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He's not sure how he's let it come to this.
He's an eminently powerful being. An angel. A soldier of God.
He's more than that. He's the chosen one on a mission to unite and rule Heaven and Earth.
And yet .
And yet, there's a human hand around his throat and he's doing nothing to stop it. He's not shoving it away. He lets it rest there.
It would be easy enough to stop the man before him from hurting him. Castiel chooses not to. He stays fixed in place, in this isle between stacked car wrecks at the Singer Salvage Yard.
"You're going to help me," Sam presses out between gritted teeth. His thumb and index finger bore into Castiel's skin. The grip around his esophagus tightens until the pressure becomes too much.
Castiel gasps for air. He does not technically need to breathe. He chooses to get light-headed in the same way he has decided to stay a while longer. He could disappear at will, if he wanted to get out of Sam's grip.
"Sam. Don't do this."
Sam doesn't back off. A smile forms on his lips.
It's a strange moment to be thinking of Dean. There have been many strange moments since their initial meeting. Many times when Castiel has thought of him, unable to identify why. There is no reason for it to be different now.
Castiel can picture him. Can see the worried look in Dean's deep green eyes. The way his mouth moves, when he keeps it a tight thin line, as if he's unsure if he means for the words to escape. He can hear Dean's voice loud and clear: This isn't Sam.
Dean would claim those fingernails digging into Castiel's skin belong to someone else. That it's not his brother leaving those painful moon-shaped tracks. But whose hands are they, then? Don't they belong to someone real? An actual breathing and living person?
Dean would be placated by the thought that it is not his brother who's trying to blackmail Castiel. That it's not Sam-Sam stepping into his best friend's space to crush his windpipes.
Castiel knows better. He knows the person before him. Could recognize his scent a mile away. The smile on his face might be wicked and skewed, but he's seen it before, if only seldom.
He didn't do it on purpose, by the way. Bringing Sam back like this, that is. He feels bad for Sam's soul, but he doesn't have it in himself to feel bad for the rest of Sam that is standing in front of him. It's easier to live like this, Castiel figures. Without the pain and the bad conscience.
"You're going to help me or I'll fucking kill you," Sam all but spits in his face. Castiel chortles out a laugh, partly at the absurdity of the threat and partly because he repeats the thought: Yes, this actually in fact is Sam Winchester.
This isn't a robot or a shell of his former being. It's hard to say how much exactly of his old friend Sam Winchester is standing before him.
The complexity of the mind and body problem has confounded philosophers for centuries. Many men have claimed to be able to define the true relationship between thought and consciousness in the human mind, and the brain as part of the physical body. Castiel is not about to be a fool and try to offer an exact answer either.
The singularity of monism has its draws. A single unifying substance of reality sounds nice and clean. One essence of humanity that contains both body and mind. A completely rigid separation between the realms of mind and matter is ludicrous. Castiel’s own experience inside his vessel is proof enough that the physical and the mental can merge.
It seems fairly obvious to Castiel though, that dualists got at least a few things right too. The existence of heaven and hell is build on dualism: Bodies die and souls remain.
Besides, if soul and body couldn't be separated into sole entities, Castiel would not have been able to save anything from the cage.
It's just the rigid distinction between the realms of mind and matter that Castiel doubts. After all, Castiel has felt himself, a being of no physicality, interact with his vessel in all kinds of ways. And even though Sam lacks his soul, it would not be correct to think of him as having no kind of internal experience whatsoever. He has a mind. It’s just that what this soulless mind entails, precisely, is nebulous.
Castiel wonders if this is part of the appeal of staying here: the opportunity to learn more. He doesn't want to fight Sam off unless he leaves him no other choice.
The past months —avoiding Sam, not heeding his call— have been arduous. There is no need to avoid him anymore. Now, Castiel can marvel and ponder all he wants. His only constraint is the fact that he's needed in battle somewhere else. Staying down here on Earth with Sam any longer would be pure indulgence.
