#it's probably bc i've been thinking too much about how if you take the 15.18 confession as romantic

[lewishamil10n]

Please please please make that "Sam wouldn't wake up" into a full fic!!! (If u don't want to that's totally fine, I mean no pressure at all :)) it's just suuuuper good :D

[Sam wouldn't wake up.]

—

"What do you mean Sam's gone to see Jody?" Dean asked, frowning. "He called me a few hours ago and said he was going to go to bed."

"She had an emergency," Castiel said. He wasn't meeting Dean's eyes, which Dean found strange. This was Castiel — the dude often had to be reminded that humans didn't like being stared at intensely.

"Such as?" he asked.

"Sam didn't say," Castiel answered evasively.

"Weird," muttered Dean. He moved into his bedroom and put his bag down on his bed. "You know what, I'm gonna call him. Just check in, see what's up."

Castiel hesitated at the doorway. "I'm sure he's fine, Dean," he said. "Sam is a grown man. He doesn't need you checking on him all the time."

"I know that," Dean said, trying not to snap. It had been a long drive after an exhausting hunt, and he'd hated having to leave Sam behind. But Sam had been sick, practically delirious with fever and no good on a hunt, and so Dean had reluctantly left him in Castiel's care. He'd spent the entire trip worrying himself sick over his brother, calling to talk to him as much as he could. He'd broken damn near fifty laws speeding on his way back, and now Sam wasn't even home and Castiel was being weird.

Something wasn't right.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and hit Sam's latest number on speed dial. The entire time he was aware of Castiel watching him, eyes narrowed, and if Dean didn't know better he'd say the angel seemed apprehensive.

Two seconds of dial tone later, Dean heard Sam's ringtone. It was coming from somewhere within the bunker, which made no sense. Sam wouldn't have left home without his cell phone. "What the hell," muttered Dean, leaving his room so he could follow the sound. Castiel trailed after him, quiet.

The ringtone was issuing from Sam's room, his phone vibrating on his side table. Dean watched it ring for a second before hanging up on his end. "Sam wouldn't leave his phone," he said.

"He left in a hurry," Castiel said. "Perhaps he forgot."

"Then I'll call Jody," decided Dean.

"No!" exclaimed Castiel, and cringed when Dean turned to glare at him.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Cas, where's my brother?"

"Jody—" began Castiel weakly, but Dean cut him off.

"I think it's quite clear that's not what's happening," he snapped. "Or do you want me to call and confirm it?"

For a few moments Castiel just looked at him, posture tense and hands flexing, and then he said, "I do not know where Sam is. I came to his room and found him missing."

"Then why didn't you just say that in the first place?" asked Dean angrily. "Why did you lie to me?"

Castiel hesitated.

"Fuck's sake, Cas!" Dean threw his phone in the general direction of Sam's bed, where it bounced off a pillow to land on the floor. Paying it no mind, he ran his hands through his hair, trying to get his brain to work.

All of Sam's things were still in his room. His jacket slung over the back of his chair; boots at the foot of his bed; travel bag in its place; and of course, his cell phone on the table. It didn't look as if Sam had gone anywhere. He might as well have gone to the bathroom.

"How long has he been missing for?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure," Castiel said after a beat. "I returned to his room to find him gone a few hours ago. I had checked on him some time before that and he'd been asleep."

Sam's bed was unmade. If Sam had gone anywhere of his own volition, he would have made his bed, he would have taken his things, he would have told Dean. Dean had no idea what the hell was going on, and it didn't help that his tired brain was barely able to process his brother's absence.

"Okay, okay, focus," he murmured to himself, his hands curling into fists. This was basic. Finding a missing person. Something he could do in his sleep. What had Dad taught them? Clues. Look for clues. He'd done that.

Tracking spells. John had taught them some, and Sam knew a whole lot more too. Dean was sure that if he looked, he'd find something that could help.

"Okay," he said again, and began looking around for something he could use. Sam's DNA would be perfect, but if not that, then something he owned could do as well — and there, a few strands of long brown hair on Sam's pillow. Dean picked them up carefully, wrapping them in his handkerchief, and he stowed it safely in his pocket before turning and striding out of Sam's room.

"Where are you going?" Castiel called after him, hurrying to catch up.

"To find my brother," Dean answered with determination, heading straight for the library. Not for the first time he felt glad for Sam's overwhelmingly obsessive need to organize everything — it would make looking for spells a lot easier. He supposed he could always call Rowena too, but he'd rather leave that as a last resort. She was an ally and Sam trusted her, but the less people knew about his disappearance, the better.

"Are you going to track him?" asked Castiel, watching as Dean flipped through a book of spells.

Dean muttered an affirmative, eyes on the yellowed pages in front of him.

"What if it doesn't work?" Castiel asked.

"Why wouldn't it work?" countered Dean. "We've got ingredients for pretty much everything, and I've got what I need for the spell to track Sam."

"Just a possibility," murmured Castiel.

Dean didn't want to think about that, so he focused his energies on going through the book. He found a spell soon enough, and felt an almost overwhelming rush of affection for his brother when he saw the notes Sam had put in the margins. Even when he wasn't there, he was helping Dean out, making his life easier.

