spn_springfling | Like Glue by majestic_shriek for <user site="livejournal.com" u

Title: Like Glue
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Castiel Gen
Rating: PG
Any warnings: None

Written by

wolfrider89!

There’s downtime. It’s rare, but Dean’s taken to savouring it where he can get it. It’ll all be coming to a head soon; take Dick down or die trying, and Dean’s ready for that. It’s been a strange few weeks; things Dean thought were lost and gone forever suddenly all back and there in front of him. Castiel, wandering and confused, bringing up all those feelings of anger and guilt and things that Dean can’t even explain; Meg, fucking Meg, back again, can’t seem to keep the bitch down, but Dean supposes there’s always going to be demons in their lives, it’s been foretold ever since Sam drank the blood of Azazel; Bobby, and Dean’s so conflicted about that one he tries to avoid thinking about it; and Sam. There’s Sam, back again – not that he’s been gone this time, not in the physical sense, but back as his full-whole-all there brother, and that’s thanks to Cas, and Dean doesn’t know what to do with that.

So there’s downtime, and they’re holed up in Rufus’ old cabin. Dinner was cold pizza, and Sam looked pissy at the amount of congealed grease on his slice, but he ate it anyway, and Dean’s just so grateful to see that look on Sam’s face again after he was so scared that he’d lost his brother to Lucifer’s madness forever that he doesn’t even comment.

Cas has fluttered off somewhere; he was with them, travelled back, but somewhere on the way back he’d muttered something about the bees and disappeared. Dean opened his mouth to say something, he didn’t know what - stay, Cas, just – stay, for a moment - but Cas was gone before he could even form the words. Sam had looked at him and just shrugged sleepily, and dozed off again, still catching up on sleep, and Dean had completed the rest of the drive in silence.

Sam looks tired again now, eyes drooping as he sits on the couch, hardly watching whatever’s on the TV. Dean’s not really watching either; he’s watching Sam.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Sam gently in the arm. “Go to bed.”

“M’not tired,” Sam replies, but he’s cut off by a yawn and smiles sheepishly at Dean.

“Cos I’ve not heard that one before. Go on, git.” He pushes at Sam’s shoulder, trying to move his bulk up and off the seat. It’s not easy, and it’s not very successful, but it seems to make Sam move into action, and he stumbles to his feet, rubbing at his eyes.

“You’ll be alright on the couch?” he asks, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Go and sleep, Sammy.”

Sam shrugs his shoulders, a minute movement, but he walks off into the bedroom. Dean watches him leave, pull the door ajar – not fully closed – behind him, and listens to the soft sounds of Sam pulling back the covers, getting into bed. Eventually, he turns his attention back to the TV. The programme’s changed to some shitty looking infomercial. Dean switches it off, and leans back into the silence, taking a pull on the flask, relishing the burn as the alcohol slips down his throat.

“You’re drinking more,” says a voice from behind him, and Dean twists round, half expecting Bobby, but it’s Castiel, standing there with that oh-so-familiar expression on his face. Dean hadn’t heard him appear; it’s been so long that maybe he doesn’t notice any more.

“Yeah, well. Things are different,” he says, not meeting Castiel’s eyes, because they’ll see right through him if he does.

“They are,” Cas agrees, and he’s still standing there. There’s an awkward silence, and Dean takes another long drink. “The bees were glad to see me,” says Castiel, after a beat, and Dean doesn’t know what to say in response. “They are worried, but my presence calms them.”

“That’s…that’s good, Cas.”

“They have offered me some of their honey. I believe you would like it.”

Dean doesn’t know where it all ended up like this: holed up in a cabin with a recovering brother, a half broken angel and an increasingly vengeful spirit. Was it meant to be like this? Is this how it’s all meant to end?

His thoughts are broken by a sudden whimper from the bedroom, and Dean’s instincts immediately switch to protect. Sam. There’s another cry, and Dean can hear the breathy cries of “no,” in Sam’s soft sleepy tone. Shit, this wasn’t meant to happen - Sam’s better, Sam’s been better. Dean turns accusingly on Castiel, who is looking in Sam’s direction.

“I did wonder…” he begins.

“Wonder what?” Dean bites out, and he’s on his feet now, heading towards Sam. Fuck.

