was racing. “If you’re right, I’ll tell you where to find us.”

He hung up before she could answer, his heart beating furiously in his chest.

There was a way he could fight. He could win this- if all he needed to do was get stronger, and learn to focus. Whatever this was, this power Cas was giving him, he’d use it for himself.

“How’s that for ironic,” he muttered, grinning at the sky.

The phone buzzed and Sam answered without looking at the screen.

“What?”

“Where are you?”

Sam’s good humor vanished, and he couldn’t help the sudden fear that Cas had spoken from just behind him, close enough to touch-

He turned quickly, scanning the surrounding trees. Nothing.

“Out. Why.”

“I have something for you.”

“I’ll get it tonight.”

Cas sighed.

“I’d like it if you came back. I’m asking nicely.”

Sam paused, a retort on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t have to be back until just before sunset. That was their unspoken agreement and although Cas obviously didn’t like it, he hadn’t made any indication he was planning to chain Sam to his bed again.

Still. Sam wasn’t too excited about pushing it.

“Give me an hour,” he said instead, and hung up the phone before Cas could say anything else.

~~~~~

The cotton was soft under Sam’s fingers as he turned it around, trying to figure out the purpose.

“I told them it was part of a movie costume,” Cas explained. “Though I had to guess your measurements. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Sam didn’t answer; instead, he pulled the shirt on over his head. Cas was a good guesser; it fit.

The front seemed like a normal shirt, complete with sleeves. Two slits ran up the back, letting his wings poke through. The panel that fell between them was shaped like an inverse T, with velcro lining the edges of the short bars. Matching strips ran down the sides of the shirt, beginning just under Sam’s ribs and extending down to the hem.

When the velcro was attached, it almost looked like a normal shirt. It was pulled around the base of his wings snugly enough that he actually felt warm.

“I saw you out in the sun, the other day,” Cas said, almost like he was explaining himself. “I want you to be able to do that. To… enjoy that.”

Without you ogling me, Sam thought, but there was no malice there. The box contained five cotton tees, all in dark colors. Beneath them was a thick flannel, long-sleeved.

It occurred to him that he was going to need a coat. It was getting colder every day, if he still had the wings when it started to snow…

He cut the line of thinking short, glancing sharply up at Cas like he thought the angel could see his thoughts. Cas was looking at him almost nervously, waiting for Sam to say something.

“Thank you,” Sam said, trying to put as much sincerity into the statement as he could muster. Cas immediately smiled, and when he leaned forward, Sam didn’t pull away.

Cas’s lips were warm and soft, and Sam felt the accompanying rush of energy running through his body.

He focused on that, imagining it gathering in his chest like a ball of lightning. He thought he could feel it flicker and grow and before he could lose his nerve, he shoved it away.

Cas flinched back, his hand flying to his mouth as though Sam had bitten him.

Instantly, Sam realized he had made a mistake. He hadn’t really expected the attack to work- and now that it had, he had no explanation for it.

He rubbed his hand across his mouth, acting as though he had been hurt, as well.

“What was that for?” he snapped, glaring at Cas. “I was being nice!”

Cas frowned, dabbing his fingers against his lip, looking for blood. There was none, but Sam could see a mark on his lower lip, red and raw, like a burn. As he watched, the mark lightened and disappeared.

“I don’t know,” Cas mused, rubbing at the spot. “Are you alright?”

Sam bit his lip slightly, hoping it would redden enough to pass.

“Felt like you shocked me.”

“Hmm,” Cas mused. He was still frowning. For a second, Sam thought he was done for, but Cas just shook his head, dismissing the incident.

Sam picked up the shirts and carried them into the bedroom, tucking them carefully into his drawer. It wasn’t quite cold enough for the flannel, so that went into the drawer, as well.

It was getting full. Sam wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

He remembered his backpack, full of secondhand clothes, lost on the side of the road somewhere. Dean hadn’t found it after all, and Sam spared a thought for what had become of it.

The phone was heavy in his pocket and Sam almost reached for it, when Cas interrupted him.

“I have something to ask.”

Sam eased the drawer shut.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to draw you.”

“Been doing that since I got here, Cas, don’t bullshit me.”

Sam turned around, leaning against the bureau, crossing his arms. Cas looked taken aback.

“How… what?”

“The chain was long enough,” Sam said, gesturing at the nightstand. “I found the book… I dunno. Weeks ago.”

“Oh,” Cas said quietly. He had the decency to look embarrassed, at least. “I’ve done sketches, from memory, but I’d like to do something better.”

Sam frowned, considering.

“What’s in it for me?”

“What do you want?”

Sam paused, letting the obvious answer hang in the air between them. He didn’t bother with it.

“There was a photo of a girl… my age. Red hair. Who is she?”

Cas raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what you want?”

“That’s what I think I can get, yeah.”

“Deal. You let me do a drawing, and I’ll tell you.”

Sam held up a finger.

“I’m staying dressed. None of that ‘draw me like your french girls’ shit.”

Cas crossed the room, retrieving the sketchbook from the drawer. He looked at it for a long time.  

“It’s not about that,” he said quietly. “I’d like to see you again, the way you were the other day. When it was just you and the sunlight. There was a time when we were both that content.”

He sighed.

“You saw me and you pulled back, like you were trying to hide from me. There was nothing lascivious at play, but I understand nonetheless. Thus the clothes.”

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, fingering the edge of the phone. His wings pulled back again, pressing flat against his back. It wasn’t a conscious movement.

“Come outside?” Cas asked.

~~~~~

If he could forget the fact that Cas was watching him, it actually was a nice day.

Sam sat in the grass, his wings spread out on either side of him. He was playing with a flower, twisting it back and forth. Mostly just to pass the time.

Cas was sitting a couple yards away, his sketchbook on his lap, glancing occasionally at Sam but keeping most of his attention on the drawing.

“So who is she?” Sam asked. “In the photo. Is she another thing like you?”

“No, she’s human,” Cas answered. “Human, from a long line of humans. Her name is Celeste Middleton.”

He paused, looked back at Sam, and went after a section of the drawing with a rubber eraser.

“... and?” Sam prompted after Cas had returned to the drawing.

“And she’s a functional orphan,” Cas said. “Her mother has been brain-dead for years, her father is dead. I’ve been funding most of her upkeep since she was eight, not that she knows. She thinks it’s a series of grants set up by anonymous philanthropists. I was going to send her to college, too, but she ended up pulling enough scholarships that she doesn’t need my help. Smart woman.”

“Why her?”

“That’s a different question,” Cas answered. “You said I had to tell you who she was. Not why I know her.”

Sam started to stand up, but when he looked over, Cas had the beginnings of a smile on his face. He was still drawing.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you should be more careful with your bargains. As it happens, Celeste is not a secret. I would have told you for free.”

Sam slumped back down, pulling at a strand of dry grass.

“I knew her family,” Cas explained. “A very long time ago. They were friends of ours, but we had a… a falling out. I suppose you could say. At the time, the family had a young daughter. I took it upon myself to look after her wellbeing. It’s a… tradition I’ve been following for several generations now.”

“What did you fight over?” Sam asked. This time, Cas was silent for a long time. Long enough that Sam almost asked again.

“Politics,” Cas answered at last. There was a hard edge to his voice now, but there was something sad there, as well.

“Did Samael know them?”

“Yes, not that it matters. Why do you want to know?”

Sam shrugged.

“If you’ve got a picture of her, means I might meet her someday. I guess I’m just getting a little cabin fever.”

“Would you like to go out again?” Cas asked. “I’ve been thinking of getting a different vehicle. If we had tinted windows, you’d have a wider range of motion.”

“I thought she might be another of your kind,” Sam said, unwilling to change the subject. “I still don’t know anything about them. I was thinking… maybe I could meet another one. Like you.”

“Later,” Cas answered. “After the spell is done.”

