Preface

to treat a soul with grace and love
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/33972577.

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M, Multi

Fandom:

Supernatural

Relationship:

Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Character:

Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Mary Winchester

Additional Tags:

Queerplatonic Wincestiel, 3/4ths shameless Sam Winchester comfort, 1/4th most relatable villain origin story for Mary Winchester, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Crying, Raped Sam Winchester, by Toni Bevell, Comfort No Hurt, bc canon did all the hurting, Hurt/Comfort, metaphysical comfort, Hugs, Naked Cuddling, Rape Recovery, Aftermath of Torture

Language:

English

Collections:

Team Free Will Big Bang: Collection 2021

Stats:

Published: 2021-09-19 Words: 6,798 Chapters: 1/1

to treat a soul with grace and love

by fogsrollingin

Summary

Team Free Will Bang 2021!

S12 canon divergence. Dean carried a cosmic suicide bomb into a meeting with God and his sister, Amara. Cas was thrown clear across the state by a powerful banishing sigil, and Sam got shot and kidnapped and tortured, all while thinking his brother was dead.

And Mary Winchester was resurrected.

Notes

Enormous thank you to jenniferb-art for her tremendous artwork for this fic. Link here on tumblr.

Also all the kudos and appreciation for road_rhythm for beta-ing. Their corrections and feedback were truly invaluable.

Finally, thank you to my fellow mods of Team Free Will Big Bang, hit_the_books and majesticduxk. xoxo!

See the end of the work for more notes

to treat a soul with grace and love

Torture wasn't for most humans what it was for Sam or Dean. Most understood the wrongness of the violation and anguish, the way the agony was systematically forced over and over again until internalized, until that resignation, that willingness to die if only God would have mercy. To be burned and torn into regardless.

Unlike Sam and Dean though, most survivors could see the time periods of their trauma—whether short instances, a few days or some number of weeks, or even prolonged for months, maybe years. When they got out, they would take measures never to experience it again.

Sam and Dean didn't have that luxury. They knew full well they deserved to be free of pain like this, but their consciences wouldn't let them have it. 

People were dying out there.

Their father's voice echoed in every hollow of their souls.

They didn't even know what a life together but not hunting - together but "normal" - would look like. They didn't really know what "normal" was at all. They only knew what it looked like from the outside and they both had dramatic, unfair perceptions of it. Dean was uncomfortable around it; he felt like people were living ignorant, inauthentic, even shallow lives. Sam had always desired it too much, wrongfully believing it represented the safety he craved for him and his family.

So they didn't understand "normal," and they kept facing pain... and its typical aftermath: heart-racing adrenaline over half a memory, the nightmares, the mania or numb, empty feelings, the harmless sensory input sideswiping them into gasping messes. It felt like it never ended sometimes. 

Dean enjoyed alcohol, Sam would run himself into the ground on stringent health regimens. Sam would get Dean back on a sober track with a case, Dean would make Sam sleep in and eat a burger. That fragile balance worked for a long time but as the hits kept on hitting, it wasn't enough.

Out of a desperate, mutual need to cope with the evil and torment in their lives, and a total disregard for typical relationships in modern American society, the brothers began developing something unspoken, healing, and increasingly precious between them. 

Not much later, they discovered Cas could join them. His numerous experiences with mortal pain and trauma had done something that'd never before happened to an angel. Cas could embrace the connections between them, and what was more, he was capable of imbuing the way they healed with grace.

By the time Sam was 34 years old, Dean was 38, and Cas was back with them. They'd found and perfected the ways each of them coped best with the sudden, unpredictable, and frequent suffering in their lives.

There, they lived in the darkness together. There, they healed.

Then Dean carried a cosmic suicide bomb into a meeting with God and his sister, Amara. Cas was thrown clear across the state by a powerful banishing sigil, and Sam got shot and kidnapped and tortured, all while thinking his brother was dead. And Mary Winchester was resurrected.