“If – I am sorry, but the damage in Sam’s, to Sam – it was very great. I removed as much as I could, I took it on for him, for you, but I could not be certain—“

“You couldn’t be certain that you’d cured it all,” Dean finishes bitterly. “Thanks for the heads up.” Of course this couldn’t be perfect; of course Sam couldn’t be complete. That would be something good, and Dean isn’t allowed good things. He pushes the bedroom door open, and Sam’s sprawled widely on the bed, covers all over the place, limbs twitching as he works through a nightmare. Dean can imagine what he’s seeing. He’s seen the same things, more or less, lived through nightmares like these. It kills him to see Sam in this position. He was meant to protect Sam, this should never have happened.

Castiel has followed him, and is hovering at his shoulder. “I am sorry,” he repeats. Dean doesn’t reply, just makes his way to the side of the bed. He places a hand on Sam’s bare shoulder. It’s meant to be a calming gesture. It worked when Sam was little, and had nightmares about the monsters that came in the night. Dean would put his hand on Sam – I’m here, Sam, you’re safe– and Sam would calm down, slip back into a nightmare free sleep.

Sam doesn’t calm this time, and Dean wants to cry. He wants to grab the flask and drink himself into oblivion because he can’t help.

“Maybe he needs more,” says Castiel, from the door. Dean had almost forgotten he was there. Dean looks at him, but he still doesn’t say anything. He nods, a small gesture, a small tendril towards Castiel. He can’t forgive Cas, not when Cas is the reason, partly, that his brother is like this, but Cas is broken too. Cas gave all that he was and more for them, and Cas has given again to help Sam. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. Nothing is ever enough when it comes to Sam.

Dean shucks off his shoes, and turns back the covers, slipping under them next to Sam. He keeps his hand on his brother’s shoulder, but now he’s able to embrace more of Sam in something akin to a hug. His chest his pressed up against Sam’s back, and he hooks a foot around one of Sam’s ankles, trying to calm the movement of his legs. He swings his other arm around Sam’s body and takes his hand. It should be weird, but it’s not. Dean’s slept in the same bed as Sam before, woken up with his brother’s limbs octopus-like around his body. They never had the same personal boundaries as other people, growing up in such close quarters. It’s been a long time, but this isn’t weird, especially when Sam’s breathing begins to slow and even out, and his moans die to soft whimpers. Dean strokes the skin on the back of Sam’s hand. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers into Sam’s neck, “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.” Sam’s eyelids smooth, and he makes a soft sleepy sound, and pushes back into Dean’s arms. Dean lets him, hold on tighter.

He’s lost in that when a small noise from the door brings him back to the world. It’s Cas, pulling the door closed behind him. “Hey,” Dean whispers, before he can think otherwise. Cas pauses, and opens the door again, looking blankly at the Dean-Sam pile on the bed.

“It has worked,” he says, and Dean nods.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, and pauses. Cas stands there a while, before he looks away.

“I should go,” he says. “The bees--“

“Wait,” says Dean, and it’s almost like his voice is working separate from his brain. “Don’t—just. C’mere.”

Cas doesn’t move, and Dean doesn’t say anything else, but he knows that Cas should join them. Sam is broken, and Dean can help him, in some small way. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. Cas is broken, and although Dean isn’t ready for a lot of things, this is a small gesture of forgiveness. It’s a start.

“C’mon,” Dean repeats, and this time Cas moves, slipping off the ever present trench coat. Dean shifts Sam over with some difficulty so that he’s more firmly in the middle of the bed, leaving a space for Cas.

“Dean,” Cas begins, but Dean interrupts him. “No talking. Time for sleep.” He doesn’t even know if Cas needs sleep these days, but Cas doesn’t argue, just climbs under the covers behind Dean. He’s distant, perched on the edge of the bed, and it makes Dean uncomfortable just thinking about it.

“Get over here,” he says, releasing Sam’s hand for a moment to pull Cas towards him, draping Cas’ arm over both him and his brother. “Can’t sleep with you all awkward and weird over there.” Dean doesn’t think about what this means, or what this looks like, or what’ll happen in the morning when they all wake up together, but he’s pretty sure Sam won’t mind. He feels comfortable like this, sandwiched like glue between his two broken people, his brother and his angel, and he can feel himself falling asleep. Maybe he can finally hold them both together, and hold himself together at the same time.