“Why, though?” Sam pressed. “Right now they’re like, the only people I could possibly talk to.”

“You can’t talk to them either,” Cas said. There was a hint of warning edging into his voice. “Sam, trust me on this.”

“After, then,” Sam amended. “When the year is up, you’ll let me talk to them?”

“When the year is up, you can do anything you like,” Cas said. He was spending longer looking at Sam, less time looking at the paper.

“Do you have a favorite? Like a best friend?”

“We’re nomadic,” Cas said. He seemed to remember what he was doing and went back to drawing. “I spent most of my time with Samael. We ran into the others on occasion, travelled with them for a decade or two, here and there… but I wouldn’t say I have a favorite, no.”

“Were you living with anyone when you met Celeste’s family?”

Cas frowned.

“No. Why?”

Sam shrugged.

“Just making conversation.”

Cas gave him a long look, and Sam wondered if he’d pushed it too far.

But in the end, Cas just went back to drawing. Sam’s grip tightened on the phone in his pocket.

Cas wasn’t going to give him anything else- and he was going to get suspicious if Sam kept poking around. The redheaded angel was definitely up to something shady… but the closer it got to nightfall, the less Sam found himself caring.

Chapter Text

Sam woke suddenly in the dark, flailing at the shape above him. Cas’s hand closed over his mouth.

“ Quiet, ” he hissed. His head was tilted, like he was listening.

When Sam stilled, Cas removed his hand.

“Get dressed,” he whispered. “Get your jacket and go out the back. Wait for me.”

“What time is it?” Sam asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He felt like he’d just fallen asleep.

“Just before three,” Cas answered. “I was not making a suggestion.”

Sam’s windbreaker was under his pillow, wrapped securely around his phone. He unwrapped it slowly in the dark, draping it over his shoulders. He tapped the phone, bringing up the last few messages from the mystery number.

The glare of headlights swept across the living room wall, drawing their attention.

“ Fuck, ” Cas growled. He hastily buttoned a pair of jeans before grabbing Sam’s arm and yanking him up off the bed. “Come on .”

“How did you know?” Sam asked instead. He made no movement toward the door, much to Cas’s ire. “That she was coming?”

Cas’s eyes widened in the dark.

“Sam, what did you do?”

His grip tightened on Sam’s arm, and Sam jerked away.

“I got help, you dumb fuck. You thought you could just say ‘no’ and I was gonna drop it? Just sit here and sulk patiently until time ran out?”

A car door slammed and Cas’s gaze darted from the front room back to Sam.

“Who is it?” he asked. “How did you even-?”

Sam ignored him, stalking toward the door and the light beyond. He felt Cas try to catch hold of his wing and it flared off, pushing him away.

He didn’t turn back to look at where Cas was waiting, didn’t listen to what Cas was saying. He could hear footsteps on the wooden porch stairs.

Cas caught his hand just as he began twisting the deadbolt.

“I will try to protect you.”

Sam stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded.

Cas was trying to frighten him, that much was obvious. If Sam ran- if the other angel couldn’t find him- then there was nothing standing in Cas’s way. It was a laughably transparent ploy.

And Cas was a very good liar.

Sam twisted the lock and yanked the door open,  making Cas step back to avoid being hit.

The angel on the porch was caught in silhouette, her headlights forming a halo around the red of her hair.

Sam flipped the switch by the door, illuminating all three of them, and then he stood back, crossing his arms.

The new angel nodded at him, before turning her attention back to Cas.

“Hello, Castiel.”

“You haven’t been invited, Anna.”

She frowned, gray eyes narrowing.

“I’d prefer to do this amicably, brother. There’s no reason for us to fight.”

Sam snorted and Cas rounded on him.

“Shut up , Sam.” He turned back to Anna. “What happens here is none of your concern. You know Samael- he has done you no wrong.”

Anna stepped across the threshold, reaching for Cas. To Sam’s irritation, Cas let her arms encircle him. He leaned down, letting his forehead rest against hers. His arms remained at his sides, even as her hand rose to stroke at his hair.

“I remember. He was a good man. But Samael is gone, Castiel. He and Daniel are beyond our reach. As it should be. ”

“ No, ” Cas answered. “He’s there. I can feel him. He’s right there. ”

“No, Castiel.”

“ Yes, and the same is true for Daniel and the others. You could see him again, Anna.”

She gave him a small smile.

“I’ve been watching Daniel for centuries.”

The air behind Anna began to shimmer and Sam stepped slowly back. Cas sagged in Anna’s hold, and Sam glanced behind him, gauging the distance to the kitchen.

“I cannot let this continue, Castiel. Samael was my brother, as well. His loss pains me. Do not make it worse.”

Cas’s shoulders hitched and his arms rose, holding his sister close. His lips pressed gently to her forehead and Sam took another step back.

“I have to,” he said sadly, and Anna’s wings burst from her back.

Castiel was only a second behind her, but it was enough for her to send the first volley, her hands glowing where they fisted in Cas’s shirt. Cas howled and Sam turned on his heel and ran for the kitchen.

The sound of glass breaking filled the room as he scrabbled at his target, yanking the drawer open. Cutlery rattled and for half a second Sam feared that Cas was a step ahead of him again- but no, the knife was there, gleaming in the overhead lights.

His fingers tightened around the handle just as something hit the wall with a sickening crunch. Anna groaned, rising slowly from where she’d crumpled to the floor. Sparks of light meandered over her skin, searching out damage.

“Leave it,” Cas barked, but Anna launched herself at him, driving him backwards, beating at him with her wings. They went through the doorway into Cas’s office and Sam momentarily lost sight of them. He followed quickly, trying to keep himself out of range.

Cas had Anna pinned to the floor, his hands around her wrists, one knee digging into her chest. His wings were arched back, protecting his shoulders and face.

As Sam watched, Anna’s grace pulsed into Cas’s hands, raising welts and blisters as it travelled up his arms. He grimaced, but didn’t release his grip.

“ Stop it! ” Cas shouted, but Anna ignored him, continuing to beat at him with her wings. He grimaced and released her wrists. For a moment Sam felt relieved, until he saw Cas’s fingers tightening around her throat. At close quarters, Cas had the advantage simply by right of being so much larger.

“Don’t make me do this,” he growled, but Anna didn’t slow her struggles. Her palms pressed flat against Cas’s chest, glowing with the power of her grace. Angry red burns bloomed like wildflowers across his flesh, and he screamed.

Sam held the knife tightly, watching for an in. He didn’t want to get hit by one of Anna’s wings by accident. Cas wasn’t paying attention to him at all- his attention was focused on his sister.

Anna was weakening. The glow of her grace dimmed, and Cas began to heal despite the onslaught. Her motions slowed and Sam realized what he was going to have to do.

He pinned his own wings back, not confident enough to try to use them, and heaved himself at Cas. The two of them were more closely matched, and Sam was able to knock the angel down simply with the use of momentum. They landed in a tangled heap on the floor.

“ Sam! ” Cas growled, trying to shove him off, but Sam was ready, swiping at him with the blade.

Cas cried out as the serrated edge swiped across his palm, cutting deep. Sam could feel a satisfied grin crossing his face. A second later, Cas’s wing was slamming into him, knocking him off balance.

He hadn’t expected that- he’d spent hours sparring with his brother, but they’d always been limited to four limbs. Still, he was nothing if not resourceful. He threw himself into the fall, trying to roll them both until he was on top again.

It backfired, leaving him on his back, Cas crouched above him.

“She’s not here to help you, Sam,” Cas growled, but Sam wasn’t listening. He swung the knife again, angry and desperate. It caught Cas across the cheek, but it was shallow, and began to heal almost immediately.

Cas grabbed for his wrists, but before he could get a grip, Anna was behind him, her arm around Cas’s throat.

