FIC: "Sand" (SPN)
This time, though, Sam knew the Impala couldn’t sooth his pain. This was a headache unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It wasn’t the dull ache that came with exhaustion or the sharp sudden skull-cracking throb of the visions but instead some kind of impossible combination of both. The pain was constant and unyielding, but somehow still surprising in its intensity, in the way it expanded to fill his entire head so there wasn’t room to think about anything else. Sam knew his headaches had always been a sign of something missing in him, of something he had lost. The vision-headaches were because he was missing his own history, and his blood brothers and sisters, the withdrawal headaches were a call for more blood, for Ruby, for his own strength and the headaches of the past month were a message from his own body and his destiny - say yes say yes say yes say yes. Today’s headache, or was it yesterday’s - Sam didn’t know how long they’d been driving but it felt like a lifetime - was a new beast entirely, born out of a loss more severe than he’d ever felt before.
The Impala hit a bump in the road they were travelling and Sam’s forehead rapped sharply against the window glass. It added a new dimension of pain to his head, more immediate and present, which brought with it an awareness Sam had been hoping to avoid. Focusing on the headache and only the headache had been an escape, at least, from a bigger, more complicated pain.
The Impala was barrelling down a narrow dirt road, hemmed in on one side by a row of worn red rock, and on the other by an endless ocean of sand as far as Sam could see. They hadn’t been driving very long then, if they were still in the desert. The sun was still bright overhead and reflected against the yellow sand, blindingly bright. The light triggered the headache again, and Sam decided to give in to that simple pain, leaning his face once again against the cool glass. Then the Impala hit another bump and he reluctantly turned to his left.
“Cas - Castiel.” The name sounded weird coming out of his mouth, as if it got stuck on the way. His entire mouth was dry, and his throat, and his tongue felt heavy as a stone. Probably he was dehydrated, Sam figured; they were in a desert after all.
“Sam.” Castiel answered, and his voice sounded odd. But not as odd as he looked, driving the Impala way too fast for the road conditions, eyes focused straight ahead, mouth expressionless. Actually, Sam realized, that kind of stone-face was pretty average for Castiel; it was that he was sitting in Dean’s place, driving Dean’s car that was odd. Dean’s face was almost never expressionless, and he also didn’t hit bumps in the road when he knew Sam had a headache.
“Hey,” Sam said, struck with a question he probably should’ve asked hours ago, “Do you even know how to drive?”
“Yes.” Castiel’s face didn’t register an expression, even as he spoke. “I can pilot this vehicle.” Sam knew Castiel didn’t always speak with such formality. When he was relaxed, especially when he was talking with Dean, Sam knew the angel could almost pass as human.
“How?” Sam asked. He wondered if maybe angels just knew this kind of stuff, like they got some kind of training in heaven before being sent on a mission. But then why wouldn’t they have taught him to use a cell phone, or to wear more than one set of clothes?
“I was taught,” Castiel answered, and Sam thought he heard the slightest catch in his voice. “I know that we are exceeding the speed limit, but I can’t seem to slow down.”
Sam shrugged and slumped back in his seat. He doubted an Angel of the Lord would get into a car wreck, and in any case, there wasn’t much to hit out here. Maybe a cactus.
“Drink this.” Castiel reached behind him, eyes still on the road, and passed Sam a bottle of water. The sight of it reminded Sam how thirsty he was, and he tore off the cap and chugged half the bottle.
“Where’d you get the water?” Sam asked, panting between gulps.
Castiel turned his eyes briefly from the road, and Sam saw a hint of concern there. “We stopped at a gas station some miles back. Don’t you remember?”
Sam didn’t remember. He probably could, if he tried, but he really didn’t want to. Trying to remember anything brought on the big complicated pain in his chest, and he much preferred the simpler pain in his head.
But even if Sam’s mind didn’t remember much, his stomach did. “Pull over. Please, pull over!”
Castiel did so, coming a little too close to a large red rock. Sam’s door slammed against it as he rushed to get out of the Impala, stumbling a few steps on cramped legs before falling to his knees in the sand and puking up the bottle of water and what little else there was in his stomach. Truth be told, it was mostly bile.