Sam Winchester has always been a mystery to him. More so than Dean, God bless him. Dean the brave and good son and soldier. A pure soul, despite his bad temper and his small shortcomings. Castiel knows his friend inside out.
But Sam? Sam baffles Castiel. And the Sam he's facing right now is only another piece in the great mysterious puzzle that is Sam Winchester. It's another clue, a big one, that is going to help Castiel figure out the man.
The boy with the demon blood. And now also soulless on top of it.
It leaves Sam ruthless and cold, Dean says. Maybe so. But Sam, even this Sam, is not evil. If he were evil, why would he still be acting selflessly, and chasing demons? Why did he seek out his family to hunt? Castiel knows it's not instinct and familiarity. Sam, even without his soul, wants to do the right thing.
Even now, with his big hand around Castiel's throat and his cold hazel eyes staring down at him. Sam's doing this because he thinks it's the right thing. He's following his own interests, of course. But so is everyone, humans and angels alike. Sam's neither purely hedonistic nor reveling in others’ pain. He's existing somewhere between good and evil. He just is.
"Why are you smiling, Cas?" Sam asks in an icy tone that's still so unfamiliar. "I'm serious."
"You can't kill me," Castiel offers, his voice hoarse.
"You think I'm that sentimental?" Sam huffs. "No soul, remember?"
Sam's grip softens, so Castiel can get out more than a few struggled words. "Yes. I remember. You're all logic and drive now. So you know killing me is not your best interest. You need me."
At this Sam looks strangely annoyed. He lets go of Castiel. "I don't need you," he spits. "Stupid angel."
It hurts to hear him talk like this. Like Castiel is a nobody. A stranger.
Castiel strokes over the tender skin of his vessel's throat. He can feel the blood pulsating stronger there. "If you didn't need me, you wouldn't have summoned me."
"Yeah, and if you didn't plan on helping me, why the fuck are you still here?" Sam snides. For a short moment Castiel doesn't know what to reply.
It's true. Rationally, he should’ve left a long time ago. He shouldn't have come here at all. He can't help Sam because it would go against his own plans, that he can't even reveal yet. Despite this, Castiel still feels the need, maybe an irrational need, to keep the Winchester brothers on his good side. As friends and as confidants (if not more).
It's not much longer now, until he can be truthful again. Once Crowley's nothing but a tiny but necessary stain in his history. Once they cannot stop him anymore. When Castiel feels especially jubilant about the triumphant future awaiting him, he sees proud obedience. They will look up to him on their own accord.
"I'm not going to help you," he says slowly, because your plan is not in your best interest."
Sam scoffs and cocks his head to the side. "... But?"
"I'm curious," Castiel admits. He steps forward, bridges the distance that Sam has gapped. He reaches out. Sam doesn't flinch when Castiel puts a hand to his forehead. Of course he senses the lack of soul, but there's no void. He senses something else. Something alive that Castiel tends to sense in other non-human animals. In the trees around them. In all the life that his Father has created.
"What are you doing?" Sam asks, startled.
"You feel things," Castiel says. "Pain, anger, pride, other emotions."
Sam's lower lip trembles, as if he wants to offer a reply, but his jaw won't open.
"You are aware of this, of course," Castiel continues. "Because your brain functions just as well as it always has. You're as intelligent as you ever were. You sense yourself. Explain it to me."
Sam wants to argue, but maybe he relishes the opportunity to talk. Here is someone offering him an outlet for his thoughts. There hasn’t been anyone lately who’d want to listen to him. Someone who wants to his actual thoughts and not just what the old Sam would say.
When Sam speaks, he sounds different than before, younger and almost like the boy Castiel met years ago. "It's hard to compare it to anything. It's like if I asked you how you experience life. In the grand scheme of things... I just feel how I feel."
"Yes, but you have a comparison," Castiel muses. "You remember life before. You remember hell even. You know the difference between yourself now and yourself with a soul."
