Chapter Text
Cas was beginning to see how deeply bruised Sam was.
His body was so tired. After pulling him out of that chair, the double possession and exorcism along with, of course, the torture and the trials, his organs were sluggish and his joints inflamed. Everything inside was like a liquid, his soul gently fluttering with every exhale like it was ready to settle for good. And after only Cas's meager healing of the pins stuck in his brain, crudely twisted by the king of hell himself, Sam had enough strength to stare his brother down and tell him that he didn't need him around.
Cas had stood to the side, fretting. He didn't know if it was angel-sight or empathy that made him tangibly feel Sam's tears well up in his own eyes. He did know, however, that Sam needed everybody he could get right now, and when Dean looked over his brother one last time before shaking his head and walking away, Cas knew that Sam needed Dean most of all.
Then, he supposed, Sam would have to settle.
As soon as Dean and his Impala were out of sight, Sam nearly collapsed against the bridge's rail behind him, his facade of strength leaving all at once. Cas rushed forward to catch him. His newfound grace meant that Sam's crushing body mass didn't crush him anymore. Cas heaved one of Sam's giant arms around his shoulder and felt how unnaturally slow his heartbeat was. Cas's healing could only solve so much, he worried, and this man might need nothing short of a miracle to recover this time. He looked up to Sam's head where it was lolling to the side.
"Let's get you home," he said, Sam's sudden unresponsiveness worrying him even further.
He whisked them both directly into Sam's bedroom at the bunker as gently as he could. Even so, Sam groaned and pitched forward, and Cas tried his best to deposit him gently on top of the covers. His face was pale and his eyes unfocused, flitting around the room uncomprehendingly. There were so many injuries of so many different kinds that Cas barely knew where to begin. It made him feel guilty, that strange, sinking new emotion. He knew it was illogical, as guilt so often was, but it still felt quite horrible. He wished immediately that he could do more.
He sat on the bed beside Sam and started unlacing his boots. He'd always seen the brothers kick off their shoes before going to bed, and now he had experienced the discomfort of being forced to sleep with them on. Plus he would save Sam the trouble of having to clean all the dirt from his blankets in the morning. Plus it was something to do with his hands, even for a moment, because his hands were shaking with worry and the feeling of being useless.
Once he'd pulled off the boots and tossed them to the side, Sam groaned again and turned away from Cas on the bed. He hugged his knees up to his stomach in a half fetal pose, his usually strong-lined and heavy-limbed body twisted in on itself.
Cas stood up briefly to turn off the light, but then he sat back at Sam's side. His breathing had evened, and with sleep his body started to slowly stitch itself back together. Cas didn't move all night, keeping watch dutifully and wishing he could do something helpful.