Castiel stood a short distance away standing near the Impala but not leaning against it, watching him impassively. “We have to go,” he said, when it looked like Sam’s stomach had nothing left to lose. He turned to get back in the driver’s seat.
“Fuck you,” Sam muttered, more to the sand than to Castiel. It was warm beneath him, and now that he was lying down Sam didn’t want to get up. He did crawl a few feet away from his puke, though, before collapsing again. He wondered if he might be able to dig a hole in the sand deep enough to swallow him.
“Sam.” Castiel’s voice was firm and calm - too calm - and it suddenly pissed Sam off. “We have to go, Sam. It isn’t safe here.”
“Shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” Sam already had a headache, and he doubted Castiel could make it worse, but really he just wanted the angel to disappear - poof!- with his angel mojo like he always did, and leave Sam to dig his comfy sand-grave.
“I am sorry about your headache” - Castiel was always polite - “but we can’t stop yet, Sam. We aren’t safe here.” Sam chuckled, accidentally inhaling sand in the process. As if anywhere was safe for a Winchester.
Sam’s laugh, followed by a fit of sand-induced coughing, seemed to alarm Castiel more than the puking had. He leaned over and cautiously placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We have to go,” he repeated insistently. “Dean said we have to keep moving.”
When Dean had pulled over at the side of the road in middle-of-nowhere Nevada, Sam had figured he just needed to take a piss at first. He hadn’t even looked up from the Sumerian manuscript he was trying to read. But then Dean had walked straight into the empty desert, farther than Sam had expected him to, and Castiel had opened his back passenger door and followed, without a word. So they hadn’t stopped just to take a piss then.
Sam would have to run to catch up. He jogged through the sand after them, still holding the Sumerian manuscript, messing up the footprints they’d left side by side in the sand. He didn’t like how those footsteps matched up, how the two of them had fallen in stride ahead of him and weren’t talking, as they didn’t need to. Whatever Dean was planning to do out in the desert, his guardian angel knew about it too. Sam didn’t like being behind, so he ran after them, feet slipping a little in the sand.
Sam was on his feet in less than a second, shoving Castiel hard. He didn’t mean to hurt him, but Castiel was surprised and Sam was strong and so the angel ended up sprawled on his back in the sand, blinking either in surprise, or because he’d gotten sand in his eyes. Probably it was the sand, Sam thought, it’s not like Castiel ever really felt anything.
“When did Dean say we had to keep moving? When!” Sam was towering over Castiel and he was mad; anyone else would have been terrified, but Castiel’s face was blank. “And when did he teach you to drive the Impala and warn you to stop for water?”
Castiel didn’t move to get out from under Sam’s shadow, just gazed up at him calmly. “Weeks ago, Sam, he taught me to drive weeks ago. I ascertained you would need hydration myself. I understand you are in pain, but we cannot rest yet.” Castiel frowned at the sun, which was touching the horizon to the west.
“You understand I’m in pain?” Sam’s voice was incredulous. “What do you know about pain? You just got exactly what you’ve always wanted!”
Sam caught up to Dean and Castiel. “So, anyone want to tell me what we’re doing out here? Salting and burning the ghosts of everyone who’s died of thirst out here?”
Dean didn’t look at Sam, but instead at Castiel, who replied. “I don’t think people really die of thirst out here anymore. Cellular phones are quite useful.” Sam wasn’t sure if Castiel was attempting to make a joke, though he’d been trying to learn lately. If he was, his delivery was all wrong because his tone was more appropriate for a funeral than a comedy club.
“Besides,” Dean said a full twenty minutes of trudging through sand later, “you can still see the car from here so it’s not like you’ll be lost.”
Sam turned and confirmed that yes, he could still see the dark stain on the horizon that was the Impala in the distance, though it was shimmering in the heat. Then he turned back to Dean, frowning, “What do you mean I won’t be lost?”