After a moment, Sam speaks again, a half-smile on his face. "If anything, it's a bit like that one time I was on anti-depressants. All the bad feelings, they're just... gone. All at once."
"But so are the good ones?"
Sam shrugs. "Not all of them."
"No?"
"I couldn't get a hard-on for weeks back then." Sam says, with a straight face. "That hasn’t been a problem now."
"So you do have feelings. You desire like any other primal animal. But what's your motivation?"
"My motivation? What, like in life?" Sam coughs out a laugh. He steps away, and leans against one of the old cars. " What's yours? "
Castiel walks over to him, puts his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and stares at Sam's face for a while. "You're not a robot."
"No shit."
"But do you really feel no pain beyond the physical? Does it not hurt, the way Dean treats you? Is there any part of you that yearns for him to love you like he used to? Don’t you wish for him to stop seeing you as mere means to an end?"
Sam looks up slowly. There's a gleam in his eyes. "What's your deal? Why are you psychoanalyzing me? Do you have some kind of soulless kink?" He rolls his right fist into the palm of his left hand. "I used to - well, I looked up to you. To your whole kind really, but to you specifically. And I don't get it now, why I used to do that. You're just as lost and confused as anyone else without God's direct guidance. It's pathetic."
"I suppose it would look like that to you." If he only could tell him now what lays ahead. The cleansing of the Earth, unbound glory and peace. But he cannot. Not yet.
"You don't think it is?" Sam huffs. Castiel wants to ask more, but he feels that Sam is not receptive right now. It's okay. He's treating his former friend as a thought experiment. He suspects it's not fair to expect his full participation with no reciprocal gains. Not that it seems to be Sam's problem with it.
"What do you want from me?" Sam tilts his head to the side again and stares. "Why don't you go fly back to your pathetic brothers and sisters, if you're not going to help me?"
Castiel supposes now would be the right time to do as Sam suggests and disappear. But there's something still holding him there. "I think I feel I'm in your debt." It's partly the truth.
"Ya think?" Sam barks out another cold laugh.
Castiel wonders if he'll ever see and hear the other kind again, the happy laughter that takes over Sam's whole face and makes it shine like the sun. Those are probably kept where his soul is.
"Maybe there's some sort of comfort that I can bring you. One that doesn't involve any of the celestial help you desire which I'm incapable of giving you right now."
"You bore me," Sam says. "I don't need your presence for your fucking wit. If you can't help me get my soul back, you're of no use to me. Go suck my brother's dick some more. He's sure to appreciate it."
"Does Dean know I'm here?" Castiel asks, taken aback. He's not sure why it would matter. But something about Dean knowing this conversation is taking place makes him feel uneasy. He looks around the car yard, but there's no one else but the two of them. Of course, Dean can't sense him being here.
"Yeah, me and Dean, we're really tight right now." Sarcasm, Castiel notes. "All those moments when he's not about to rip my head off. He'd stab me in my sleep if I slept at all."
"He doesn't think you're you," Castiel offers as an explanation.
"He thinks he doesn't know me. Like I'm not the same brother who's..." Sam breathes out frustrated. "Fuck this. I'm not going to explain myself to you. You of all people. You've ruined my life enough."
"Have I?" Castiel pulls up an eyebrow. "If you're not negatively affected by your affliction, why did I ruin you? Did you not say you were happy without your soul?"
"It's- I'm-" And this, the stuttering, it's extremely interesting to Castiel. Sam's not supposed to be conflicted in his soulless condition. He's supposed to self-assured and rational all the time.
But here's a mistake Dean makes when he thinks of his brother as a robot or as an animal. Even a robot's head tends to combust when you give it impossible tasks to solve. Animals, on the other hand, are emotional all the time. Angry, confused, hormonal. Sam is still a human being with feelings and interests. With a heart and a pulse and the same blood running through him as always.