“Get off him!” she ordered, pulling Cas backwards and off Sam. He scrambled to his feet, shifting his grip on the knife. There was a strip of leather in Anna’s hand and as he watched, she struggled to wrap it around Cas’s throat. She was mumbling words in a language Sam didn’t know. Across the surface of the leather, written symbols pulsed in time with her cadence.

Cas fought back against her, even as he choked and her grace burned across his skin.

“You can find him again, Castiel,” she pleaded. “You can find him every time, as I do with Daniel. They live wonderful lives, Castiel, and I will teach you to watch! ”

The band closed around his neck and for a second, Sam thought it was over. But before Anna could secure it, Cas let out a feral scream and threw them both backwards, slamming them into the wall.

Anna released her grip with a gasp, her hands flying to her collarbone. Sam thought it might be broken. She dropped the band of leather and Cas reached for it.

Sam reacted without thinking. If Cas destroyed the collar, they’d never be able to contain him. Whatever else happened, Sam needed to give Anna another chance.

He launched himself at Cas again, and the two of them went crashing through the basement door.

They hit the stairs hard, Sam on top, and Sam heard something crack. Cas let out a pained gasp and then they were rolling, tumbling down the rest of the stairs.

Sam hit the floor hard, a sharp pain registering in his belly just seconds before his head bounced off the concrete. His vision swam. He knew he couldn’t let Cas back up, and that Anna was counting on him… but even when Cas’s face came into view, Sam couldn’t bring himself to attack. His body felt heavy and far away.

Cas was bleeding- there was blood on his face and hands and he was saying something that Sam couldn’t make out.

Something else moved and Sam realized that Anna was down here too now. Sam’s knife was in her hand, the blade stained with blood. She raised it swiftly to Cas’s throat, pulling him back away from Sam. Sam allowed himself a tiny smile, letting his head fall to the side.

They’d won.

Anna was saying something as she pinned Cas to the ground, her knee between his shoulder blades. She was fastening the collar around his neck and he was struggling. Anna paid no attention- whatever Cas was trying to do, it wasn’t going to get her off him.

Instead he was reaching for Sam.

Sam tried to pull back, but his vision was almost completely dark now, and his limbs weren’t responding to his commands. One of his hands lay outstretched on the concrete floor, and as he watched, Cas’s fingertips pressed into his palm.

Healing grace flowed into him, cool and familiar, and the blackness closed over his head.

Chapter Text

Sam woke up to the sound of a match lighting.

He rolled toward the sound, grimacing at the sticky feeling coating his clothes and feathers.

Blood. He was lying in a pool of mostly-congealed blood.

Ugh.

Anna lit the candle sitting in front of her, barely glancing to Sam as she did.

“Is he dead?” Sam asked, sitting up and checking for injuries. Nothing hurt.

Anna inclined her head toward the corner of the basement. Sam was surprised to see bruises raising along one cheekbone.

The basement was dim, lit mostly by Anna’s candle and the light seeping down from upstairs. Sam had to squint to see what she was indicating.

Cas was sitting on the floor, his head slumped forward. Sam felt a thrill run through his belly, but no; Cas’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

“You promised,” Sam hissed at Anna. She stared back at him, her expression unreadable.

“If you want his grace out of you, he needs to be alive,” she said evenly. “It needs somewhere to go. In the meantime, I don’t think he’s a threat to either of us.”

Sam looked back, his wings raising defensively.

Cas didn’t react to their conversation. He hadn’t moved at all, beyond the slow, shallow breathing.

Sam edged closer, peering into the darkness.

Cas’s wings were nowhere to be seen. His legs splayed out in front of him, and his arms were pinioned above his head. The candlelight flickered off metal, and Sam realized that Cas had been restrained with his own handcuffs. They must have still been down here, from the time when- from the last time.

A metal spike had been forced through one of the chain links, before being pounded into the wood above Cas’s head. The spike had a wide head, preventing the chain from slipping off.

“How secure is that?” Sam asked, not taking his eyes off the cuffs.

“As long as the collar stays on, he’s functionally no better than a human,” Anna answered. “He might have had a little residual grace left, but I think he used most of it healing your wounds.”

Sam looked down at himself, noting for the first time the hole in his shirt and the tacky blood covering his middle.

“The knife,” he realized, looking back to Anna. “When we went down the stairs.”

“Not the smartest decision you’ve ever made,” she said. She wasn’t looking at him- she had a collection of dried green things in front of her, and was methodically shredding them. “He broke a couple ribs, but you landed on the knife and your head hit the floor hard enough to cause major internal bleeding. Even with your burgeoning grace, you would have been dead before I managed to get down the stairs and heal you.”

“It worked, though, didn’t it?”

Anna nodded.

“In the future, do not make tactical decisions which require your opponent to save your life. Are you ready?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know this magic. Tell me what it does, first.”

Anna rolled her eyes.

“And if you find it not to your liking, then what? We unchain him and you go back to life as it has been?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. First I want some info.”

Anna pursed her lips, but said nothing. Sam raised his hands, counting off on his fingers.

“First off, are you guys really angels?”

“It’s as good a moniker as any,” Anna answered. She abandoned the dried green things and folded herself into a cross-legged position. Sam carried on.

“So that means you only have part of a soul, right? And your mate has the other part?”

“It’s more like… you’re familiar with magnetism? Two magnets. They call to each other. And they are… more complete when they are joined. If one is destroyed, the other… it still calls, but there is nothing to call to.”

“But angels are reborn, right? Reincarnated? But I’m not… calling to him or whatever.”

Anna shook her head.

“No, you have been reborn, and you are… I don’t know the word. Tired. The call is not there. When Samael died, his soul was… drained. Destroyed. Only a small part made it back. Into you.”

“But now it’s growing,” Sam said. Anna nodded.

“Yes. Castiel is using his life to fill you again. Your soul gains power and it begins to call. It calls to the scattered parts of Samael and it calls to Castiel. When he is finished, Samael’s soul- in it’s entirety- will reside within you. And Castiel will no longer call for what is not there.”

“So then who am I? Me or him?”

Anna’s face suddenly became very hard.

“I do not know. What Castiel is trying to do has never been done. Our role is to watch the humans- not to interfere and not to change and not to guide. A small part of Samael resides within you, but you are not Samael’s, nor Castiel’s, to use.”

Sam felt something hard growing in his throat. He wiped absently at his face, not sure of how to respond to that.

“Thank you,” he said at last. For a moment, Anna looked sad.

“I wish I had found you sooner,” she said quietly. “I’ve long suspected that Castiel may come for you someday, but when you left, I did not think to follow… the chances of your encounter were…” she shook her head, and Sam frowned.

“What do you mean, ‘when I left?’”

Anna glanced up.

“I came alone, you noticed?”

He hadn’t, but now that he thought about it, it seemed obvious.

“You lost your mate too,” he said. “Daniel.”

“Dean,” she confirmed, nodding. “I have followed him through dozens of lifetimes. From the first time you were reborn, I recognized you.”

There was a muffled sound from the corner and Sam jerked, his wings flaring in surprise.

Cas was awake, and staring at Anna with a mix of incredulity and rage. For the first time, Sam realized that there was a strip of cloth forming a makeshift gag.

“How many times…?” Sam began, and Anna shrugged.

“Eight? Perhaps? I lost count.”

Cas made another sound, yanking at the chain restraining him. Sam resisted the urge to inch away. Anna scowled into the darkness.

“There is so much of my brother in you,” she said to Sam, though she kept her eyes on Cas. “I see it in new and beautiful ways with each new lifetime. I know and love Daniel in ways that never would have been possible if I had forced myself upon him, the way Castiel has done to you.”

Cas was staring back at her, silent and furious. His hands twisted within the cuffs, making no difference whatsoever.

“You didn’t deserve this,” Anna said quietly, turning back to Sam. “Your life was precious in its own right.”

