Basilica
Title: Benedictio
Rating: R
Pairings: Wincest
Warnings: None (as of yet)
Word Count: 11, 438 (so far)
Summary: After the failed Trials, Sam Winchester becomes the Modern Messiah. Though he revels in his newfound powers and eventual fame, Dean hates it. He knows how this is going to end and he will do anything to save his brother from that fate.
When Sam woke up next, he felt more refreshed than he had in years. The last time Sam had gotten a good night’s sleep was before the death of Jessica. Every night since then, he’d tossed and turned, trying to erase dreams of her and everyone else he had ever loved dying, while he was unable to save them. It seemed that was his legacy, what he would leave behind when he, himself, finally died: a lot of dead friends and people he’d let down.
At least, that’s what he’d thought.
Until now.
Now he was going to leave behind so much more. He was going to die a savior, a messiah to the angels that Metatron had cast to Earth. When he died, he would take them up to Heaven with him. He would have done God’s work, truly God’s work, here on Earth, and, unlike the last time he’d opened his eyes in the place where he would spend eternity, this time…this time he would deserve to be there.
The thought made him smile like an idiot. He rolled over in bed and stretched leisurely. He was so happy about what was going to happen, what was already happening that he completely forgot there were downsides to it, and when he pushed himself up into a sitting position, he cried out in pain. The wounds in his palms hurt. A lot. They hadn’t hurt that badly before, but now they burned as though they were on fire. He even held them out in front of him to make sure they were not, in fact, aflame.
The burning went down from searing to extremely uncomfortable a few moments later and it was only then that Sam dropped his hands back into his lap, letting out a huff as he did so. He sat on his bed for a moment, thinking about his dinner with God and what he’d been told and decided that he couldn’t tell Dean. At least not yet. God had advised he tell his brother straight away, but he’d also said that he knew he wouldn’t. The stigmata was going to kill him. That much he’d already known and the last conversation he wanted to have with Dean - especially after all that had happened lately - was one that involved the words ‘I’m going to die soon.’ Dean would try to find a way to stop this and, though Sam didn’t think there was a way to stop it - it’d been decreed by God after all - what if there was? Dean wouldn’t listen to Sam’s reason. He would do everything in his power to stop the stigmata whether Sam wanted him to or not.
A soft flow of voices made its way from outside Sam’s door into his room. For a moment, he thought they were the angels speaking again, but the longer he listened, the more he realized that it was just the radio. Dean had set it up a few days ago and had been listening to it nonstop ever since the Cleansing of Heaven. Currently, the newscaster was talking about how strange some people were acting all across the globe.
“...thought it was a freak virus at first, but now it seems that large group of people have suddenly gotten amnesia. They don’t really seem to know how to do certain things. It’s almost as though they’re not from around here and, with the claims that some other people are making, that they saw people falling from the sky during the worldwide meteor shower, this is, in my humble opinion, a significant possibility…”
While Sam got up and opened the door to his room, heading back into the library, the newscaster went on to say that all of the people acting strangely seemed to be homeless, which could also attribute to the ‘people falling from the sky’ theory. A part of Sam hoped that no one figured out that they had in fact fallen from the sky and that the angels were smart enough not to mention that they were angels otherwise the sanitariums would fill up really fast.
Slowly opening the door to his bedroom, Sam realized for the first time the reason he could still hear the angels, though they’d fallen was because he was the second messiah. He also realized that saying that sounded like saying the Second Coming, which was supposed to be when Jesus would come back to take all of the worthy souls to Heaven before unleashing Hell on Earth where the unworthy would stay.
He sincerely hoped that was not what God had in mind.
Sam found Dean sitting in the library as he had before. This time, on top of a stack of books in front of him, was an old radio that crackled and had to be tapped every couple of minutes to keep working. Memories of sitting in the back of the Impala or a dirty motel room watching Dean do the same thing swam to the surface of Sam’s mind and he asked, “Haven’t we had that radio forever?”