"I don't really care to be honest," Sam says. "But Dean... Dean wants me to get it back."
"If the only reason for you to get it back is your brother, you might want to reconsider." Castiel's hands dig deeper into the pockets of his trench coat. "What do you want?"
Sam thinks for a moment. "I don't mind the idea of having a soul back per se. I was used to it, I'd get used to it again. But a soul that's been down there for-" Sam starts counting on his hands and gives up after a while. "I was down there with it for a hot minute. If you think my soul was broken before, what do you think it is now? Whatever is left of it, I sure don't want it!"
Castiel nods. "Yes, I see."
Sam looks incredulous. "You see? Are you telling me you understand what I'm saying? You don't think I'm a monster like Dean?"
"No. Of course I don't." Castiel shrugs. "I have no soul myself, yet I am no monster. Why would the lack of one would make you so? I've seen enough people with their souls intact who torture. Soullessness is no prerequisite for treating other creatures inhumanely. You're merely a more rational being now. You're human. You're still you."
There's a long pause.
"You know what's weird about this?" Sam asks in a small voice that doesn't carry well. Castiel moves closer to him, steps towards the car scraps that Sam sits within. "You thought I was already a monster before, but you claim you don't think so anymore."
“I never thought of you as a monster."
"Yes, you did. You thought I was tainted. That the demon blood inside me made me uncontrollable. And you were right."
"I was not." Castiel's feet kick against a rubber wheel. He steps as close to Sam as physically possible without sitting down in his lap. "You are much more than I thought you were. It was celestial hubris on my part to assume any different."
Sam huffs again, as he has done many times tonight.
Castiel touches Sam's face, lets a finger run over the side of cheek, up to where his hair line begins.
"No," Sam says. "This wasn't hubris. This here is."
Castiel doesn't understand, but he thinks he might if he lets this go on. He palms the whole left side of Sam's face now. It is warm and soft against his fingers.
"Dean is right to be scared of me," Sam almost whispers. "It would be wise of you to follow suit."
"You want me to fear you?" Castiel asks, curiously and a bit amused. "I don't think I can do that." It's true. He's always been intrigued by Sam. His daring behavior only strengthens the intrigue.
"I'm curious," Sam mutters against Castiel's palm. "You think the abomination you saw in me was only related to me soul? Am I pure now? Or is my body still toxic? How deep does it run, you think? You can tell me now. Words don't hurt me anymore."
Castiel takes his hand away. "You were never-"
"No, please. Tell me. I'm honestly curious. You really think you're so much better than me. The reverence I held for your kind is-" Sam spits on the ground. It's too dark to see but Castiel's eyes surge to the ground anyway, looking for the wet spot of saliva amidst the dirt.
"You're still fascinated by angels," Castiel says, matter-of-factly. "You're still fascinated by me."
They're standing so close now. Castiel can hear Sam's breathing growing more ragged.
Sam says, "Fascination and adoration aren't the same thing."
"You used to adore me?" If Sam is not joking, this is an honestly shocking revelation to Castiel.
"Don't act like you didn't know."
"I truly did not know."
Sam makes a gurgling sound that's probably supposed to be laughter. It sounds more like he's struggling for breath. "That's... that's hilarious, really! You didn't know that? I figure you just didn't care. Hell, I'm still sure you're just messing with me. I just don't know why. Is this a game to you? Are you trying to figure me out to help Dean in getting rid of me? Because if so: good luck with that. I still know this guy better than anyone else in the world, better than he knows himself. It's-"
"I'm not messing with you," Castiel disrupts Sam's speech. He places both his hands on Sam's shoulders. "I did not know of your reverence for me. But you might be right, I might not have focused enough of my attention on you in the past to notice. And you are hard to read, Sam Winchester. With or without a soul."
"But you're more into me without a soul?" Sam hitches up the corner of his lips. "I get it. I like myself better like this too."