Sam couldn’t look at her. His hands went automatically to his shirt hem, only to find it tacky with blood. He tried to think of Stanford, the lost scholarship… but right now all he could think of was seeing his brother again. His father. Bobby.

Getting rid of these damn wings.

“So I just need to get him out of me,” he said. It came out sharper than he intended. “His power or grace or… whatever.”

Anna nodded.

“Castiel’s grace must be disentwined from your soul. It is drawn back to him- if the two of you are separated, it will tear you apart trying to return to him.”

Cas shouted something else, yanking at his chain. Sam ignored him.

“And that’s what the spell will do?”

“That’s what the spell will do,” Anna confirmed.

Cas struggled, getting his knees under him and yanking at the chain with all his strength. He was smeared with blood- Sam’s and his own. Sam glanced back to Anna.

“Alright. Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Nothing at all,” she answered, picking the dried leaves up again. “I’m familiar with this kind of magic- it’s what I use to find Daniel. All you need to do is wait.”

She went back to shredding, and Sam braced himself, turning back to Cas.

A rivulet of blood was winding down Cas’s forearm. Sam watched it, waiting for it to staunch.

It didn’t.

Cautiously, Sam edged closer, ready to attack if it looked like Cas was getting free. As he got closer, he realized that the metal spike hadn’t moved at all. It wasn’t even bent. The chain links were whole and undamaged- the only effect of Cas’s struggles was the deep grooves bitten into his wrists. That was where the blood was coming from.

Anna was right. Cas wasn’t any stronger than an average human.

And he wasn’t healing, either.

Sam’s eyes swept over his bare torso, the blood dripping off one elbow, the fine red line where Anna’s knife had pressed against his throat.

Sam laughed.

It wasn’t a good laugh. Even hearing it come from his own mouth, Sam knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was over.

Over.

Cas was staring up at him with wide eyes, trying to say something around the gag.

Sam leaned in closer, his lips almost close enough to brush Cas’s ear.

“I’m gonna kill you fast. In case you were worried.”

He drew back, his lips pulling into a smile as he watched Cas’s face change. Those blue eyes were fixed on him, and for the first time, Sam wasn’t scared.

And then Cas was shaking his head, mumbling desperately through the gag.

Sam hit him.

“ Sam!”

He turned around, looking back to where Anna was sitting. She’d risen up onto one knee, prepared to intervene if Sam escalated any farther. He grinned again, not looking back at Cas.

“I’m done. You ready?”

“Yes. Come back.”

He crossed the basement and knelt in front of her.

She sliced up a number of soft pale roots, setting the knife aside and dropping them into a small earthenware bowl. Sam didn’t look too closely at what else might be in there.

Anna held up her book of matches, but paused before striking one.

“Once I light this, you’ll need to inhale the smoke. It may be distasteful but-”

“I’ve had worse,” Sam said. “Light it.”

She paused, but lit the match anyway, dropping it into the bowl. Within a second the contents were engulfed, and a thin grey smoke rose into the air. Sam leaned in, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

It smelled awful .

The last time he’d made his escape, the air had been filled with the scent of burning plastic and polyester. This was worse.

He almost gagged but managed not to, taking at least three deep pulls before the fire fizzled out.

He sat back on his heels, breathing deep to try to get the sting of the smoke out of his throat. His eyes were watering and, more frustratingly, his wings were doing some distressed little jerk-flap motion.

“How long does it take to separate?” he asked, looking himself over. No lights, no motion… no pain, which was unexpected but welcome.

“I still need the catalyst,” Anna said evenly.

Against the wall, Cas was shouting into his gag, yanking at the cuffs for all he was worth. Sam spared him a glance, but kept most of his attention on Anna.

She picked up the knife that Sam had used to attack Cas.

“His grace will be stripped from you,” she said, “and the soul of the next vessel will be purely your own.”

Her meaning struck home just as she lunged, plunging the knife through the air where Sam had been only seconds before.

He dodged back, his wings pulling him off balance as he searched for a way out.

“You bitch! ”

“I’m sorry, Sam. But what has been done here is an abomination. I cannot allow it to continue.”

Sam was unwilling to get much closer to Cas, but his back was coming up against the wall. Anna moved toward him again and he ducked to the side.

“There’s gotta be another way,” Sam begged. He moved along the wall, circling, trying not to glance at the stairs. Each step brought him closer to Cas, who was squirming against his bonds.

Anna shook her head, still trying to reason with him as she advanced.

“There isn’t. I wish I could tell you otherwise.”

“What about a different catalyst, something that could knock us apart-”

Anna’s wings flared wide, trying to cut off his escape. Sam retreated further, risking a glance behind him to make sure the path was clear.

Anna took the opening, darting forward and laying a gash across Sam’s arm. He shouted, lurching backwards, and that’s when Cas moved.

The angel jacknifed, bracing against the wall and shoving forward. His heel connected solidly with Anna’s knee, and she went down with a scream. Sam didn’t wait to assess the damage. He bolted for the stairs like his life depended on it, taking them two at a time.

He wasn’t sure where he was trying to run to- he’d tried to outrun an angel in this house before. More than once.

New plan , he thought desperately. New plan. What’s new. What’s new.

Blood was dripping off his arm and he stripped his shirt off, wrapping it tightly around the wound. If nothing else, he couldn’t afford to leave a trail.

What’s new.

He had grace now. Not a lot but some.

He heard a racket on the basement stairs and moved, escaping out the back door and heading for the garage.

That’s where the weapons were. It was his best shot, no matter how poorly it had gone last time.

He pelted across the yard, grimacing at the screech when he shoved the huge rolling door open. The lights flickered on automatically, illuminating the workshop.  

Sharp and long, he thought, looking around. Sharp and long.

“Sam?”

There was a spear on the table. Sam stared at it openly, unwilling to believe that he’d caught a break for once.

He picked it up, feeling the weight settling in his hand. It wasn’t a spear exactly, just a length of pipe with a sharply slanted edge. But it was heavy, and solid, and that was better than nothing.

Anna appeared in the door and Sam hefted the makeshift weapon, staring her down. She blinked in the light.

“This doesn’t need to be this hard,” she said, and Sam snorted.

“That’s what he always says, too.”

“Put the pipe down, Sam. This incarnation is ruined, and we both know it. There’s no way to put this back on it’s original path. Come back inside. I can put you to sleep. You’ll never remember any of this.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

There was a small cut on her cheek and Sam focused on it, feeling cautiously hopeful. She and Cas were both exhausted; they’d used too much power in the fight. Neither of them were healing the way they usually would.

Sam had one chance, and that was it.

He jabbed with the sharp end of the pipe, and Anna didn’t even flinch.

“Walk away,” he growled, and was not at all surprised when she didn’t.

The standoff lasted a little over a minute. Sam refused to back down an inch; if she got to the side of him, he’d never be able to swing around fast enough to attack.

Anna quickly figured out that she wasn’t getting inside, so she did the next best thing, and threw the knife.

She threw it hard and accurately, but at the end of the day, it was just a kitchen knife. The tip buried itself in Sam’s chest and he didn’t even look at it, instead taking the opportunity to lunge toward her with the pipe.

His aim was off, but only a little. It went into her chest just below the breastbone. She went down hard and Sam followed through, forcing the weapon through her body and into the ground.

At this point a vampire or werewolf might howl and evaporate into a cloud of smoke. Not Anna.

Anna screamed, a horrible, gurgling sound that made Sam want to clap his hands over his ears. Her hands closed around the pipe, yanking weakly at it. Sam didn’t let go. Blood was pouring from the wound, but blue sparks circled around it, seeking to heal.

Sam dropped to his knees and shoved his hands under her shirt, making contact with the skin of her belly.

Gritting his teeth, he shoved every single scrap of power into her, hoping that he’d have what it took to finish her off.