Dean jumped at the sudden appearance of his brother, his arm outstretched, ready to hit the radio that had gone fuzzy and sounded more like a broken microphone than a radio. Just as before, books were scattered out in front of him, but this time, he had a notebook next to him. He seemed to be taking notes on whatever it was he was reading. Which showed Sam the importance of whatever subject his brother was researching. Dean never did anything even slightly academic unless he absolutely had to. There was a reason he’d never done well in school: he’d simply felt it didn’t matter.
Falling out of the stupor that an upright Sam had put him in, Dean blinked a few times before he hit the radio, forcing it to resume its broadcasting, and turned back to his books saying, “Yeah. I didn’t even think you remembered it. I found it when I was digging through the Impala looking for a radio a couple days ago.” He didn’t have to explain why he wanted one when their bunker didn’t have a TV or could even get a signal for cable.
“I’ve been remembering things a lot better lately,” Sam stated by way of explanation. He moved towards the table, again reading over Dean’s shoulder. His brother was no longer looking at a book that had a section on stigmata. He was looking at something else entirely. However, even from the short paragraph Sam read surreptitiously from behind Dean didn’t even really explain what his brother was researching. It seemed to be something to do with hellhounds and, though Sam knew Dean was not on the right track, he said nothing. In fact, secretly, he was glad his brother didn’t have any clue as to what was going on. He wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet.
“I figured that if I researched each part of the Trials, I might be able to figure out how…this,” here he gestured to Sam “started.” He let out a low chuckle. “Guess I kind of took over your job, eh, Sammy?”
Sam forced a smile and a laugh that matched his brother’s, replying, “I guess you did.”
He searched with his eyes, trying to make it look like he wasn’t searching for anything, for the book he’d been looking through before he passed out and had his visit with God. However, when Dean had been looking at that book before and Sam had been reading it over his shoulder, the book had been open and Sam hadn’t seen the cover. He knew that if he asked Dean for the book, he might figure out that Sam knew more about this than he was letting on. Dean wasn’t stupid by any means and he knew that if something was threatening Sam’s life and Sam knew something about it, there was a larger change he would keep it from him.
However, as Sam continued to scan the table, Dean said nothing. When Sam glanced at him, he realized this was because Dean had gone back to his research and he let out a small breath. Suddenly he felt guilty for keeping his knowledge from his brother. Dean was only trying to help him, only trying to find a way to keep him from dying because he couldn’t handle it again. He’d seen his Sammy die one too many times and he couldn’t do anymore.
And that was something Sam understood.
Not too long ago - he wasn’t sure that date would ever be far enough away in his memory - he’d watched his brother die every day over and over again, one hundred times, until he finally died for - what Sam had, at many times, though - was for good. It had turned out that was just an illusion. His brother’s timeline was somehow suspended for six months while Sam hunted down the trickster - turned out he was the archangel Gabriel - that had made him watch his brother die repeatedly. The very last thing Sam wanted to experience again was Dean dying. He’d done it enough. He couldn’t do it again.
And he knew Dean couldn’t either.
But he was going to have to. He just didn’t know it yet.
Maybe you should tell him, a voice whispered in his mind. He has a right to know.
Yes, Sam agreed. But I can’t have that conversation with him. Not just yet.
And that was what he said every day. For the next month and a half, he told himself he wasn’t ready. He went to bed, thinking about what he should tell Dean and when he should do it. He woke up deciding today was not the day and going about his business, spending most of his time in the library with Dean, flipping through all of the books, trying to find the one he’d seen shortly after this all had begun, explaining stigmata in full detail. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t already know what stigmata was in full detail. He just wanted to refresh his memory so he would understand what he was about to experience and so, to keep himself from having to talk to Dean about what was going on - and under the pretense of helping his brother research - he looked through the books Dean had already gone through, certain the one he was searching for was in that pile, saying he was looking for anything Dean might have missed. Of course, he found nothing, but he wasn’t really doing what he said he was anyway.
As the days went by and they found more of nothing - or rather, Dean did - Sam’s stigmata did not progress. His palms bled more some days than others - and those days, when they ran out of bandages and Dean had to run to the nearby pharmacy to get more, Sam would search frantically through the pile of books Dean had discarded, trying to find the one he was looking for, but to no avail - but, for the most part, nothing significant that would alert Dean to look somewhere other than the books he’d pulled from their shelves, taken from the library, or got at the secondhand bookshop.