Dean ignored him again. “I guess this is far enough from civilization,” he said to Castiel. “You guys can run back and get a head start.”
“Wha - head start?” Sam was getting awfully sick of trying to decipher whatever code Dean and Castiel were speaking. “What the fuck is going on here, you guys have to tell me what we’re fighting!”
Dean laughed. It was a sound full of bitterness and absolutely free of mirth. “We’re not taking on a monster here, Sammy. We’re not fighting anymore.”
Castiel looked astonished. Sam thought maybe this was the most expression he had ever had on his face while speaking to Sam. “You think this is what I wanted.” Then the angel laughed and it was the scariest sound Sam had ever heard, harsh and cold and on the edge of hysterical, and completely alien coming from Castiel.
“Isn’t it?” Sam asked, more to cover that horrible laughter than because he really wanted to know. “You and the rest of the angel brigade? Isn’t today the day all your wildest dreams come true?” Sam really didn’t know where his sarcasm was coming from, but then Castiel was laughing so emotional tone was unpredictable all around.
Castiel stopped laughing to respond, and Sam was relieved at the brief silence. He picked up a handful of sand and let it slip slowly through his fingers. “In case you haven’t noticed, Sam, I haven’t been part of the angel brigade in quite awhile.”
“No,” Sam said, “we were supposed to be on our own team, weren’t we?”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, but the sinking feeling in his stomach and the grave look in Dean’s eyes told him he already knew the answer.
Dean didn’t answer yet again, and now Sam could feel that Dean wasn’t actually ignoring him at all. Instead, he could feel all of Dean’s attention, all of Dean’s energy focused on not-answering-Sam. Dean took off his leather jacket - ridiculously warm for the desert anyway - and dropped it in the sand. Awkwardly, because he didn’t do it often, he also removed the amulet Sam had given him from around his throat. He looked strangely naked now, wearing only a t-shirt and jeans in the bright yellow light, without his coat, his amulet, his weapons and the cover of darkness he used as armour.
“Sammy,” Dean said, his voice cracking, and Sam knew why he’d let Castiel do the talking before. “I’m sorry, Sammy, I really tried.” Then he was hugging Sam and it was familiar and simultaneously foreign. He knew Dean’s body nearly as well as his own - they’d spent so many years in close quarters, dragging each other out of danger and patching each other up - but not like this. In his arms Dean felt sun-baked warm and surprisingly small. Even when Dean had been destined for Hell, Sam had never felt so much like he needed to protect his older brother.
And then Dean pulled out of the embrace, and punched Sam hard in the jaw.
Castiel didn’t answer that, though Sam was certain he must’ve heard. “We need to keep moving. We’re supposed to get as far away from it all as we can.”
Sam didn’t feel like fighting with Castiel, and he was probably right anyway. He climbed back into the car, being careful not to bring too much sand with him. It was not okay to make a mess in the Impala. Castiel slammed the driver’s side door as he climbed back in, and Sam felt the return of his headache.
Castiel put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. “Do you really think I can’t feel pain, Sam?”
Sam was pretty dazed, and sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw. His ears were ringing and his vision was spotted with pink and yellow sparks that danced over Dean and Castiel as Sam watched. Dean was saying something, low and urgent, to Castiel but Sam couldn’t make out the words over what was probably a moderate concussion. He saw Dean slip the amulet about Castiel’s neck - which was stupid really because what was the point it didn’t do anything anyway - and then, still gripping Castiel’s neck, pull him into a short, fierce kiss. Sam thought maybe it was a major concussion, after all.
Then suddenly the angel had Sam by the shoulders and was pulling him to his feet, half-dragging him through the sand in the direction they had come. Sam felt a brief sense of satisfaction watching his dragging feet destroy the perfect, crisp, matching set of steps Dean and Castiel had made on the way out. And then he realized what was happening.
“No!” He shouted, struggling to free himself from Castiel’s iron grip.”Dean!” But Castiel was stronger than he looked and Sam was still pretty out of it from the punch, and it was the most he could do to turn and catch a glimpse of Dean staring up at the sky.