It would be an understatement to say Mary Winchester was struggling to come to terms with the hell her husband had put himself and her children through in her posthumous honor. She nearly threw up several times, actually—like when Dean told her he and Sam had begun hunting as kids under their father's command, and how they'd grown up poor and homeless, and then again each time she found out how every one of them had been to Hell. She was pretty sure she was going to pass out.

She might've too if she hadn't realized that of course this couldn't be her family's real timeline after her death. It was far too… well, fucked up. Pardon her French.

She said nothing about this conclusion to Dean, just listened and processed, tried to read between the lines to figure out what was really going on, why she'd be taken here to this hellish timeline and who - or likelier, what - had the combination of interest and power to do it.

They hotwired a car and drove to Dean's home where she would have to meet the corrupted, broken hunter version of her other son. The one she'd been rocking to sleep in her arms last night. Sammy had been able to focus his eyes early. He'd look up at her adoringly while she fed him, rocked him. Even Dean, who was older and independent enough now to occupy himself with his own toys, would come by to relax next to his mother and baby brother. He liked their company, and Mary had loved how it seemed to bond them. They were going to be great brothers to each other, she could already tell. 

God, she missed them. Her home, her husband. She sniffed and rubbed the tears out of her eyes and stifled a sob convincingly. 

Why was she being punished?

Her memories came swirling back to that fateful night she'd lost her parents and John. She'd made a deal with the devil and set things in motion that could've led to this worst case scenario timeline. In the Impala, she glanced over at this hardened, steel-jawed hunter before her and reluctantly admitted that to herself. It was possible.

She still didn't really believe it though.

John was tough but he was a good man who wouldn't have done this to their children. Not even in pursuit of avenging her. That was unhinged, especially because it was so far from what she'd always explicitly said she wanted for her babies.

Instead of meeting Sam in this Men of Letters bunker myth she had never believed (and now that she knew it was real, she kind of resented it? It was surprisingly classy, designed with art deco. How pretentious, how ivory tower, she thought), she met an angel. 

Castiel wasn't her idea of the divine and again the comforting idea this wasn't a true timeline rushed back to her. With it, she was able to take the man's ragged trench coat, backwards tie, and striking blue eyes in stride.

Together they worked on the problem of Sam's disappearance. They deduced Sam had been shot and taken. 

It was during this conversation that Mary realized Dean and the angel Castiel were real predators. 

She recognized the look they wore. It was the same she saw in Campbell hunters' eyes sometimes. Dark, haunted, promising retribution that was going to border on sadism when it came to pass. Seeing that look in Dean was unbearable, as was thinking of her happy, kind, energetic four-year-old growing up and transforming into the morally bankrupt thugs on her father's side. She held nothing but contempt for the Campbells, and to see them reflected in Dean was a nightmare. 

It was a good thing she'd developed a poker face to rival any hunter's because her temper flared and her disdain for this timeline and whoever was making her live it had gone from smoldering to a fire. Someone would pay for this. She would make sure of that.

For now though, she had to play along. 

Literally everything Dean and Castiel did in order to save Sam was straight out of the Campbells' ethos to be as brutal and unforgiving as possible. Mary played her part but she was fuming on the inside when she got to the farm, then they reached the basement. They'd finally found the object of their mission, this version of her youngest son.

He was big, muscular, but his features were delicate, his hair long, his feet bare, burnt, his clothes ripped and soaked in sweat and blood. His bright eyes were fixed on Dean, this pleading look on his face. For a moment, Mary wanted to believe this was her baby. Dean was a hardened killer, but this one…

This one had said "Dean?" and his eyes  were filled with tears.

Mary had been told Sam had thought Dean was dead, that it was uncertain whether he'd been told by his captors that Dean was in fact alive. It was evident now that Sam hadn't been told. And evident as well that Sam adored Dean.