It was on the six week mark from the day his stigmata had started that Sam finally found the book while Dean was out. There was nothing on the cover to suggest that it was a book about stigmata. It was only a red, leather-bound volume with some sort of intricate carving done into its front and back covers, but the moment Sam opened it and began to flip through the pages, he knew he’d found his diamond in the rough. By the time Dean had gotten back, Sam had reached the part he’d read before. He’d been studying the illustrations, the carefully written words, thinking about how much museums would pay for it, but mostly thinking about how this book could help him predict what was going to happen to him next.
You could’ve just looked in the Bible for that, a voice told him, but he ignored it (even though, as usual, it was right). He’d found what he was looking for. Now he just had to make it seem like he wasn’t as interested in this book as he really was. Otherwise Dean would find out what was going on and, as per usual, he wasn’t ready to have that conversation.
Typically, stigmata starts with the wounds in the palms where Christ was nailed to the cross. The wounds can also be in the wrists, but, for the most part, the wounds are in the palms. These wounds will happen quickly. The palms will start bleeding immediately and, within the next few days, start hurting. Next, the wounds in the feet will appear. These will appear more slowly than the palm wounds. First, the subject’s skin will become inflamed before eventually giving way. As with the palm wounds, the feet wounds will only start hurting after two or three days. After that, the scratches from the Crown of Thorns will appear. Again, the skin will be inflamed before giving way. Depending on the subject, these wounds will bleed more or less frequently. Following this are the whip marks on the back. As with the marks from the Crown of Thorns, these will bleed more or less frequently depending on the subject. It also depends on their depth. Finally, the wound from the Holy Lance will appear. This is the wound that typically kills stigmatics as it tends to bleed more often and more furiously than the others. Again, the skin will be inflamed before the wound appears, so the stigmatics have time to prepare.
In addition to these wounds, stigmatics have been known to experience visions of Christ’s sufferings, feel His sorrow and His pain, and cleanse those around them of their sins. They may go into a trance during their visions and reenact what it is that Christ experienced during His own suffering. Physicians will be unable to cure the wounds of any and all stigmatics. The wounds are known to smell of flowers or perfume. This is typically called the Odor of Sanctity. The wounds are also accompanied by extreme pain, though, this varies from person to person. Crying tears of blood is also very common as is a strong desire to receive Holy Communion and often. Stigmatics have been known to be overwhelmed with emotion and can cry or laugh at the drop of a hat. Finally, stigmatics do not feel the need to eat or drink and, as a result, experience heavy weight loss. If they do not die of blood loss, this can be what ends up killing them.
Sam closed the book and sat back in his chair, slumping slightly, staring ahead at nothing in particular. He’d been glad of this to begin with. It had sounded like something that might finally make him feel clean, but after reading all of that, all of the things he would experience before he finally did die - and not only because God was trying to bring him to Heaven, but most likely of something as simple as starvation or blood loss - he was beginning to wonder if this really was such a good thing after all.
Of course, it’s a good thing! The voice in his head argued. You are going to be pure! Clean, for the first time in your life! You don’t think that’s a good thing? Are you really willing to give this up because you’re afraid of a little pain? You’ve been through worse in Hell! This will be a walk in the park compared to that.
Yes. That was true. This pain would be nothing compared to what Lucifer and Michael forced him to experience in Lucifer’s cage, but he hadn’t had to see Dean’s expressions, watch him cry because his little brother was in pain, when he was in the cage. He’d have to see that now. He was the only one Dean really showed his emotions around. He tried not to. He acted like he didn’t. But Sam had seen Dean cry more in front of him than anyone. Even their father.
He ran a shaking hand over his face as the brother in question opened the door to the bunker and dashed down the stairs before appearing in the library, several grocery bags, which he took to the kitchen, in his hands.
“There’s more in the car,” he said as he dumped them on the counter. “We were running low on food and I figured it would be smart to get some more while I was out.” Sam began pushing himself up to go help Dean bring in the rest of the groceries, but Dean placed a hand on his shoulder on his way past him, forcing him to sit down again as he said, “You rest. The last thing I want is for you to pass out because the grocery bags are too heavy or something.”