"Are you going to stand there and keep staring, or are you planning on making yourself useful?" he asked Castiel, who started as if he'd been jolted out of a reverie.

"Of course, Dean, tell me what you need," he said, straightening.

Dean handed him a list of the ingredients they'd need for the spell. "We've got most of these in the stores, but I'll need you to find the pigeon wishbone. I don't think we have that."

Castiel squinted down at the list, and then looked up at Dean. "Of course, Dean," he said again. "I will do my best."

"Cool," said Dean gruffly. "Hurry."

"Yes, I will." Castiel turned to go, and then paused. "Dean, if there is anything you want to talk about — I understand you must be worried and afraid. I just want you to know I am here for you no matter what."

"Thanks?" Dean said, after a moment. "That's really nice, Cas, but I'm all right. I just need to find Sam, and I'll be peachy."

For a nanosecond Dean thought he saw frustration cross Castiel's face, but it was gone before he could be sure. Castiel's expression was impassive as he said, "I understand," and turned his back on Dean.

—

It took Castiel around ten hours to locate and acquire a pigeon wishbone, during which time Dean got the spell set up and ready to go. He put the ingredients in the bowl as Castiel watched, and read the words from the book exactly as Sam instructed in his notes. He added Sam's hair to it and said some more words, and put the edge of a map to the flames arising in the bowl. He watched as the map burnt up, little flames traveling around the edges of the paper and eating it up until there was nothing left.

The spell didn't work.

"Fuck," snarled Dean, throwing his hand out and sweeping everything to the floor in his anger. "Fuck, how did it not work? How—" He rounded on Castiel. "Pigeon wishbone, are you sure it was pigeon wishbone? The real deal?"

Castiel looked taken aback at being questioned like this. "Of course I am, Dean. I verified what it was before bringing it to you."

Dean stared at him for a few moments, and then turned away. His heart was racing. With each hour away from Sam, it felt like he was losing years off his own lifespan. "I'm calling Rowena," he muttered, grabbing his cell phone off the floor.

"Isn't there anything else we can try?" Castiel asked, looking at the mess Dean had made of the war room.

"There is. I'm doing it," Dean told him, phone held to his ear as he waited for Rowena to pick up.

The phone kept ringing. She did not answer. Dean tried again, and then a third time. Nothing. It was as if he was dialing a dead end, which he knew was not possible because Rowena had sworn that that number would reach her no matter what. He knew that she wouldn't be reached if she didn't want to be — but it had been a long time since Rowena had felt the need to hide from the Winchesters.

Dean hung up and threw his phone into the nearest wall. It broke apart, screen cracking and the casing coming off, and Dean felt a second of vicious satisfaction before it immediately turned to regret. Shit, what if Sam tried calling that number? What if Rowena called back? Fuck. Sam could call and call and Dean wouldn't know, because all his other numbers redirected to this one, and— and he wouldn't know if Sam needed him.

Overcome suddenly with fatigue, Dean collapsed into the nearest chair. It felt like his legs were giving out on him, his entire body reacting to the events of the last few hours. Sam was gone, Rowena wasn't picking up the phone, and Dean had no idea where to even begin looking. He could feel the stress and lack of sleep catching up with him, and for the first time, it was mixed in with fear. Yeah, he was perfectly aware Sam could more than look after himself. But fuck, he was still Dean's little brother, and he was sick, he'd been coughing up a lung the last time they'd spoken on the phone—

"I shouldn't have left him," he said, and wasn't surprised to hear how hoarse his voice was. "God, I should have just — just stayed, and—"

"Dean. You can't blame yourself." Castiel sounded earnest, and was looking at Dean with pleading eyes. "You are a hunter, and you were doing your duty. Sam is not a child that needs looking after."

"Why do you keep saying that, man?" questioned Dean, suddenly annoyed. "I know he's not a kid, Cas. He's survived more than you and I put together, more than we could even imagine on our worst days. But he's my little brother, okay? He's all I've got, so forgive me for worrying about him!"

"Why do you say he's all you've got?" Now Castiel sounded irritated too. "Am I not here with you, Dean? Have I not been here for you whenever you've needed me?"

"Uh." Dean paused, taken aback. Castiel seemed... well, if Dean had to pick a word, he'd say jealous. Castiel seemed jealous. "Dude. You know what I meant," he said, watching the angel carefully. "'Course you've been here too. But Sam's different. You know that."

"Different?" repeated Castiel. "All the pain he has caused you, and you still care so much for him."

"All the pain — what are you talking about?" This was getting too damn confusing, and Dean needed a drink. He needed some rest. He needed — God, he needed his little brother back.

"You know what I'm talking about," Castiel said, almost snappishly.

"No, I don't," Dean said.

There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The air between them felt charged, almost electric. It felt like one wrong move, one misplaced word, and lightning would strike. The look on Castiel's face was strange and foreign. It looked like someone else's expression was twisting his features. He was always intense; now, he felt almost dangerous, and Dean couldn't quite put his finger on why. But something had changed, that much was clear. And so was the fact that Castiel knew more than he was letting on.