“Hey!” he shouted, and Sam was overcome with relief. Of course Dean couldn’t go through with this, of course he would change his mind.
Castiel stopped hauling Sam through the sand and turned to look at Dean, who tossed something shiny in their direction. Castiel tried to catch it one-handed but missed, bending to retrieve the object from the sand. It was Dean’s keychain.
“Anywhere but Detroit,” he said, and turned his back on them.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said after a pause. “Of course you can feel pain. It’s just...it’s a human thing, isn’t it?”
Castiel smiled, and this time it wasn’t scary. “Driving the Impala isn’t the only thing Dean taught me, Sam.”
“Right,” Sam interrupted before Castiel could get any farther. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear about all the things Dean had taught him. “So what are we supposed to do now?”
Castiel turned the key in the ignition and the Impala roared to life. There was some weird clunking noise too; Sam hoped sand wasn’t getting places it shouldn’t. “My orders are to save you, Sam Winchester.”
Sam smiled, and Castiel tilted his head in that way that meant he was missing a joke and felt left out. “And if you can’t save me then kill me?” Sam asked.
“No,” Castiel’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Just to save you. And at the moment I think that means getting as far away from here as possible.”
“Okay, Cas.” Sam supposed this was as good a plan as any, and he was too exhausted to argue anyway. He leaned his forehead against the window again. “Wake me when it’s my turn to drive.”
Dean waited until he heard the familiar, though distant, sound of the Impala’s engine starting. He hadn’t let himself watch them leave, but he turned now, in time to see a cloud of dust speeding down the road. Dean was pretty proud of Cas for speeding, actually, when they’d started driving together he’d insisted on obeying the speed limit. Dean had trained Cas well apparently - he’d taught them both as well as he could.
When the cloud of dust finally disappeared, Dean sighed with relief. He felt stupid talking to the sky - this wasn’t a prayer after all - so he just spoke into the air, eyes fixed on the spot where he’d lost sight of the car. He cleared his throat.
“Okay Michael, come and get me.”
Thirty miles away Sam saw the beam of white light come down from the sky through the haze of his concussion, and screamed. He didn’t stop until Castiel punched him, and he slipped into unconsciousness once more.
Castiel let himself sob for only a few minutes. He had a job to do and he couldn’t let pain or grief or least of all fear jeopardize his mission. He needed to pay attention to the driving, and soon he would need to stop and get something for Sam to eat and drink, and maybe some aspirin.
The Impala hit a bump in the road they were travelling and Sam’s forehead rapped sharply against the window glass. It added a new dimension of pain to his head, more immediate and present, which brought with it an awareness Sam had been hoping to avoid. Focusing on the headache and only the headache had been an escape, at least, from a bigger, more complicated pain.
The Impala was barrelling down a narrow dirt road, hemmed in on one side by a row of worn red rock, and on the other by an endless ocean of sand as far as Sam could see. They hadn’t been driving very long then, if they were still in the desert. The sun was still bright overhead and reflected against the yellow sand, blindingly bright. The light triggered the headache again, and Sam decided to give in to that simple pain, leaning his face once again against the cool glass. Then the Impala hit another bump and he reluctantly turned to his left.
“Cas - Castiel.” The name sounded weird coming out of his mouth, as if it got stuck on the way. His entire mouth was dry, and his throat, and his tongue felt heavy as a stone. Probably he was dehydrated, Sam figured; they were in a desert after all.
“Sam.” Castiel answered, and his voice sounded odd. But not as odd as he looked, driving the Impala way too fast for the road conditions, eyes focused straight ahead, mouth expressionless. Actually, Sam realized, that kind of stone-face was pretty average for Castiel; it was that he was sitting in Dean’s place, driving Dean’s car that was odd. Dean’s face was almost never expressionless, and he also didn’t hit bumps in the road when he knew Sam had a headache.
“Hey,” Sam said, struck with a question he probably should’ve asked hours ago, “Do you even know how to drive?”