Sam managed a small laugh at that and watched Dean go back up the stairs and out the door. After the door snapped shut behind him, he hid the book he’d been looking through in his room and was back in the library, searching through another book before Dean had returned with more of their groceries.
“Find anything while I was gone?” he asked, setting the bags he was currently carrying next to the others.
“No,” Sam lied. “I don’t think there’s anything on…whatever this in any of these books.”
Dean groaned as he headed back to get the remaining groceries. “How the Hell are we supposed to figure out what this is if we can’t even -”
“Can’t even what?” Sam asked, prompting his brother to finish his sentence. He knew Dean was still there. He’d heard the door open, but it hadn’t closed. He waited for a response, but got none. And when he still hadn’t gotten one after calling out his question again, he pushed himself up from the table, staggering a bit as he did so, and headed in the direction Dean had gone, trying not to panic, too much. No one knew where they were. They’d taken extra care to make sure no angels or demons or anyone could find their hideout.
However, there was angel - or former angel as he now was - that knew where they were and when Sam entered the main room of the bunker and looked up at the balcony where the door was located, he saw that’s why Dean was frozen with the door open, looking shocked and angry at the same time.
Sam went up the stairs as quickly as possible, knowing already that his secret was going to be out in the open in a very ugly sort of way before too long. The odds of an angel (Former angel, he reminded himself again) not knowing what stigmata was - or how it looked when it first began - were next to zero.
Still, when he was standing by Dean, he forced a smile onto his face at the sight of Castiel, standing on their doorstep, looking a little worse for the wear, but otherwise appearing the same as he had the last time Sam had seen him.
“Cas!” he exclaimed, as though he were truly glad to see him, though he was already nervous as to what road any conversation they were going to have was going to go down.
“Sam,” he responded, turning his gaze from Dean, who looked as though he was about to either throw up or hit something, “we need to talk.”
( Galiliee)
( Nazareth)
(coming soon: Bethlehem)
Rating: R
Pairings: Wincest
Warnings: None (as of yet)
Word Count: 11, 438 (so far)
Summary: After the failed Trials, Sam Winchester becomes the Modern Messiah. Though he revels in his newfound powers and eventual fame, Dean hates it. He knows how this is going to end and he will do anything to save his brother from that fate.
When Sam woke up next, he felt more refreshed than he had in years. The last time Sam had gotten a good night’s sleep was before the death of Jessica. Every night since then, he’d tossed and turned, trying to erase dreams of her and everyone else he had ever loved dying, while he was unable to save them. It seemed that was his legacy, what he would leave behind when he, himself, finally died: a lot of dead friends and people he’d let down.
At least, that’s what he’d thought.
Until now.
Now he was going to leave behind so much more. He was going to die a savior, a messiah to the angels that Metatron had cast to Earth. When he died, he would take them up to Heaven with him. He would have done God’s work, truly God’s work, here on Earth, and, unlike the last time he’d opened his eyes in the place where he would spend eternity, this time…this time he would deserve to be there.
The thought made him smile like an idiot. He rolled over in bed and stretched leisurely. He was so happy about what was going to happen, what was already happening that he completely forgot there were downsides to it, and when he pushed himself up into a sitting position, he cried out in pain. The wounds in his palms hurt. A lot. They hadn’t hurt that badly before, but now they burned as though they were on fire. He even held them out in front of him to make sure they were not, in fact, aflame.
The burning went down from searing to extremely uncomfortable a few moments later and it was only then that Sam dropped his hands back into his lap, letting out a huff as he did so. He sat on his bed for a moment, thinking about his dinner with God and what he’d been told and decided that he couldn’t tell Dean. At least not yet. God had advised he tell his brother straight away, but he’d also said that he knew he wouldn’t. The stigmata was going to kill him. That much he’d already known and the last conversation he wanted to have with Dean - especially after all that had happened lately - was one that involved the words ‘I’m going to die soon.’ Dean would try to find a way to stop this and, though Sam didn’t think there was a way to stop it - it’d been decreed by God after all - what if there was? Dean wouldn’t listen to Sam’s reason. He would do everything in his power to stop the stigmata whether Sam wanted him to or not.