She shook herself. It was just because she was meeting him after he'd been tortured. He was a victim now, but he was a hunter always. She should consider him the equivalent of any other savage cutthroat who'd run afoul of any of the hundreds of things that wanted them dead. She winced at his battered body and considered how it was probably just another day for him... but she hoped she was coming off sympathetic. She kept her distance, mildly interested in how Castiel and Dean would treat Sam now that they had him back. She was sure there wouldn't be much variance from what she'd witnessed on her own hunts with the Campbells in the 60's. False bravado, rough backslapping, an offer to pay the first round because alcohol and bar brawls were the only way to cope in an acceptable way for these kinds of men.

So when she saw Dean lose about ten years off his face, all the darkness she'd seen in his eyes disappeared as he bent down in front of his chained-up brother to look up at him with this soft, desperate, loving expression that Mary would never have thought Dean was even capable of…

Mary was shocked.

"Sammy." Dean cupped Sam's face and Sam tilted into it. Dean pushed Sam's hair back and Sam stared into his brother's eyes.

"You're not dead," Sam whispered with a small exhausted smile. Dean smiled back reassuringly. All Dean's edges were gone. Mary had a hand over her mouth in surprise, and fell more into the shadows against the wall to watch what she'd never seen hunters do after something like this.

Castiel stepped up behind Sam's chair and touched the chains. They clattered to the floor and with Dean's guidance, Sam slumped into his arms. The two of them fell in a heap on the wet cement, Sam trembling and curving in, making himself small so Dean could hold him, whisper into his ear, rub his back and press a palm over his neck, his head.

Castiel lowered himself down too, and caught Sam's attention by sidling up behind Dean where Sam could look up and see him. The angel lifted his hand, two fingers outstretched, and hesitated respectfully. Sam huffed and nodded his permission. Castiel pressed them to his forehead.

It didn't clean him up but Sam let out a deep sigh of relief as Cas healed him. The physical pain was gone and Sam hugged Dean tighter, needing his brother, needing to feel him alive. 

Dean rocked Sam in his arms.

"I know. I'm right here. Right here, Sammy."

"I didn't know," Sam rasped. "I didn't care…." He trailed off. Dean knew he was talking about his captors. He didn't know who they were, didn't care what they did to him. He'd held out through their torture because he could; out of spite for having shot him, maybe, but not for much more than that. Sam had thought Dean was dead.

"Well, now you know so start caring again, baby brother, okay? You hear me?"

Dean hefted Sam up and Sam choked back tears with a laugh, nodding into Dean's shoulder. 

"All right. I gotchya, I still gotchya."

Dean was still reeling over how it had been humans that'd done this. And not backwoods cannibal humans either; weird, fine-mahogany-British humans. It made it worse, Dean thought. The veneer of sophistication spread roilingly thick over such savage torture and violence.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, holding onto Sam who clutched him right back.

Castiel cozied up against Dean's back, tucking his head into the other side of Dean's neck, wrapping an arm around the brothers' waists. He used his free hand to stroke Sam's dirty, wet curls. 

Cas had healed Sam physically but they weren't going to walk this one off. They were hurting. Everything felt wrong. Dean could tell Sam needed more time than they had. 

After a couple minutes Sam lifted his head and looked around. He froze in Dean's arms.

"I think I'm still hallucinating," he whispered, a note of panic laced underneath. He gripped his brother. "Dean, I'm seeing Mom." 

"It's okay," Mary stepped out of the shadows.

"It's real, she's real, Sammy," Dean insisted at the same time. "I see her too. Cas, you see her, right?"

"I see her. She is real, Sam," Cas promised.

Sam calmed down some but watched her over his big brother's shoulder, his eyes dark and uncertain. 

Mary fidgeted. "You don't… we don't have to meet… now. Just focus on Dean and Cas. Pretend I'm not here," she offered, hoping it was the right thing to say. It was what she wanted, at least. She liked them more now that she was seeing how caring they were to Sam but it wasn't her place (nor did she feel the inclination) to join them. They were clearly their own unit and honestly she didn't want in, even if they invited her. She was definitely not ready for that, she was barely ready to witness this… reunion.