He could feel himself getting weaker, feel his limbs getting weak and his wings drooping.

Blue sparks danced over his hands, but Anna had gone limp under him. The rush of blood from the chest wound slowed and stopped. When he finally forced himself to look at her face, her gray eyes were dull and empty.

He sat back hard, landing on his ass in the gravel. His wings trembled, and he barely had the energy to hold them up. He wanted to sleep for a decade.

He was going to have to burn her body. Just to be safe.

Sam looked into the darkened forest, picturing the hours of work ahead of him, gathering the wood and building the pyre. He’d done it before, but never alone.

He thought of his phone but… there was no one he could call for help. Not now.

His last best chance was lying dead on the ground in front of him. He’d never had a hope to begin with.

Sam shoved his fists into the gravel, letting his rage and frustration and sorrow out in a long, unbroken scream. It went until he ran out of air, and left him panting helplessly.

The sun was beginning to rise.

Chapter Text

Sam planned, and that kept the despair from clawing its way out and consuming him.

It was touch and go for a while, sitting outside on the gravel and waiting for any sign of life from Anna.

None came.

Still, he hadn’t lived this long by making stupid, horror-movie mistakes.

He shoved the pipe further into the ground, pinning the angel like a butterfly, and then he went back into the barn to look for something sharp. He came back with an ice breaker which was… pretty much perfect, actually.

Sounds started coming out of the house right along the time he was separating Anna’s second arm from her torso. They continued as he segmented the rest of her body and dragged the limbs into the barn. The head he left in a bucket, just to the side of the house.

He didn’t know if she could regrow all that, but at least it would buy him time to build the pyre.

He identified the noise in the middle of searching Anna’s car. It was a midsized sedan, and while searching the inside he’d painfully banged the largest joint on his wing against the frame and nearly given up on… well.

Everything.

The registration was in Anna’s name, as was the insurance card he found in the center console. So there wouldn’t be a rental company triggering the lojack, which was some small mercy.

The noise, of course, was screaming. And since there was only one other person still alive, it had to be Cas. He’d either hurt himself or he was simply grief-stricken. Either way, Sam was in no hurry to ease his pain.

Instead he went inside and collapsed onto the couch, listening to Cas and drinking a glass of orange juice and watching the sky brighten.

His wings were getting itchy, and he hated everything.

For the first time, he considered just calling his dad. Maybe John would shoot him. Maybe he wouldn’t. Sam thought maybe it was worth the gamble, if it meant he could just stop dealing with this nightmare.

The birds began singing morning songs, and Sam poured out what was left of the juice. He snagged a loaf of bread off the counter, and went down the stairs.

Cas was a mess.

He’d pulled hard enough to cut the skin on both wrists now, and blood was dripping freely down his arms. He was healing very slowly, if he was healing at all.

The collar was still safely fastened around his throat, but Sam suspected that the fight with Anna had been the main source of his woes.

His face broke into a tired smile the moment Sam appeared on the stairs.

“I thought she’d killed you,” he rasped. Sam didn’t answer. He went straight for the utility sink and the bucket waiting underneath it. He didn’t bother waiting for the water to get warm. It was mostly frigid when he dumped it over Cas, but it took care of most of the blood.

Cas let out a little cry, but didn’t bother protesting. He watched silently while Sam crouched down in front of him.

“How much blood do we need, to make this spell work?”

Cas frowned, like he was thinking, and Sam hit him with an open palm.

“How much , Cas?”

“I don’t know!” Cas gasped. “It’s a symbolic act, so probably just a few drops?”

“What about the other thing?”

“The semen?”

Sam hit him again, hard enough that there was blood on his lip when he righted himself.

“Same concept,” Cas said. His voice was wrecked.

Sam ran his hand up Cas’s arm, getting a palmful of the fresh blood dribbling down. He wiped it on the largest joint of each wing, watching as it was quickly absorbed into the feathers.

“Grace,” he demanded, reaching out and letting two fingers rest on Castiel’s forehead. Cas sighed, bowing his head with a look of concentration. A trickle of grace flowed through Sam’s fingers. It wasn’t as much as he was used to, but he had a feeling that it was all Cas could spare.

“Last thing,” Sam said. He wrinkled his nose as he pulled the bag of bread open. “Here’s how this goes. You’re gonna get yourself off and put the absolute minimum quantity required on a slice of this. Clear?”

“No,” Cas said, shaking his head. “Take the collar off. We’ll go upstairs and do it properly.”

Sam kicked him, letting his boot sink into Cas’s belly. Cas gagged, heaving. If he weren’t immortal, Sam might have been worried.

“Wanna try that one again?”

“Sam,” Cas said quietly. “You’re exhausted. I can give you more of my grace, but it needs time to replenish. Take the collar off. Get some rest. I’ll handle all of this.”

Sam actually hesitated.

He was sore and tired and he had so much still left to do…

And for a moment, it was so tempting to just go upstairs and go to sleep and let Cas take care of everything.

Then he remembered the cost and shoved the wing away.

“Minimum quantity required,” he repeated.

They were Cas’s handcuffs and the key was sitting by the washer. Sam found it quickly and unlocked Cas’s left cuff. The angel immediately reached for the collar, only to have his hand deflected as though by a magnetic field. He tried again, with the same result.

Scowling, he took the proffered piece of bread.

“I hope you understand how undignified this is,” he muttered, when Sam turned his back.

Sam almost kicked him again, but calmed his mind by thinking of the barn.

Everything that Cas had threatened him with, was still out there. Waiting.

He ignored the sounds that Cas made, only turning back around when Cas grunted, indicating that he was finished.

Sam steeled himself. He took the piece of bread back from Cas, wrinkling his nose at the whitish smear across it.

Trying not to think about it, he folded it in half, and in half again, crushing it between his palms and then tearing it in half. The remaining lumps could be swallowed without chewing, and that’s what he did.

He didn’t know if it would work, but it was better than the alternative.

“Close the cuff back around your wrist,” Sam instructed. Cas didn’t move. Sam stared at him and for a long moment, they were at an impasse. Then Cas dropped his arm, very deliberately letting his hand rest on his knee.

Sam nodded once and turned back toward the wall. It didn’t take him long to locate what he was looking for- the iron bar that Cas had used during Sam’s captivity. Sam lifted it, testing its weight.

“I’m not leaving this basement without immobilizing you,” Sam said. “You can put your wrist back in the cuff, or I can break your arm. Your choice.”

“You wouldn’t,” Cas snapped. “You may not be Samael, but I know you better than that. You’ll kill if you’re fighting for your life, but you wouldn’t just torture someone.”

Sam said nothing. The pipe seemed suddenly very heavy. He let the end drag along the concrete as he crossed the basement.

With what seemed like a herculean effort, he hauled the bar up like a baseball bat, letting it rest on his shoulder.

“Don’t make me do this.”

“I’ve never made you do anything.”

The blow landed just above the shoulder, harsh crack dulled by protective wrappings of muscle and sinew. Cas’s eyes widened just a fraction, his mouth dropping into a tiny o of surprise.

Sam didn’t wait for him to recover, just swung and struck again, this time aiming for the largest joint on Castiel’s left wing.

It broke with a horrifically wet sound, the entire wing suddenly turning inward, unable to support its own weight. Cas screamed then, curling around his bad side, trying to inhale but unable to stop the sound coming from his throat.

Sam dropped the bar, letting it clatter to the ground, too loud in the enclosed space. He crouched in front of Castiel, taking hold of his wrist and yanking it above his head. Cas didn’t resist; couldn’t, with his arm so badly damaged.

Sam locked the cuff without a word, backing away before Cas could gather his wits.

The angel hung panting, his left arm bent in two places, his wing trying to right itself.

Sam turned and was up the stairs in a moment, his hands pressed over his ears to drown out Cas’s keening.