A soft flow of voices made its way from outside Sam’s door into his room. For a moment, he thought they were the angels speaking again, but the longer he listened, the more he realized that it was just the radio. Dean had set it up a few days ago and had been listening to it nonstop ever since the Cleansing of Heaven. Currently, the newscaster was talking about how strange some people were acting all across the globe.
“...thought it was a freak virus at first, but now it seems that large group of people have suddenly gotten amnesia. They don’t really seem to know how to do certain things. It’s almost as though they’re not from around here and, with the claims that some other people are making, that they saw people falling from the sky during the worldwide meteor shower, this is, in my humble opinion, a significant possibility…”
While Sam got up and opened the door to his room, heading back into the library, the newscaster went on to say that all of the people acting strangely seemed to be homeless, which could also attribute to the ‘people falling from the sky’ theory. A part of Sam hoped that no one figured out that they had in fact fallen from the sky and that the angels were smart enough not to mention that they were angels otherwise the sanitariums would fill up really fast.
Slowly opening the door to his bedroom, Sam realized for the first time the reason he could still hear the angels, though they’d fallen was because he was the second messiah. He also realized that saying that sounded like saying the Second Coming, which was supposed to be when Jesus would come back to take all of the worthy souls to Heaven before unleashing Hell on Earth where the unworthy would stay.
He sincerely hoped that was not what God had in mind.
Sam found Dean sitting in the library as he had before. This time, on top of a stack of books in front of him, was an old radio that crackled and had to be tapped every couple of minutes to keep working. Memories of sitting in the back of the Impala or a dirty motel room watching Dean do the same thing swam to the surface of Sam’s mind and he asked, “Haven’t we had that radio forever?”
Dean jumped at the sudden appearance of his brother, his arm outstretched, ready to hit the radio that had gone fuzzy and sounded more like a broken microphone than a radio. Just as before, books were scattered out in front of him, but this time, he had a notebook next to him. He seemed to be taking notes on whatever it was he was reading. Which showed Sam the importance of whatever subject his brother was researching. Dean never did anything even slightly academic unless he absolutely had to. There was a reason he’d never done well in school: he’d simply felt it didn’t matter.
Falling out of the stupor that an upright Sam had put him in, Dean blinked a few times before he hit the radio, forcing it to resume its broadcasting, and turned back to his books saying, “Yeah. I didn’t even think you remembered it. I found it when I was digging through the Impala looking for a radio a couple days ago.” He didn’t have to explain why he wanted one when their bunker didn’t have a TV or could even get a signal for cable.
“I’ve been remembering things a lot better lately,” Sam stated by way of explanation. He moved towards the table, again reading over Dean’s shoulder. His brother was no longer looking at a book that had a section on stigmata. He was looking at something else entirely. However, even from the short paragraph Sam read surreptitiously from behind Dean didn’t even really explain what his brother was researching. It seemed to be something to do with hellhounds and, though Sam knew Dean was not on the right track, he said nothing. In fact, secretly, he was glad his brother didn’t have any clue as to what was going on. He wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet.
“I figured that if I researched each part of the Trials, I might be able to figure out how…this,” here he gestured to Sam “started.” He let out a low chuckle. “Guess I kind of took over your job, eh, Sammy?”
Sam forced a smile and a laugh that matched his brother’s, replying, “I guess you did.”
He searched with his eyes, trying to make it look like he wasn’t searching for anything, for the book he’d been looking through before he passed out and had his visit with God. However, when Dean had been looking at that book before and Sam had been reading it over his shoulder, the book had been open and Sam hadn’t seen the cover. He knew that if he asked Dean for the book, he might figure out that Sam knew more about this than he was letting on. Dean wasn’t stupid by any means and he knew that if something was threatening Sam’s life and Sam knew something about it, there was a larger change he would keep it from him.
