Chapter Text
Sam Winchester prayed. He prayed a lot, through all his life. He prayed, and he prayed and he prayed. He prayed to be saved from his family, he prayed to have his mom back, he prayed for his brother to be safe, he prayed for his friends, he prayed, and prayed, and begged, and cried. In vain. Sam Winchester was undeserving of a second look from Heaven.
When he finally met an angel, a servant of heaven, the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon, he was called an abomination. Something to stop. Someone who was a threat. An undeserving man.
That didn't stop him from keeping praying, even if now, his prayers diverted from God to Castiel. The angel, of course, never replied to him. He liked Dean better, as did everyone who knew them both. Dean, who didn’t have a taste for demon blood. Dean, who had died and gone to hell, dean who had been saved by God. Dean, who was an archangel Vessel. Dean, who was not drunk alone and praying again.
Dean was angry at him, a common occurrence now, and Sam, the man with demon blood was drinking his addiction away. He was craving, from the bottom of his heart, from every cell in his body, something he couldn't, he shouldn't have.
“Castiel” he said to himself, leaning back to the booth he was in, closing his eyes enough to finish the prayer. “I need blood. I need guidance. I know damn well you hate me, but I am craving and all the alcohol in this bar won't be enough to stop me from finding a demon and drinking him dry” Sam stayed quiet, the noise of the bar surrounding him and sighed. Of course. Of course he was alone.
“I don’t hate you” a voice took him out of his spiral, making him open his eyes and reach for his gun instinctively. It wouldn't harm Castiel, who seemed almost amused by his instinct and very… tired. Maybe the angel was tired of Heaven, most likely he was tired of him. The addict, demanding his presence. Manipulating him to make him come to see Sam. It would be a good one to add to the long list of sins Sam had committed the past months alone.
As his fingers played with the almost empty glass in front of him, he spoke. “You sure have a way of showing that, Cass” Sam was going to go to hell either way. He could go having a blast, or he could go pushing the scene he wanted to make to the angel down his throat. But he was a little brother after all, a little bitch like his friends called him, and a sarcastic motherfucker. “I have been praying to you. Did you care? Or only come when Dean calls you?”
The angel tilted his head. “I am here, am I?” his voice was low, making every part of Sam ache in need. “You are upset, Sam. You are in abstinence. Your body is working against your progress. Don’t let it win” the angel's words hit him in realization. Angels could read emotions. Even drunk, Sam straightened himself up, giving his glass a last drink. The waiter had orders to refill his glass every time it was empty, and the refill did not take long to appear, along to one in front of the angel. Castiel could not know. He could never know.
“It is easy for you to say,” the hunter replied, his fingers again in the glass of whiskey. He refused to look at him, not when he could read him so easy with his angelic powers. “It is harder for me to take, when all heaven thinks of me is that I am an abomination who has to be stopped. Being Lucifer’s true vessel takes a toll on you, you know?” This time, he drank the whole glass in a single swallow, not caring about the angel's judgment.
“You are drunk” he noticed, and extended his hand to what Sam deduced was to heal him. “Don’t” the hunter almost whispered, taking his hand and lowering down to the table. The touch lingered, his fingers grazing Castiel’s skin for what it seemed to be an eternity, and not near enough time to satisfy him. Sam was trading a craving for another and he was doing it willingly. At least craving Castiel would never become an addiction.
The angel was quiet, but he was waiting for an explanation. Sam thanked the liquor “I don’t want to think tonight, Cass. Please don’t make me think tonight” almost begged, in a whisper. This time, he looked up. He knew he looked defenseless and teary-eyed, and he didn't care. Dignity died in the arms of the divine being who threatened to kill him.
“I won’t heal you. But I won’t allow more drinking either.”
Sam blink, and found himself sitting in his bed in the motel room. Stupid, stupid Sam. His greed for a little bit of angelical touch had allowed Castiel to teleport them both to the motel. With a groan, his back hit the mattress. He was too large to be comfortable crossed in the middle of the bed like that, but he didn't want to move either.. He felt sleepy, and he could see the shadow of the angel by his bed.
“I don’t want to drink again,” he confessed, his eyes on the ceiling of the room.
The hunter felt a tentative hand on his hair. The same way Dean touched his forehead when he was sick, it seemed Cass had picked up another human gesture from them. “I know, Sam” the angel towered over him by the side of the bed, and for a moment, the hazel eyes took in the angle and the body underneath the trenchcoat. Oh no. Sam Winchester, king of self control, had to forcefully think about something else.
“I can’t talk to Dean about this” his voice was a whisper, and the hand of Castiel on his head was making him dizzy. He wanted to say it was from the alcohol, or that the angel was making him sleepy, but no. Deep down, he knew it wasn't that. A time passed before the deep voice was heard.
“Your brother means well. Heaven means well too. Demon blood is dangerous, Sam”. A very soft “mhm” was the only reply the angel got. Sam had closed his eyes, and was falling asleep. “Rest well, Sam” he heard in a dizzy state, feeling the hands of a much more powerful angel picking him up like he weighed nothing, and carefully positioning him on the bed, how he was supposed to be.
Sam’s hand found Castiel's, who was laying a blanket over his body, and mumbled something he would pretend never happened “stay?”he asked, barely opening his eyes to meet the angel’s "I don't want to be alone” he added, and felt the weight of the servant of heaven sitting down by his pillow. His hand let go of Sam’s, who almost whimpered in pain for the lack of contact, and rested on his head.
“Sleep well, Sam Winchester. I’ll stay here”
The angel only allowed himself that tenderness in the moment no one could see him, and the man on his lap was too intoxicated to realize what he was doing. He had felt a pull to the winchesters calling him stronger than his faith, but he had assumed - he had prayed- it was not towards Lucifer's vessel. He could be forgiven for mingling with humans, he could be forgiven for spending too much time looking after them, he could be forgiven for a lot of things, but no one would forgive the way his fingers brush the long strands of hair in the troubled head of sam, no one would forgive the way Sam looked at him, and no one would forgive the strange feeling creeping on Castiel's chest as he realized Sam Winchester trusted him.
It had taken him a day to understand how trust was not a currency the boys used daily. And taking a look back on their lives, he understood why. But the man laying by his thigh trusted him enough to fall asleep on him, to protect him. That, he could do. He could protect Sam Winchester the way he was meant to protect Dean, but that meant that Sam could never taste a drop of demon blood again. And it took him half a second to decide he would do anything in his power to prevent Sam from relapsing.
When the sun hit Sam’s eyes and he woke up, he was alone in the room. He did not have a hungover, thanks to Cass, but he had the crepling fear that he had fucked up. That Castiel had realized what he felt. That Castiel would never speak to him again. It was until he looked at the nightstand that he saw the bottle of water, and a note that could only be the angel’s.
“Drink. Pray if you are tempted to drink blood. I will come”