Beneath Every Layer of Skin - Epilogue
The Impala stands glinting in the driveway of an old home in Lawrence, Kansas. Castiel's standing in the back yard, face turned upwards to the sunlight, when Sam finds him. His shirt is pale blue, unbuttoned at the top but nicely tucked into his clean blue jeans. The shirt matches his eyes.
“Morning,” Sam yawns, walking towards him with a pronounced limp and wrapping his impossibly long arms around Castiel's shoulders from behind. Cas doesn't flinch. The early morning sun plays their shadows across the white sheets hanging on the line.
Cas leans back into the bracket of Sam's arms. “I thought you had a law class.”
“Cancelled, thankfully. It's boring. Sucks taking it again, just 'cause I'm legally dead.”
Castiel chuckles slightly. "A hunter called, while you were asleep. Garth. Thinks he has a left over leviathan.”
“Did you tell him to behead it? Easy as anything.”
“Mm-hm. I had to remind him that they're no more scary than any other thing with teeth now. It didn't reassure him.”
Sam laughs. “Good. Bobby called my cell, said he has a case that sounds like demons one county over, so if you and Dean want to check it out tomorrow, I'll hit the books tonight.”
“Sounds good.” Castiel turns around, eyes searching the lines on Sam's face. “You didn't have a bad day, today, did you?”
“No. No hallucinations, not even a whisper. It's been over a month since the last one, Cas.” His smile reaches his eyes. "I'm just tired."
Castiel kisses Sam's chin, before slipping out of Sam's arms and laying down onto the grass.. Sam leaves him sitting in the sunlight, staring at the sky. He retires to the study with a cup of black coffee, pulling out ancient books whose pages he's searched a thousand times, trying to squeeze one small piece of knowledge from them. His coffee has gone cold by the time the phone rings, from the line labeled personal. "Sam," he answers simply.
"Uh, hello, Sam."
Sam's eyebrows furrow, and he readjusts the earpiece in the crook of his neck. "Who is this?"
The voice on the phone clears his throat. "Uh, well, it's me, Chuck..."
"Chuck?" Sam drops the tome he had been flicking through. "You're still alive! Good to hear, man. Where- How did you get this number?"
Chuck laughs nervously. "I just kinda... knew it. Anyways, I just wanted to apologize, Sam."
"Apologize?" Sam asks, thoroughly confused.
"Yeah, for what you've been through. What all of you have been through."
"Chuck, you're just a writer."
"I am."
Sam pauses for a long time. "So why... did you call now?"
"Because there was still baggage. But I took care of it."
"What do you mean?"
"The three of you, you're weighed down with a lot of unnecessary guilt. That... I didn't feel that was right, not after all you've done. So I took care of it."
Sam sees Adam out of the corner of his eye. He almost drops the phone, but Adam is free of blood and the smile on his face doesn't look like a hallucination. As soon as the image is there, it's gone. "Oh." He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to take it all in. "Why me?"
"You're less likely to hang up, or find a way to punch me through the phone, like Dean surely would," Chuck quips, "Also, you deserve it."
Sam's mouth goes dry. "What about..."
"He's just outside."
"Who's on the phone?" asks Castiel from the doorway. Sam hesitates, unsure of what to say, or how to even begin. His heart dances in his throat.
"Let me," says Chuck's voice. "Let me speak to him. It's time I do."
The End