"No." Castiel shakes his head. "I don't like you better like this. I'm just trying to get to know this aspect of you. I don't fear it like Dean does. I-"
Castiel forgets what he meant to say when a hand grabs hold of his hair and yanks him down. Sam kisses him roughly. Dry chapped lips press against Cas' only for a short moment, before Sam presses his tongue into his mouth. Castiel finds himself reacting without questioning it. The hot warm mouth is new and upsetting, but in an interesting way.
"You don't fear me?" Sam pulls away only a bit. Inches from his mouth. "You should fear me."
Castiel can hear his vessel's heart beating in his ears.
"The things you used to tell me." Sam's voice is one big threat. "The stuff you thought about me, that you, frankly, still think about me? That I'm a bad excuse for a brother to a greater man? That I'm tainted and easily corruptible?" Their ragged breathing is almost in sync now. Castiel stares down into these soulless hazel eyes. The moon has gracefully decided to make them shine. There's still humanity in all the rage. "It's. All. True." Sam licks over Castiel's lower lip.
Castiel surges forward. He tries to catch the other's mouth again, but Sam draws away.
"You know what, though? You're just as bad. No, you're worse than me. How does that feel?" Sam laughs an ugly laugh. "How does it feel to mess up worse than me? To be a bigger fuck up than the guy who started the apocalypse?"
"I don't- I'm not-"
Sam gets up and pushes Castiel's chest, leaves him tumbling backwards a few steps. "Go fuck yourself." Sam smiles a deranged smile. "I don't want you and your righteousness. If you were honest with yourself... You're not trying to be a good guy out of the greatness of your heart! Forget about the fact that you keep messing it up - the whole reason you're trying to do good is to impress my brother. How pathetic is that? Your ethereal daddy doesn't care about you, so you turn to the first guy with a nice jawline who gives you the time of day? How absolutely pathetic are you?"
They stare at each other for a moment, before Sam mumbles another Pathetic and turns to leave.
Castiel watches Sam stagger away, his broad shoulders aggressively tense. He's soldiering away like a cowboy after a lost shootout.
"Sam." His voice is firm and authoritative, and Sam immediately turns around.
"What?"
"You're wrong," Castiel says. He takes his time as he walks up to Sam. "You're wrong about me."
Sam sniffs and aggressively rubs over his nose, almost like he's punching himself. "I seriously doubt that. I've spent years trying to figure you out." He slowly shakes his head. "I've got a pretty firm understanding of what and who you are."
"How firm can your estimation be if it wavers between apprehension and want?"
"You think I want you?" Sam growls. "You think I'd still want you after all the shit that-" He stops short, studies Castiel's face.
"You've got no conscience," Castiel all but whispers. "But everything else is still in place, isn't it? If you were frustrated with me before the cage, you still are now. If you felt differently about me, then-"
Suddenly, Sam takes a hold of his arm and yanks it behind Castiel's back. He forces him forward until they reach one of the car wrecks. He moves Castiel into position. His upper body slightly bends over the hood of an old American vehicle, his arm twisted. It hurts. But as always, he could easily move away.
And yet.
Sam pushes him against the car and presses his nose into Castiel's neck. "Is this your fucked up way of asking me about my feelings for you?" His breath tickles. "You want to know if I love you?" He says the word like it's part of a foreign language he doesn't speak.
Sam continues, "You really should think long and hard about what it is you're really asking me. Because you're right: me? I'm still human. I can feel things. I can feel you trembling under my touch right now. I know your dick is twitching at the way our bodies touch. I'm human, alright. But love?" The small laughter vibrates from Sam's lips to every fiber of Castiel's being. "If you want to know if Sam Winchester’s got a fucking crush on you, you should go back to hell and ask the part that gives a damn. Because I don't care about your little feelings. Hell, I don't really care about my own. You want to know what it feels like being me? It feels fine. It feels fine as long as people don't keep bothering me!"
"And I," Castiel asks,"am I one of these people bothering you?"