The keys to the cuffs were safe in his pocket, and Cas couldn’t touch the collar. Couldn’t break free. Couldn’t heal himself.

Sam was safe. For now.

He didn’t stop until he was out the back door, falling to his knees and retching into the grass. He didn’t throw up, which was good- the bread trick had worked, but he wasn’t in a hurry to repeat it.

His wings spread out over the grass, soaking in the morning sunlight, and Sam shivered. He was missing his jacket and it was cold.

Inside, Cas was screaming.

Sam pulled himself to his feet and trudged toward the barn.

Chapter Text

Sam woke up late. The sun was up and the itching in his wings was more unbearable than usual.

He stretched out across the empty bed, groaning when his skin touched cold sheets.

He stumbled into the bathroom to piss, barely avoiding banging his wing on the doorframe. He leaned back against it as he brushed his teeth, trying to scratch the bone-deep itch that was settling into the limbs.

In some distant part of his consciousness, he knew it was the blood. Cas’s blood. It wasn’t doing the work it was supposed to, not when he was only putting token smears along each shoulder.

He remembered how Cas used to rub it in, the relief…

On cue, there was a noise from the basement. Sam frowned.

He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of thick wool socks. The concrete in the basement was cold.

On the way to Cas’s office, he glanced out the window.

The pyre was mostly built now.

A week had passed since Anna had died, but the temperature had been in the low 40s and it had rained, almost nonstop. Finding dry wood was a problem, but after two days with no sign of regeneration, Sam realized he could take his time.

He took the stairs slowly, grimacing at the change in the air.

Basements were always cold, but the chill in the upstairs air made it seem frigid. The air was thick, humid. And there was a smell.

Sam realized he was going to have to rig up a hose or something.

Cas was still slumped against the back wall, groaning weakly. Sam didn’t know where he found the energy.

Blue eyes flicked up toward him, but they held none of the hope that Cas had originally shown. The angel was resigned, now, which gave Sam a sick sort of pleasure.

If he was being honest with himself.

Cas looked up when Sam crouched in front of him, looking over his handiwork.

The collar was doing its job- there were more than a dozen lacerations up the inside of the angel’s broken arm, and none of them were healing. Likewise the arm itself, or the mutilated wing behind it.

Reaching out, Sam pressed his fingers against Cas’s elbow, wringing a few sparks of grace out of the skin. Cas shuddered.

Below the break, the skin was dark and swollen, pulpy under Sam’s fingertips. He had no doubt that the humerus was shattered- looking at this, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was infected, too.

Cas’s eyes were glassy, rolling to the side, observing Sam without reaction. There was a sponge in his mouth, taped into place after he’d tried to eat the bread Sam had given him.

Sam opened a new wound on his arm, watching the blood trickle toward Cas’s shoulder. He scooped it up in his palm, spreading it hastily over his own feathers.

The itching didn’t decrease in the slightest, and Sam grimaced.

He stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans. He crossed to the dryer, where he kept the loaf of bread and the handcuff keys.

There were only a few pieces left. He’d have to figure out who Cas ordered groceries from.

He quickly unlocked Cas’s good arm, pressing the slice of bread into his palm.

“Get to it.”

Cas shook his head, and Sam sighed. They’d reached an arrangement days ago.

Ignoring Cas’s mumbling, he crossed the basement, to where the iron bar was leaning against the far wall.

When he turned around, Cas had shimmied his jeans down his thighs. They were spread as far as the material would allow, and Cas’s hand was between them, pulling at his cock. He groaned, a weak and frustrated sound, and Sam realized the reason for his protests.

He leaned against the wall, spinning the bar between his hands.

Watching.

Cas stroked himself, his palm dry against soft flesh. He tried to tilt his hips into it and only succeeded in jarring his other arm.

A scream of pain escaped him then, his good hand forming a loose fist against the concrete.

Sam watched in fascinated horror.

He remembered the first time, suddenly. Remembered being pinned on his belly, thrashing helplessly under Cas’s weight, the hard length of Cas’s cock driving into him, tearing him and hurting him and-

Cas tried again, pulling ineffectually at his soft dick, and all Sam could remember was the pain and humiliation and disbelief.

He felt a laugh clawing its way up his throat, and he shoved it back down. Some small strangled noise must have escaped, because Cas looked up at him.

The look in his eyes was angry, and suddenly it made Sam angry, too.

“This isn’t my fault,” Sam snapped. Cas didn’t reply- couldn’t, with the tape over his mouth, but Sam carried on anyway. “This whole fucked up situation is on you! The least you can do is hold up your end!”

Sam crouched, taking fistfuls of Cas’s grubby jeans and yanking. Cas twisted, trying to take his weight on his good arm before the motion could jostle the bad one. He made no attempt to cover himself, only watching as Sam balled his pants up and threw them into a corner.

“I wouldn’t be able to get it up, either,” Sam said, looking him over. The angel was coated in a week’s worth of grime. Dried blood streaked one side of his bare chest, and his legs were only slightly cleaner.

“Maybe I should go get the camera,” Sam mused. He crossed to the sink, filling the bucket with water. “You’ve got a video of me pissing myself, it’s only fair I have one of you.”

He turned, heaving the frigid water across Cas’s naked body. Cas let out a cry.

Sam tossed him a sponge, letting it land on the concrete near Cas’s hip.

He began refilling the bucket.

“Think that would be enough to offset yours?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “If I die- if I kill you- my family gets videos. Letting them know I’m dead, and how I suffered before it happened.”

He threw another bucketload across Cas, watching the water creep toward the drain.

“It’s starting to look like that’s inevitable,” he said evenly. He wasn’t sure about it until he said it, but now he realized it was true. “I’m going to die here. And they’re going to see what happened.”

Cas shook his head and Sam splashed him, letting the water strike him dead in the face.

“But I was thinking of making some videos of my own,” Sam carried on. “Just to let them know I got mine. That I went down swinging. That’s what I’ve been doing up there, you know. These last couple of days.”

Cas was staring at him, unmoving, and Sam hit him with the water again.

“Scrub. I’m not doing this all day.”

Cas took the sponge, tenderly rubbing at whatever spots had the least bruising. Sam watched for a moment, oddly fascinated with the way the water was trickling along his ribs.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sam said absently, mostly to himself. “About all the stuff you’ve got out in that barn. The blowtorch and what not. That’s what I do, now. Think. I’m building a pyre, by the way.”

Cas glanced up sharply at that. Sam threw some more water.

“It’s not for you. It’s for Anna. It takes a long time, with just one person. To pile up that much wood. It’s all wet, you know. It’s been raining for a week. And I’ve been very tired. But that’s how I occupy my time, now.”

Sam knelt down, next to Cas’s shivering form.

“I think about you,” he said quietly, making sure Cas could see his face. “I think about you, and all the things I’m going to do to you, before we die.”

Cas’s eyes widened at that, and Sam let himself laugh.

He didn’t like the sound of it.

“What was it you always said? Don’t fight it, you’re powerless?”

Sam leaned in, almost close enough for Cas’s hair to brush his cheek.

“I think we’re both powerless, Cas. I don’t think there’s any point in either of us fighting. Not any more. I think our roles are already written out. We just need to play them.”

Before he knew he was going to do it, his hand dropped between Cas’s legs, his palm resting on the angel’s soft cock.

“Try it again?” he asked, his voice going soft. “For me?”

Cas glared at him then, defiant, taking hold of Sam’s wrist and pushing his hand away.

Sam cackled.

“You shy now? When did you get shy?”

It wasn’t hard to wrench Cas’s arm back up above his head, or fasten his wrist into the cuff. He actually growled, yanking at the chain when Sam straddled his thighs. Instantly, cold water was seeping through his pants, but Sam didn’t care.