“Yes.” Castiel’s face didn’t register an expression, even as he spoke. “I can pilot this vehicle.” Sam knew Castiel didn’t always speak with such formality. When he was relaxed, especially when he was talking with Dean, Sam knew the angel could almost pass as human.
“How?” Sam asked. He wondered if maybe angels just knew this kind of stuff, like they got some kind of training in heaven before being sent on a mission. But then why wouldn’t they have taught him to use a cell phone, or to wear more than one set of clothes?
“I was taught,” Castiel answered, and Sam thought he heard the slightest catch in his voice. “I know that we are exceeding the speed limit, but I can’t seem to slow down.”
Sam shrugged and slumped back in his seat. He doubted an Angel of the Lord would get into a car wreck, and in any case, there wasn’t much to hit out here. Maybe a cactus.
“Drink this.” Castiel reached behind him, eyes still on the road, and passed Sam a bottle of water. The sight of it reminded Sam how thirsty he was, and he tore off the cap and chugged half the bottle.
“Where’d you get the water?” Sam asked, panting between gulps.
Castiel turned his eyes briefly from the road, and Sam saw a hint of concern there. “We stopped at a gas station some miles back. Don’t you remember?”
Sam didn’t remember. He probably could, if he tried, but he really didn’t want to. Trying to remember anything brought on the big complicated pain in his chest, and he much preferred the simpler pain in his head.
But even if Sam’s mind didn’t remember much, his stomach did. “Pull over. Please, pull over!”
Castiel did so, coming a little too close to a large red rock. Sam’s door slammed against it as he rushed to get out of the Impala, stumbling a few steps on cramped legs before falling to his knees in the sand and puking up the bottle of water and what little else there was in his stomach. Truth be told, it was mostly bile.
Castiel stood a short distance away standing near the Impala but not leaning against it, watching him impassively. “We have to go,” he said, when it looked like Sam’s stomach had nothing left to lose. He turned to get back in the driver’s seat.
“Fuck you,” Sam muttered, more to the sand than to Castiel. It was warm beneath him, and now that he was lying down Sam didn’t want to get up. He did crawl a few feet away from his puke, though, before collapsing again. He wondered if he might be able to dig a hole in the sand deep enough to swallow him.
“Sam.” Castiel’s voice was firm and calm - too calm - and it suddenly pissed Sam off. “We have to go, Sam. It isn’t safe here.”
“Shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” Sam already had a headache, and he doubted Castiel could make it worse, but really he just wanted the angel to disappear - poof!- with his angel mojo like he always did, and leave Sam to dig his comfy sand-grave.
“I am sorry about your headache” - Castiel was always polite - “but we can’t stop yet, Sam. We aren’t safe here.” Sam chuckled, accidentally inhaling sand in the process. As if anywhere was safe for a Winchester.
Sam’s laugh, followed by a fit of sand-induced coughing, seemed to alarm Castiel more than the puking had. He leaned over and cautiously placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We have to go,” he repeated insistently. “Dean said we have to keep moving.”
When Dean had pulled over at the side of the road in middle-of-nowhere Nevada, Sam had figured he just needed to take a piss at first. He hadn’t even looked up from the Sumerian manuscript he was trying to read. But then Dean had walked straight into the empty desert, farther than Sam had expected him to, and Castiel had opened his back passenger door and followed, without a word. So they hadn’t stopped just to take a piss then.
Sam would have to run to catch up. He jogged through the sand after them, still holding the Sumerian manuscript, messing up the footprints they’d left side by side in the sand. He didn’t like how those footsteps matched up, how the two of them had fallen in stride ahead of him and weren’t talking, as they didn’t need to. Whatever Dean was planning to do out in the desert, his guardian angel knew about it too. Sam didn’t like being behind, so he ran after them, feet slipping a little in the sand.
Sam was on his feet in less than a second, shoving Castiel hard. He didn’t mean to hurt him, but Castiel was surprised and Sam was strong and so the angel ended up sprawled on his back in the sand, blinking either in surprise, or because he’d gotten sand in his eyes. Probably it was the sand, Sam thought, it’s not like Castiel ever really felt anything.