Sam doesn't reply right away. Instead, he presses his nose into Castiel's neck again and breathes in deeply. "So I told you about Sam's feelings." There's something disturbing about Sam talking about himself in the third person. "What about yours? We both know you could be fighting me off, if you wanted. Why aren't you?"
This is an excellent question, but even if Castiel knew the full answer, he's not sure if he'd want to tell.
"Oh well, we'll see," Sam says ominously. Castiel probably shouldn't feel as intrigued as he is.
Sam pushes a hand between the car and Castiel, and starts palming him through his pants.
"What are you doing?" Castiel asks, as Sam starts grinding his hardening erection into his ass. It's a silly question. He knows exactly what's happening, but it feels less gratifying to act like this is normal.
"I could say I was trying to get an answer out of you," Sam says. "But it'd be lying. I already know."
"You already know?"
Sam licks over his left ear lobe. "Would you let anyone but a Winchester do this to you?"
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. When they do, it takes another moment for Castiel to consider them. The truth is, he shouldn't let anyone do this to him. And who would, besides Sam. Besides this Sam.
Sam's laughter buzzes against Castiel's neck. It makes the tiny hairs there stand up.
"It really is hilarious." Big hands claw the trench coat from his shoulders. "You love me, don't you? And I never knew, never had the fainted idea back when it would have mattered."
Castiel thinks that if it ever mattered, and he's not convinced it did, it should still do so now.
Sam is right. Castiel should go to the cage and tell Sam's soul. If only he could. If only he was metaphysically capable and could do it without breaking someone he loves. (If only he could face what is left of it now.)
Sam roughly pulls down his own and then Castiel's pants. "You said you wanted to offer me help and comfort," he says, somewhere between explanation and apology. "This way you can."
Sam's got this all wrong, Castiel realizes. He's not offering himself up as an excuse. He discovers, with a noteworthy amount of surprise, that he wants this. That a part of him might have hoped for it, when he decided to stay here tonight, long after Sam told him to go.
It's the strangest sensation. The physicality of it all. The pulling and shoving. The gnawing and the kissing. The cold of the air and the car, and the heat of their bodies.
Sam is anything but gentle, but the movements aren't so much infused with anger as passion. And there's actual moments of tenderness throughout the carnality.
Sam’s hands brushes over the muscles on his abdomen and flutters wet kisses into his neck.
Is tenderness not born out of loving concern that springs only from the soul? If this is true, then these movements are merely echoes of Sam's former self. It makes Castiel wonder if Sam has thought of this before, back when he was whole. If he's acting out movements and touches that have played out in his head already.
No. Probably not, Castiel decides. Hubris again. Sam has never thought of him this way before. Has never considered the heavy feel of Castiel's cock in his hand. Has never guessed the way their bodies would work together. Sam is merely copying what he's been doing to so many people before. In the short amount of time since he's been out of hell, there have been myriads of people he's been doing this with.
Castiel has been taking note. He has watched the growth of Sam's sexual appetite match his hunter abilities. There's no overthinking anything. Sam figures out what he wants and needs —a dead body, a kill, a fuck– and takes it. He's doing nothing else now.
In a way, it's almost admirable. Enviable, at least. No second guessing, no asking, just knowing your needs and worth. It's eerily similar to the evolution Castiel has been going through himself. They're bettering themselves, each of them in their own way.
But can that be right? How can Sam be bettering himself if the best part of him isn't even here? How can he, if his soul is still suffering down below, burning up? Sewed together just to be torn apart.
Castiel is glad that Dean seems to think Sam is in a place like the kind of hell he knows. The truth is so much worse.
(Castiel doesn't dare to ask himself if the same is true for him. If the human weakness he's trying to leave behind is part of the good the Winchesters see in him. If he's throwing away the one thing they deem worthy, by his attempt in saving Heaven and Earth... He can't afford to think like this.)