“This doesn’t do it for you?” Sam asked, all fake disbelief. He took hold of Cas’s cock and pulled- maybe too hard, judging by the wince. “Just pretend I’m the one who’s tied up and hurting, that ought to do it, right?”

Sam let a little grace seep through his fingers, into Cas’s flesh. Almost immediately, Cas hardened in his grip. Sam grinned.

“Thought so. Though I’ve been wondering. Is it me?”

He let go of Cas for a moment, long enough to spit on his hand. Cas looked appalled.

“You know. When you’re holding me down and fucking me, hurting me while I beg you to stop- do you get off on it because it’s me? Or are you thinking of him.”

Cas made a sound of pure rage, bucking his hips upwards into Sam. Sam barely moved. Instead he reached up with his free hand, hooking two fingers through the warded collar.

“You’re not the one with the power any more,” he growled. “And I suggest you get used to it.”

Grace slipped through his fingertips again, burrowing into Cas’s belly, ripping an orgasm out of him. His cock twitched weakly, come bubbling over Sam’s hand.

Sam watched, disinterested. The warm liquid ran down the back of his hand, dripping onto Cas’s thigh.

Sighing, he raised his hand to his mouth and licked a stripe off the curve of his thumb.

Salty. Bitter. Same as before.

Cas was still staring at him, his expression mostly hidden behind the tape.

Sam raised his hand, wiping the remainder off along Cas’s cheek.

“See you in a few hours.”

Chapter Text

“Sam, what the fuck?”

Sam said nothing, just allowed his wings to curl tighter around his body. They were large enough to fully cover him now. He’d given up trying to pretend it wasn’t comforting.

He pulled a pillow to his belly, wrapping himself around it.

“Hey, Dean.”

“It’s been a week, you little shit. I’ve been calling you for a week. I thought you were dead. ”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry? That’s what you’ve got? Sorry?”

Sam took a breath.

“I called to say goodbye, Dean. And… there’s some stuff you should know, before it’s over.”

“Bullshit,” Dean answered, but his voice was strained. Sam heard a car door slam. “Bullshit. I’m coming to find you, Sam, and we’re going to fix this. Hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”

“No, I’m not,” Sam said, and he was amazed at how calm he sounded. “I know how to take this thing down- but I’m going down with it. There isn’t another way.”

“No, Sammy, Sam, listen-”

“There’s going to be an envelope or something that shows up,” Sam pressed on, ignoring Dean’s voice. “With some photos and some- some videos. Burn them. Please. For me.”

There was silence on the line.

“Sam… that… it showed up yesterday, man.”

For a long time, there was only the silence of the empty bedroom. Silence from outside. Silence from downstairs.

“Did you…”

“Yeah. We saw. The letter said… said it would only get sent if you were both dead. Said-”

“Don’t fucking tell me,” Sam hissed. “I don’t want to know what he told you. He’s crazy, Dean. He’s crazy, and a monster, and… and he made me into a monster, too.”

“No. You’re infected or whatever, but we can fix it, Sam. Whatever the fuck is going on. There’s gotta be a way to fix it.”

“It’s too late,” Sam whispered. “I can’t go back, now, Dean.”

“Then we’ll cut the fucking wings off and pretend!” Dean shouted, and Sam swallowed back a sob.

“It’s not the wings, Dean. It’s… it’s inside me, now. I can feel it. Like something rotten.”

“We’ll fix it,” Dean said again, weaker this time. “Sammy… please. You’re stronger than this. You can fight it. I know you can.”

“I can’t,” Sam whispered. “I’m not. I… I didn’t -”

“He made you, Sam! You’re not responsible for what he made you do!”

Sam thought of Cas’s skin, cold under his hands, the mottled flesh of the broken arm.

Cas’s come, hot and salty on his tongue.

“He doesn’t make me,” Sam whispered. “Not any more.”

“Sam, listen- ”

“The hunt here is over,” Sam insisted. “There’s nothing left to kill. Let it go.”

“You know I won’t,” Dean said. His voice was thick. “You know I won’t. You’re my brother, and I’m bringing you home. One way or another.”

“I know. Goodbye, Dean.”

Sam ended the call and disabled the antennae, preventing any further attempts at communication. For a while he just lay still, letting the warmth of his wings encircle him.

~~~~~

“I finished the pyre,” Sam said quietly. Cas didn’t raise his head.

He was awake- he’d looked up when Sam came down the stairs. But he was unresponsive now. Whether through animosity or plain exhaustion, Sam didn’t know.

He settled against the wall, close enough that Cas’s good wing could wrap around his shoulder. Sighing, he leaned over and removed the tape from Cas’s mouth.

“I think that arm’s gonna kill you,” he said quietly. Cas hummed. “And then me, I guess. Not long after.”

He twisted his phone around in his hands.

“I was thinking, while I was out there, I was thinking about how I’d turn everything back on you. The look on your face when you figure out how bad that cane fucking hurts. I was thinking it would fix things. But now…”

He tapped the phone, bringing up the camera application. He went to the most recent photograph, holding it so Cas could see.

It was the table out in the barn, the one Cas had strapped him to. Set neatly along the edge were all the tools Cas had threatened to use. The tin snips. The fucking torch.

Sam held it out until he was certain that Cas had seen. Then he flicked the screen off and stuck it back in his pocket.

“I don’t think it’ll help. Not after what… what I did yesterday.” Sam leaned back against the wall, looking up at the musty ceiling. “It’s not fair. I hate you. I hate you so much. And I thought that if I hurt you enough, I could get rid of it. I could just… force everything about you, out of my life. But I don’t feel better.”

Cas turned his head slightly. He was shivering weakly, though from the cold or the fever, Sam didn’t know.

Sam knew basic first aid, and he knew what trouble looked like when he saw it. Even if he weren’t familiar with the myriad signs of a beating, it would be obvious that Cas wasn’t in good shape.

It made him sick.

He reached out, letting his hand rest on Cas’s hip. Cautiously, grace began to trickle from his fingers, seeping into Cas’s skin.

The angel flinched, but Sam kept going. The shivers subsided, and Cas relaxed somewhat.

He wasn’t healed. Not even close. But some of the pain was gone.

Sam could do that much, at least.

“I’m not letting you out of here,” Sam said quietly. “But I figured you should know, I’m going to go outside and light the pyre. Do you want to say anything? For… for Anna?”

“Nothing you need to hear,” Cas rasped. “I’ve said my own goodbyes.”

Sam nodded.

“Dean got the tapes you sent.”

“So much for that plan,” Cas said, and coughed. “I have to admit, this is a unique contingency.”

“He doesn’t hold any of it against me, in case you were hoping for that.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Well… good.”

Sam rose to his feet, shaking dust and cobwebs off his wings.

“He’ll find this place eventually. Not soon enough, but eventually.”

“I suspect there may have been some clues in the parcel they received,” Cas said. Sam shivered. He fluffed his wings, trying to get some of the maddening itch to dissipate.

“It took longer than I thought to build the pyre. After this one is burned, I think I’ll have time to build another one. So Dean and my dad don’t… don’t have to.”

Sam looked over Cas’s naked body again, trying to gauge the damage.

“Yeah. I think I’ve got time to build another one. And then… I’ll be done. I guess.”

Cas looked up at him, and for one moment there was such pure misery that Sam almost went to him.

“Don’t let it end like this, Sam. Not after everything.”

“After everything?” Sam tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling, blinking back the tears that burned in his eyes. “After everything, I think this is the only way it can end.”

“Sam-”

“Bye, Cas.”

~~~~~

There were a bunch of old newspapers in the barn. Sam figured Cas probably used them as packing material or something. They burned well enough, either way.

Anna’s consummate parts were wrapped in newspaper and then saran wrap and then, just for good measure, Sam had put them in cardboard boxes and aggressively sealed them shut. He’d seen monster parts crawl over a mile to rejoin the whole; he wasn’t taking any chances.