“When did Dean say we had to keep moving? When!” Sam was towering over Castiel and he was mad; anyone else would have been terrified, but Castiel’s face was blank. “And when did he teach you to drive the Impala and warn you to stop for water?”
Castiel didn’t move to get out from under Sam’s shadow, just gazed up at him calmly. “Weeks ago, Sam, he taught me to drive weeks ago. I ascertained you would need hydration myself. I understand you are in pain, but we cannot rest yet.” Castiel frowned at the sun, which was touching the horizon to the west.
“You understand I’m in pain?” Sam’s voice was incredulous. “What do you know about pain? You just got exactly what you’ve always wanted!”
Sam caught up to Dean and Castiel. “So, anyone want to tell me what we’re doing out here? Salting and burning the ghosts of everyone who’s died of thirst out here?”
Dean didn’t look at Sam, but instead at Castiel, who replied. “I don’t think people really die of thirst out here anymore. Cellular phones are quite useful.” Sam wasn’t sure if Castiel was attempting to make a joke, though he’d been trying to learn lately. If he was, his delivery was all wrong because his tone was more appropriate for a funeral than a comedy club.
“Besides,” Dean said a full twenty minutes of trudging through sand later, “you can still see the car from here so it’s not like you’ll be lost.”
Sam turned and confirmed that yes, he could still see the dark stain on the horizon that was the Impala in the distance, though it was shimmering in the heat. Then he turned back to Dean, frowning, “What do you mean I won’t be lost?”
Dean ignored him again. “I guess this is far enough from civilization,” he said to Castiel. “You guys can run back and get a head start.”
“Wha - head start?” Sam was getting awfully sick of trying to decipher whatever code Dean and Castiel were speaking. “What the fuck is going on here, you guys have to tell me what we’re fighting!”
Dean laughed. It was a sound full of bitterness and absolutely free of mirth. “We’re not taking on a monster here, Sammy. We’re not fighting anymore.”
Castiel looked astonished. Sam thought maybe this was the most expression he had ever had on his face while speaking to Sam. “You think this is what I wanted.” Then the angel laughed and it was the scariest sound Sam had ever heard, harsh and cold and on the edge of hysterical, and completely alien coming from Castiel.
“Isn’t it?” Sam asked, more to cover that horrible laughter than because he really wanted to know. “You and the rest of the angel brigade? Isn’t today the day all your wildest dreams come true?” Sam really didn’t know where his sarcasm was coming from, but then Castiel was laughing so emotional tone was unpredictable all around.
Castiel stopped laughing to respond, and Sam was relieved at the brief silence. He picked up a handful of sand and let it slip slowly through his fingers. “In case you haven’t noticed, Sam, I haven’t been part of the angel brigade in quite awhile.”
“No,” Sam said, “we were supposed to be on our own team, weren’t we?”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, but the sinking feeling in his stomach and the grave look in Dean’s eyes told him he already knew the answer.
Dean didn’t answer yet again, and now Sam could feel that Dean wasn’t actually ignoring him at all. Instead, he could feel all of Dean’s attention, all of Dean’s energy focused on not-answering-Sam. Dean took off his leather jacket - ridiculously warm for the desert anyway - and dropped it in the sand. Awkwardly, because he didn’t do it often, he also removed the amulet Sam had given him from around his throat. He looked strangely naked now, wearing only a t-shirt and jeans in the bright yellow light, without his coat, his amulet, his weapons and the cover of darkness he used as armour.
“Sammy,” Dean said, his voice cracking, and Sam knew why he’d let Castiel do the talking before. “I’m sorry, Sammy, I really tried.” Then he was hugging Sam and it was familiar and simultaneously foreign. He knew Dean’s body nearly as well as his own - they’d spent so many years in close quarters, dragging each other out of danger and patching each other up - but not like this. In his arms Dean felt sun-baked warm and surprisingly small. Even when Dean had been destined for Hell, Sam had never felt so much like he needed to protect his older brother.