Sam's fingers dig into Castiel's naked hips, as he pushes into him with no forewarning. There's a burning sensation inside him that Castiel first takes for shame. Then it partly gives away to lust and he finally realizes it's physical pain. It just hurts to be taken, until he gets to the joy. Sam is hurting him and doing him good at once. There's no choosing one or the other, so Castiel does the only thing he can and welcomes both.
Sam is mumbling things into his ear. He's alternating between curses, longing declarations, and things Castiel can't begin to comprehend.
"Should have known... Should have known, you damned... Hilarious!"
He could take those words as inane ramblings of a madman, but he knows that's not true. Whatever Sam is trying to say, he wants him to understand.
Castiel bites down, until his teeth dig so deep into his lower lip that he's drawing blood.
Sam is moving inside him slower than expected, if such thing were ever to be expected at all.
Sam reaches around his face, and for a moment Castiel expects Sam to hurt him. He will attempt to choke him and try to make good of the promise to kill him. But Sam only takes Castiel's chin into his fingers to turn him around.
He kisses hungrily. His intrusive tongue probes. He moves the taste of iron around both of their mouths.
"Should have fucking told me before," Sam mumbles between kisses. "It would have meant something then."
As Sam moans into his mouth, Castiel hazily wonders which part of his words to focus on:
It doesn't mean anything now (hurt, regret) or It would have meant something then, it might mean something again (hopeful, regret).
Sam's mouth is gone too soon. It leaves Castiel's mouth hanging open mid-air like a question.
"More..."
He's not a begger. He's a God-to-be letting himself be manhandled by a soulless quarter-demon. He's a confused man looking for direction, accepting it with no grace but gratitude.
A hand on the back of Castiel's head pushes him down hard into the hood of the car with a loud thud.
Sam is moaning again, louder. It's a Fuck you or a Fuck yeah , but Castiel doubts there's much of a difference in meaning.
The smell of metal in his nose, the taste of it on his lips. From the car or the blood. He can't tell anymore.
Sam's gathering speed. Skin chafes against skin.
Sam doesn't care that he's hurting Castiel. He probably means to be hurting him.
Castiel hates it for how undignifying it is, but loves it for how it leaves no space to think.
Sam takes Castiel's hands into his. He moves them forward to position them next to where Castiel's cheek is still pressed into the car.
The color is chipping off the metal, right next to his face. It's either black or red or blue, in the darkness it’s all the same. But Castiel wonders and would like to know the truth.
This is why he's malfunctioning as an angel. The questioning, the chewing more than he can swallow.
"I want to know you," he whispers, unsure of why he's speaking at all. Maybe to remind himself he's actually there. Not just his vessel but his actual mind, too. "I want you to be by my side once I've won. Once I rule."
Sam doesn't slow down. His voice is barely a breathy hitch. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
You will want me then, not just as you do now. Not just as a body to use, not only as a mind to love. As your all-encompassing God. Your ruler. I'll be your everything. You, your brothers and everyone who walks this earth. You'll bow down to me and worship me.
It's with this thought that Castiel comes, over the car and his stomach. He twitches underneath Sam, as he finishes as well, body-slamming Castiel further into the car.
This pain, this physical pain, it is nothing. Let Sam feel better for a moment. Let him feel powerful, Castiel thinks.
They both know Castiel could kill him if he wanted to.
Sam steps away and pulls up his pants.
Castiel disentangles himself from the car.
He cleans himself, but leaves the scratches on his knee, where he bumped into the headlight when Sam moved him around.
"What is wrong with you, Cas?" Sam asks. He sounds like the old Sam, concerned and confused.
"You should get your soul back." Castiel puts a hand to Sam's cheek. "You are worthy as you are right now, but I want all of you to be safe."
Sam doesn't push him away. The muscles in his face undecided. "You said you wouldn't help me."
"Soon," Castiel says. "Soon."
The kiss still tastes of metal, despite the blood being long gone.