Hurts Me Too

I Am Your Man

a/n i hate wattpad's tagging system 😒😒

Castiel did not know why he stayed. He could have left Sam and gone back to camp. Yet, the former angel remained with Sam. His reason for not leaving could have been the guilt of what happened to Dean. It could be a plethora of things, too. Castiel did not care enough to analyze it at that moment.

The day slipped by in relative silence. Sam picked a room and stuck to it, and Castiel did the same. He claimed a room upstairs. The room was a storage room, which had junk in it. Castiel shuffled around the room for a spell, and the room was very dark, and Castiel quickly found that it had no windows. It was unnerving, being in the dark, but Castiel could not stomach being anywhere near Sam. Castiel eventually uncovered a couch. It was broken and missing a cushion, but Castiel was beyond caring. He dropped down on it and let himself slip away.

Castiel felt withdrawal hit him like a ton of bricks a few days later. His mind wandered to Dean, who was still in the jeep outside. His body will start decomposing if something is not done soon, and with that happy thought, Castiel vomited. Sometime during the day, Sam appeared before Castiel with tomato and rice soup, and he had no clue how the other man knew he was sick. Castiel wondered where Sam had found either of those ingredients in this empty house when it hit him, "You went outside," Castiel stated. Sam nodded in response.

After some minutes of uncomfortable silence, Sam spoke, "There's a store nearby, and it's surprisingly intact," he explained. Castiel attempted to glare, but he was uncertain if it had its desired effect. Sam smiled thinly and handed the bowl to the ex-angel. Castiel considered it for a moment before he sat up and took it. He dug in ravenously to the soup. It was pleasant warmth, comforting. Sam went back downstairs. The bowl is empty within a couple of short minutes. Castiel debated taking the dirty bowl downstairs, but the thought of standing up right now unsettled him.

Sam came back upstairs with a bottle of water. Sam took the bowl and left the bottle on the floor. "Dean is in the jeep outside," Castiel said. Sam turned around to look at him. Castiel continued, "I wanted you to be the one to bury him. He would have wanted the same done with you."

Sam nodded at Castiel, and then he was gone again. He sighed and picked up the water bottle. He opened it and took three long drinks from it. Castiel stood up and stretched his sore muscles. Castiel instantly regretted that as a wave of nausea hit him. He sat back down on the couch. His stomach rolled for a moment before it settled. He felt his head pound dully and knew he would hate the next few days. Castiel breathed in deep through his nose, only to be reminded that he threw up. He felt his meal gurgle in his stomach. Castiel forced himself up and out of his dark room and into the equally dark hallway. His sore muscles protested the strain, but he ignored it. He opened the door to the bathroom. He fell blindly around the room until he found the sink and promptly emptied his stomach again.

Sam appeared in the doorway and lightly touched Castiel, who jerked back from his touch. Sam snapped his arm back and held it to his chest as if he had been burned by the touch, not Castiel. "I've got it." Castiel bit out. He shoved past Sam and pushed into a bedroom. He blindly walked until his legs hit a bedframe, and he fell onto it. He hoped to be enveloped by sleep, but that never happened. Castiel lay awake until the morning.

Castiel was right because he hated the next couple of days. Sam came upstairs with soup and sometimes tea when he thought Castiel could stomach it. He was the grossest he had been in the past five years. Constant sweating was doing him no favors. Not only did he feel disgusting, but he was sure he looked at it, especially with the extraordinarily little sleep he was getting. The persistent feeling of being tired that was pursued by the ache in his muscles and the pounding in his head did not make his mood any better than it was.

On the third or fourth day, Sam spoke to him for the first time since he started bringing Castiel food. Sam was setting down a bowl of soup and water when he said," I buried Dean."

Castiel flinched, Sam's hair fell onto his face, and he went to the door. "When you're well enough, you should go see him." Castiel wanted to say something mean at that moment before Sam left. So many things raced through his head, but he said none of them. Instead, "I will," came out.

When the withdrawal symptoms passed, Castiel was exhausted. Castiel stayed in his room for a few days after to be sure they were gone before he went downstairs.

On those days, Sam still brought him food and water, and Castiel felt he should show that he appreciated the effort. Particularly with how he treated Sam. In the end, it was not all his fault. It was early in the morning when he went downstairs. He heard Sam softly speaking. Castiel at once thought Sam was conversating with someone, perhaps Lucifer, but he almost wished that were the case. He went into the living room and found praying. A sudden hot flash of anger ripped through Castiel. When Sam looked up from his clasped hands and saw Castiel, he had the gault to look guilty. 

"Hi, Castiel," Sam greeted softly. His voice was raspy and grated against Castiel's eardrums. "Your voice is very grating," Castiel said. Sam's eyes fell, and he shifted until he was sitting cross-legged.

 "Are you feeling better?" Sam asked, and he felt that anger course through him again.

"I would be better if Dean was here." It was not entirely true, but it had its desired effect. Sam sunk into himself, and his hair fell and covered his face. So much for thanking him, Castiel thought sourly. Castiel noticed Sam was still wearing the white suit Lucifer dressed his body in. And, on that high note, Castiel went into the kitchen, leaving Sam with the harsh words.

A couple of days later, Castiel thought about apologizing. He watched Sam putter around the kitchen from the doorway, the thoughts of what he should say to Sam floating through his head. "Where did you stay before you came here?" Sam asked. Castiel jumped at the sudden sound of his voice. "At a camp, Camp Chitaqua," Castiel replied. Sam hummed at his response. "Is that close to here?"

"I don't know, it might be."

Sam does not say anything after that. Castiel breathed in deeply. "I'm sorry for what I said."

Sam paused in his movements, and Castiel realized he was unsure what the other man was doing. "It's fine," Sam replied. "Withdrawal is difficult to go through, especially when it's done unwillingly," he added. Castiel frowned. Castiel went to speak, but Sam beat him to it. "When I was going through withdrawal, I was a dick. It truly is fine Castiel." Sam said. Castiel sighed and accepted his forgiveness.

"And uhm, thank you for bringing me food. You did not need to, but you did it." Sam smiled at Castiel. He was surprised the other man was capable of such.