"I mean ��� don't you ever get tired of it, Dean?" Castiel asked, his tone a weird mixture of earnest and annoyed. "Dragging him around, making sure he's all right, that he is not... going off the rails, as you say. There is always something or the other wrong with him, some problem you must fix, and I don't understand how you do it. I do not understand why you stay. Why you even care enough to—"

"Cas," warned Dean. "That's my little brother you're talking about."

"Yes, I know, you've said as much multiple times," scoffed Castiel. He seemed almost crazed now, and he had that guilty look in his eyes that Dean was all too familiar with. The look that followed whatever he'd done that needed to be undone.

"Cas, what's going on here?" Dean asked one last time. "And don't — don't give me some story about Sam going missing, or whatever. I need to know the truth, Cas."

"The truth?" Cas let out a harsh laugh. "Okay, Dean. Here is the truth. I am tired of being sidelined. I am tired of always coming second to an absolute disaster of a human being. I am tired of pretending that I care for him as much as I do for you."

Dean's hand tightened on the handle of his gun. He hadn't even been aware he'd reached for it, though it remained hidden under the table. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he demanded. "I'm not kidding, Cas, you ever call him that again I'll make you wish you'd never been poofed into existence—"

"But he is," interrupted Castiel. His hair was standing on end from where he'd run his fingers through it, and his eyes were wide, demeanor frenzied. Dean couldn't recall ever seeing him in this state. Up until now, he'd had the impression that Castiel liked Sam, loved him, even. He knew Sam valued their friendship, always stood up for him when Dean was too hard on him, when he'd messed up again and felt guilt. He could never have imagined that all along, this is what Castiel had really thought.

He thought of how Sam would feel if he knew — the betrayal, the way his heart would break. It was the thought of tears in Sam's eyes that had Dean getting to his feet, gun abandoned in favor of an angel blade.

God, this was so messy. He had no idea how it had come to this.

"Cas," he said quietly. "Tell me you don't mean it. Tell me this isn't you, and we'll let this go, never talk about it again."

Castiel let out a hollow laugh. It rang around the room, making Dean's hair stand on end. "It is me, Dean," he said harshly. "I'm not under the influence of any spell, any magic, anything at all. But my words wouldn't be any less truthful if I was."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Dean said then, voice quiet. "All this time I thought you cared about Sam, that you liked him. And here's the kicker, Cas — he fuckin' adores you. Fuck, he's been kinder to you than I ever have, even I know that. So what the fuck are you doing, Cas? Where is all this coming from?"

"You wouldn't understand," Castiel said, and there was hate in his tone. "You are so blinded by your love for him that you can't see anything else. Anyone else."

Dean blinked. "What." Then he decided it didn't matter, and held his angel sword higher so that it was in plain view of Castiel. "Never mind, I don't care. Cas, I'm gonna ask you one last time before I'm forced to make this dirtier than it already is. Where is my brother?"

Castiel looked down at the blade, and then up at Dean. He smiled, and it was cruel in its coldness. "I don't know," he said. "For all I know, his atoms are scattered all over the entire universe."

Dean's blood froze in his veins. "What?"

"There was nothing wrong with your spell, Dean," Castiel said. "But tracking spells are only useful for locating living people."

"No," said Dean, and then again, "No," because it made no sense, Castiel was talking crap—

"He's gone," Castiel said, with an indifferent shrug. "I didn't mean to. I was only trying to help him sleep, but... well. I don't know where he is."

"What did you do to him?" whispered Dean. His hand was shaking, angel blade unsteady in his grip. "Cas, what did you do?"

Castiel looked him in the eye. "I got rid of him."

—

Dean didn't know when or how it happened. The angel blade was cold in his hands, and Castiel was spread-eagle on the war room floor, bracketed in the burnt-out silhouette of his wings. The fight hadn't been long. Castiel had barely defended himself. He seemed to have resigned himself to the fact of his own death, and that did nothing to comfort Dean in the least.

Sam was gone. Sam was gone.

Dean sank to the ground, angel blade clattering to the ground, his head in his hands. He felt weak in the knees. His heart felt like it was going to give out any second, and his eyes were burning with rage and disbelief.

Sammy was gone. His sweet, kind, brave little brother. Gone.

He never should have gone on that hunt.

Maybe, he thought, half-panicked and hysteric, maybe Billie would accept Castiel in exchange for Sam. It was a very low chance, but — that was what they did. They took the odds and made them their bitch, and now was not going to be any different. He wouldn't take no for an answer. And if she refused, he'd just beg her to take him too. Either way, he was not going to live without Sam.

Dean got to his feet, took in a shaky breath, and reached for the spellbook.

end.

#asks #anonymous #my writing #aw anon im rlly glad you liked the ficlet! i hope you like this too #it somehow turned into like. dark!cas with a side of unrequited love #it's probably bc i've been thinking too much about how if you take the 15.18 confession as romantic #it implies that everything cas did to sam throughout the show was at least a little deliberate #because if sam's out of the picture then maybe he has a chance with dean #anyway i'll tag this just to be safe #anti castiel #samdean #supernatural #mcd #suicide mention