And then Dean pulled out of the embrace, and punched Sam hard in the jaw.
Castiel didn’t answer that, though Sam was certain he must’ve heard. “We need to keep moving. We’re supposed to get as far away from it all as we can.”
Sam didn’t feel like fighting with Castiel, and he was probably right anyway. He climbed back into the car, being careful not to bring too much sand with him. It was not okay to make a mess in the Impala. Castiel slammed the driver’s side door as he climbed back in, and Sam felt the return of his headache.
Castiel put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. “Do you really think I can’t feel pain, Sam?”
Sam was pretty dazed, and sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw. His ears were ringing and his vision was spotted with pink and yellow sparks that danced over Dean and Castiel as Sam watched. Dean was saying something, low and urgent, to Castiel but Sam couldn’t make out the words over what was probably a moderate concussion. He saw Dean slip the amulet about Castiel’s neck - which was stupid really because what was the point it didn’t do anything anyway - and then, still gripping Castiel’s neck, pull him into a short, fierce kiss. Sam thought maybe it was a major concussion, after all.
Then suddenly the angel had Sam by the shoulders and was pulling him to his feet, half-dragging him through the sand in the direction they had come. Sam felt a brief sense of satisfaction watching his dragging feet destroy the perfect, crisp, matching set of steps Dean and Castiel had made on the way out. And then he realized what was happening.
“No!” He shouted, struggling to free himself from Castiel’s iron grip.”Dean!” But Castiel was stronger than he looked and Sam was still pretty out of it from the punch, and it was the most he could do to turn and catch a glimpse of Dean staring up at the sky.
“Hey!” he shouted, and Sam was overcome with relief. Of course Dean couldn’t go through with this, of course he would change his mind.
Castiel stopped hauling Sam through the sand and turned to look at Dean, who tossed something shiny in their direction. Castiel tried to catch it one-handed but missed, bending to retrieve the object from the sand. It was Dean’s keychain.
“Anywhere but Detroit,” he said, and turned his back on them.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said after a pause. “Of course you can feel pain. It’s just...it’s a human thing, isn’t it?”
Castiel smiled, and this time it wasn’t scary. “Driving the Impala isn’t the only thing Dean taught me, Sam.”
“Right,” Sam interrupted before Castiel could get any farther. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear about all the things Dean had taught him. “So what are we supposed to do now?”
Castiel turned the key in the ignition and the Impala roared to life. There was some weird clunking noise too; Sam hoped sand wasn’t getting places it shouldn’t. “My orders are to save you, Sam Winchester.”
Sam smiled, and Castiel tilted his head in that way that meant he was missing a joke and felt left out. “And if you can’t save me then kill me?” Sam asked.
“No,” Castiel’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Just to save you. And at the moment I think that means getting as far away from here as possible.”
“Okay, Cas.” Sam supposed this was as good a plan as any, and he was too exhausted to argue anyway. He leaned his forehead against the window again. “Wake me when it’s my turn to drive.”
Dean waited until he heard the familiar, though distant, sound of the Impala’s engine starting. He hadn’t let himself watch them leave, but he turned now, in time to see a cloud of dust speeding down the road. Dean was pretty proud of Cas for speeding, actually, when they’d started driving together he’d insisted on obeying the speed limit. Dean had trained Cas well apparently - he’d taught them both as well as he could.
When the cloud of dust finally disappeared, Dean sighed with relief. He felt stupid talking to the sky - this wasn’t a prayer after all - so he just spoke into the air, eyes fixed on the spot where he’d lost sight of the car. He cleared his throat.
“Okay Michael, come and get me.”
Thirty miles away Sam saw the beam of white light come down from the sky through the haze of his concussion, and screamed. He didn’t stop until Castiel punched him, and he slipped into unconsciousness once more.
Castiel let himself sob for only a few minutes. He had a job to do and he couldn’t let pain or grief or least of all fear jeopardize his mission. He needed to pay attention to the driving, and soon he would need to stop and get something for Sam to eat and drink, and maybe some aspirin.