However, as Sam continued to scan the table, Dean said nothing. When Sam glanced at him, he realized this was because Dean had gone back to his research and he let out a small breath. Suddenly he felt guilty for keeping his knowledge from his brother. Dean was only trying to help him, only trying to find a way to keep him from dying because he couldn’t handle it again. He’d seen his Sammy die one too many times and he couldn’t do anymore.
And that was something Sam understood.
Not too long ago - he wasn’t sure that date would ever be far enough away in his memory - he’d watched his brother die every day over and over again, one hundred times, until he finally died for - what Sam had, at many times, though - was for good. It had turned out that was just an illusion. His brother’s timeline was somehow suspended for six months while Sam hunted down the trickster - turned out he was the archangel Gabriel - that had made him watch his brother die repeatedly. The very last thing Sam wanted to experience again was Dean dying. He’d done it enough. He couldn’t do it again.
And he knew Dean couldn’t either.
But he was going to have to. He just didn’t know it yet.
Maybe you should tell him, a voice whispered in his mind. He has a right to know.
Yes, Sam agreed. But I can’t have that conversation with him. Not just yet.
And that was what he said every day. For the next month and a half, he told himself he wasn’t ready. He went to bed, thinking about what he should tell Dean and when he should do it. He woke up deciding today was not the day and going about his business, spending most of his time in the library with Dean, flipping through all of the books, trying to find the one he’d seen shortly after this all had begun, explaining stigmata in full detail. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t already know what stigmata was in full detail. He just wanted to refresh his memory so he would understand what he was about to experience and so, to keep himself from having to talk to Dean about what was going on - and under the pretense of helping his brother research - he looked through the books Dean had already gone through, certain the one he was searching for was in that pile, saying he was looking for anything Dean might have missed. Of course, he found nothing, but he wasn’t really doing what he said he was anyway.
As the days went by and they found more of nothing - or rather, Dean did - Sam’s stigmata did not progress. His palms bled more some days than others - and those days, when they ran out of bandages and Dean had to run to the nearby pharmacy to get more, Sam would search frantically through the pile of books Dean had discarded, trying to find the one he was looking for, but to no avail - but, for the most part, nothing significant that would alert Dean to look somewhere other than the books he’d pulled from their shelves, taken from the library, or got at the secondhand bookshop.
It was on the six week mark from the day his stigmata had started that Sam finally found the book while Dean was out. There was nothing on the cover to suggest that it was a book about stigmata. It was only a red, leather-bound volume with some sort of intricate carving done into its front and back covers, but the moment Sam opened it and began to flip through the pages, he knew he’d found his diamond in the rough. By the time Dean had gotten back, Sam had reached the part he’d read before. He’d been studying the illustrations, the carefully written words, thinking about how much museums would pay for it, but mostly thinking about how this book could help him predict what was going to happen to him next.
You could’ve just looked in the Bible for that, a voice told him, but he ignored it (even though, as usual, it was right). He’d found what he was looking for. Now he just had to make it seem like he wasn’t as interested in this book as he really was. Otherwise Dean would find out what was going on and, as per usual, he wasn’t ready to have that conversation.
Typically, stigmata starts with the wounds in the palms where Christ was nailed to the cross. The wounds can also be in the wrists, but, for the most part, the wounds are in the palms. These wounds will happen quickly. The palms will start bleeding immediately and, within the next few days, start hurting. Next, the wounds in the feet will appear. These will appear more slowly than the palm wounds. First, the subject’s skin will become inflamed before eventually giving way. As with the palm wounds, the feet wounds will only start hurting after two or three days. After that, the scratches from the Crown of Thorns will appear. Again, the skin will be inflamed before giving way. Depending on the subject, these wounds will bleed more or less frequently. Following this are the whip marks on the back. As with the marks from the Crown of Thorns, these will bleed more or less frequently depending on the subject. It also depends on their depth. Finally, the wound from the Holy Lance will appear. This is the wound that typically kills stigmatics as it tends to bleed more often and more furiously than the others. Again, the skin will be inflamed before the wound appears, so the stigmatics have time to prepare.