He didn’t bother opening the boxes or removing the plastic- after eight days he wasn't interested in taking another look. He stacked them on top of the brush pile and struck a match.

He went quickly around the pyre, lighting the paper in at least eight different places. Within a few seconds, the smaller brush had caught, and flames were beginning to lick at the medium branches.

If Sam had done this right, and he was fairly sure he had, the resulting blaze would be hot enough not to give off much smoke. There shouldn’t be a repeat of the fire tower incident.

The medium branches caught, and the bark on the larger logs began to crack and peel. Wisps of white smoke crept out, twisting on the heated eddies.

Despite it all, the air above the pyre was clear, shimmering in the fall chill. Sam watched as flame licked along the edges of the cardboard boxes, turning the paper black.

Ten thousand years old, and that’s how it ended. An anonymous cremation on a mountain in Oregon.

Sam wiped at his eyes. Tried not to imagine Dean standing here, lighting a second pyre.

Sam’s breath caught for a second, terror overwhelming him as he imagined the fire all around him-

But he’d be beyond it by then. He had a few days, at most. Maybe less. If he finished the second pyre and Cas was still alive, then… then Sam would put them both out of their misery. Split the rest of the little blue pills and slit Cas’s throat, see where that got him.

It occurred to him that John might burn the two of them together. Heave them both up on top of the heap and light it. Two monsters, one pyre.

Sam stared at the shimmering heat and wondered what it would look like when his wings went up, each feather bursting into a tongue of flame.

The wind shifted, blowing in Sam’s direction, and the dry smoke hit him suddenly, smelling like ash and burning flesh and-

-pain. -

Sam hauled in a breath, the smoke searing his throat.

There wasn’t air; not to breathe, not to scream.

Desperately, he scanned the crowd, desperate.

Afraid.

The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt, it threatened to overrun his mind as he searched familiar faces for blue eyes and dark hair.

He saw Margaret, her bruised cheeks streaked with tears. He wished he had a way to console her, but there was nothing.

The wind shifted and the fire roared, smoke obscuring his vision. Sam shut his eyes against the onslaught. His clothes were burning.

Agony ebbed and flowed as the flames destroyed his flesh and his grace strove to repair it.

He cast out, beyond the range of what he’d been able to see, and he searched for Castiel. One last touch, one last word-

The ropes holding him blazed and snapped, and Sam went to his knees. The wooden platform was alight, glowing red-hot against his palms.

Screaming, Sam let his wings burst free. It was his last chance, his last-

There wasn’t time. The fire was too hot, his grace too far gone. His wings collapsed with the rest of him, burning even as he tried to take cover beneath them.

Castiel was gone. Sam couldn’t feel him anywhere.

The platform cracked, gave way, and Sam felt something puncture his belly. The last of his grace ebbed, and blackness overtook him.

Chapter Text

Many times in his long life, Cas had pondered his own death.

Humans lived short lives and clung to the belief of an afterlife. A place free of pain where they would be reunited with their loved ones.

Castiel’s kind had no such hope. Their perished siblings walked the Earth, innocent of their past, doomed to fall and forget, in an endless cycle.

While the pain in his body worsened and spread, Castiel thought of an afterlife.

Splintered bone punctured his skin, open air giving way to infection. It consumed his marrow and spread to his blood. His skin grew hot and then cold, his teeth chattering in the frigid air. The taut, shiny skin over his shoulder rivaled the emptiness in his belly, the ache he had felt ceaselessly for the last five hundred years.

Of all the ways he had pictured dying, he had never considered this. Angels did not get sick. They did not die in accidents. And they did not kill their brethren.

Countless times, Castiel reached for his grace, finding it always outside his reach.

And so, slowly, Castiel died.

He couldn’t breathe and his heart beat wildly, trying to preserve his failing vessel. He thought he could smell smoke, and it seemed to him that Samael had been talking about a fire.

It occurred to Castiel that after he died, he would be able to go upstairs and join Samael. It was only his vessel that was confined here. If he could only be free of it, he could leave the pain and the exhaustion behind and simply sit by the fire that his beloved had built.

He closed his eyes, feeling his racing heart skip one beat, then two. He couldn’t breathe, but then again, he didn’t need to.

With one slow exhale, his heart stilled and he felt nothing more.

~~~~~

There was no out of body experience. No rapid reliving of his long life and many deeds.

He did not float out the window and look down invisibly upon his former home. He did not find himself standing in the basement, comforted by a shadowy figure as he regarded his own lifeless body.

There was no tunnel, and there was no light.

There was nothing.

~~~~~

The ruined bone slid back into place with an agonizing scrape, and if it weren’t for Samael’s voice in his ear, Castiel would have screamed.

The aches of his body ebbed and flowed, returning and receding, as Samael’s grace flooded through his veins. He gasped, lungs filling fully for the first time in days.

“Don’t you leave me,” Samael gasped. “Not again, you bastard. Not again.”

Castiel’s wings healed and then receded, giving way to the sensation of Samael’s arms around his shoulders. Castiel reached out, returning the embrace, feeling the heat of Samael’s body beneath his fingers.

“ I’ve missed you so much, ” he whispered, falling easily back into their mother tongue. The emptiness inside him throbbed, a pale shadow of what it had been. “ My beloved. ”

“I remembered dying,” Samael whimpered.

Castiel opened his eyes for the first time. He could see the familiar curve of Samael’s shoulder, the chestnut gleam of his hair-

And Sam’s wings, white as the driven snow, folded upwards to encircle them both.

The memories came flooding back, and Castiel was filled with a despair so great it felt like nothing.

There was no afterlife, no joyful reunion with those he had lost. Not for him.

Not for his kind.

The pain inside him flared, gnawing its way up his throat.

He let go of Sam, slumping back against the wall.

“I was gone,” Castiel said dumbly. “You brought me back.”

Sam was frozen, staring at Castiel like he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here.

“I remembered,” Sam said again. He suddenly looked confused. “And it… it hurt… ”

He placed his hand over his belly, rubbing absently, frowning.

And just like that, Castiel was furious. He threw himself at Sam, tackling the boy onto the concrete and pinning his wrists.

“It hurt? ” he shouted, somehow pleased about the fear on Sam’s face. “Did it hurt, Sam? When I died? Did it? ”

Even through his anger, the emptiness inside him reacted to the proximity, dimming just a little when Castiel leaned in.

“That’s what it feels like, ” he hissed, “to have your soul ripped in two. To have half of it burned away forever. ”

Sam shoved at him, but Castiel held on, slamming Sam’s shoulders back against the concrete floor.

“Do you understand now? Why I had to do all of this?”

“Oh, I understand,” Sam growled. Too late, Cas remembered the collar, and then Sam was rolling them over. His hair fell across his face, shrouding it in shadow. “All your pining and bullshit about how much you loved each other, but I remember. I remember dying, Cas. And I died alone. ”

Cas stared up at him, horrified. The emptiness clawed at him.

Suddenly he was on that road again- falling to his knees, feeling as though his viscera had been ripped from his body. He looked down to the gravel, expecting to see his own blood puddling beneath him, but there wasn’t so much as a drop. Mica specks sparkled in the daylight, and Castiel was certain that he was dying.

“I tried to come back,” he whispered. “As soon as I realized, as soon as I knew, but it was too late-”

“You were too far,” Sam finished. His voice was accusatory.

“I was scared!” Castiel screamed at him, and he could feel tears in his eyes. “You don’t understand, you never understood…”

Sam stared down at him, confused and utterly human. Castiel needed to state this case, but the one who needed to hear it was long dead.

It was time to deal with the living.

“You were never meant to feel that, Sam,” he said quietly. “When I saw your face… when I realized who you were… so many possibilities went through my mind. In none of them, did you ever experience the loss of a mate.”