In addition to these wounds, stigmatics have been known to experience visions of Christ’s sufferings, feel His sorrow and His pain, and cleanse those around them of their sins. They may go into a trance during their visions and reenact what it is that Christ experienced during His own suffering. Physicians will be unable to cure the wounds of any and all stigmatics. The wounds are known to smell of flowers or perfume. This is typically called the Odor of Sanctity. The wounds are also accompanied by extreme pain, though, this varies from person to person. Crying tears of blood is also very common as is a strong desire to receive Holy Communion and often. Stigmatics have been known to be overwhelmed with emotion and can cry or laugh at the drop of a hat. Finally, stigmatics do not feel the need to eat or drink and, as a result, experience heavy weight loss. If they do not die of blood loss, this can be what ends up killing them.
Sam closed the book and sat back in his chair, slumping slightly, staring ahead at nothing in particular. He’d been glad of this to begin with. It had sounded like something that might finally make him feel clean, but after reading all of that, all of the things he would experience before he finally did die - and not only because God was trying to bring him to Heaven, but most likely of something as simple as starvation or blood loss - he was beginning to wonder if this really was such a good thing after all.
Of course, it’s a good thing! The voice in his head argued. You are going to be pure! Clean, for the first time in your life! You don’t think that’s a good thing? Are you really willing to give this up because you’re afraid of a little pain? You’ve been through worse in Hell! This will be a walk in the park compared to that.
Yes. That was true. This pain would be nothing compared to what Lucifer and Michael forced him to experience in Lucifer’s cage, but he hadn’t had to see Dean’s expressions, watch him cry because his little brother was in pain, when he was in the cage. He’d have to see that now. He was the only one Dean really showed his emotions around. He tried not to. He acted like he didn’t. But Sam had seen Dean cry more in front of him than anyone. Even their father.
He ran a shaking hand over his face as the brother in question opened the door to the bunker and dashed down the stairs before appearing in the library, several grocery bags, which he took to the kitchen, in his hands.
“There’s more in the car,” he said as he dumped them on the counter. “We were running low on food and I figured it would be smart to get some more while I was out.” Sam began pushing himself up to go help Dean bring in the rest of the groceries, but Dean placed a hand on his shoulder on his way past him, forcing him to sit down again as he said, “You rest. The last thing I want is for you to pass out because the grocery bags are too heavy or something.”
Sam managed a small laugh at that and watched Dean go back up the stairs and out the door. After the door snapped shut behind him, he hid the book he’d been looking through in his room and was back in the library, searching through another book before Dean had returned with more of their groceries.
“Find anything while I was gone?” he asked, setting the bags he was currently carrying next to the others.
“No,” Sam lied. “I don’t think there’s anything on…whatever this in any of these books.”
Dean groaned as he headed back to get the remaining groceries. “How the Hell are we supposed to figure out what this is if we can’t even -”
“Can’t even what?” Sam asked, prompting his brother to finish his sentence. He knew Dean was still there. He’d heard the door open, but it hadn’t closed. He waited for a response, but got none. And when he still hadn’t gotten one after calling out his question again, he pushed himself up from the table, staggering a bit as he did so, and headed in the direction Dean had gone, trying not to panic, too much. No one knew where they were. They’d taken extra care to make sure no angels or demons or anyone could find their hideout.
However, there was angel - or former angel as he now was - that knew where they were and when Sam entered the main room of the bunker and looked up at the balcony where the door was located, he saw that’s why Dean was frozen with the door open, looking shocked and angry at the same time.
Sam went up the stairs as quickly as possible, knowing already that his secret was going to be out in the open in a very ugly sort of way before too long. The odds of an angel (Former angel, he reminded himself again) not knowing what stigmata was - or how it looked when it first began - were next to zero.
Still, when he was standing by Dean, he forced a smile onto his face at the sight of Castiel, standing on their doorstep, looking a little worse for the wear, but otherwise appearing the same as he had the last time Sam had seen him.
“Cas!” he exclaimed, as though he were truly glad to see him, though he was already nervous as to what road any conversation they were going to have was going to go down.
“Sam,” he responded, turning his gaze from Dean, who looked as though he was about to either throw up or hit something, “we need to talk.”
( Galiliee)
( Nazareth)
(coming soon: Bethlehem)