Sam finally swallowed, blinked, looked away by tucking his face into Dean's neck. She fell back to the shadows and started edging her way out of the basement as Sam said, "I wanna get outta here."

"Okay," Dean replied quickly, softly, casually, and then waited for Sam to make the first move to pull out of their hug. Cas did the same, just kept himself draped over Dean and stroking Sam's hair until the youngest of them moved his legs to get up. Sam made a face and looked down at his jeans.

"I gotta get out of these," he whispered, suddenly unbuttoning.

"Ho, whoa," Dean pulled Sam's hands away. "Not yet, kiddo. Stay decent. We'll be home in no time." 

Dean glanced over at Mary. If it were only him and Cas, Sam could be completely naked for all Dean cared. But he locked eyes with Sam and gave a small nod over to their mother. She was by the basement stairs with tightly folded arms against her chest, her expression determinedly neutral. Dean didn't know what it meant but he figured it was best to err on the side of caution and have Sam stay clothed. 

They followed Mary, stumbling upstairs and outside to the car. Dean put Sam in the back and when he turned to leave for the driver's seat, Sam didn't say anything but his breathing got worse, he squeezed his eyes shut, and jabbed his thumb into his palm.

"Oh, Jesus," Dean nearly stumbled back to him. "Okay, Sammy," Dean brushed Sam's hair back and Sam opened his eyes, looked up at him apologetically. Dean looked up at his companions. "Um…." He settled on Cas. "Could you drive, Cas?"

"I'll drive," Mary volunteered. Dean and Cas looked at her. "This was my car before it was yours," she said. It sounded more bitter and challenging than she'd intended.  She wanted to fix it by saying something else but Cas breathed a solemn, “Thank you, Mary."

"Um," Mary shrugged, caught off guard by the angel's relief. "Sure."

She watched Cas go around the car and realized she was going to be the only one in the front seat.

"Cas, you got his legs," Dean said as they both ducked into the back and man-handled Sam. Dean pushed him more into the center of the seat, and Cas pulled his legs up while Dean got Sam's back to fold him into a hug, which Sam entered into gratefully.

Mary bit her lip, got in, took the keys from Dean without looking at these men's... arrangement... as much as possible, and started the car. 

The Impala's engine turned over. It was time to go. Mary shifted into drive and embraced the familiarity of the only baby she had left.

As soon as Baby's soothing purrs surrounded them, some Pavlovian conditioning snapped Sam into letting go and dropping his guard. His body started to tremble like it was below zero.

"Dean?" Sam stuttered, scared. He didn't know what was happening to him. He felt displaced from his own body.

"It's okay. It's shock, Sam."

"But, Cas… h-healed-" Sam looked over. Cas was running gentle hands along Sam's ribs, his back, down his legs.

"It's shock anyway," Dean said. Sam turned and Dean's lips were right in front of his forehead so he kissed him. "Just trust me." He pulled Sam in.

"I can't stop shaking," Sam murmured worriedly.

"You'll stop shaking," Dean reassured lightly; "just hold on to me and you'll stop."

Sam didn't say anything for a few beats before he let out a childlike "okay" and huddled in.

The three of them knew by now how to handle each other under these much too frequent circumstances. It was rarer for Castiel because he was an angel and so he rarely endured the torture they did, but they had figured it out quick when Castiel's wings had been forced into tangible existence and battered bloody. In helping him recuperate in the bunker, they had discovered there was some kind of emotional-spiritual connection he had with his wings. Baring them to reality was opening himself up as raw as an angel could get. Just a gentle touch and Cas broke down.

Water, a soft cleanser, careful strokes and affectionate kisses and it was like a direct line to the angel's heart. Castiel hadn't even known, either. The first time, the poor angel had been in frustrated tears, not understanding the emotional meltdown he was going through, wanting it to stop but wanting it to continue at the same time because he'd never felt more cared for, loved, and connected and bonded to them.

Ever since, whenever Cas needed it, he'd let his wings cross into physical manifestation, trusting Sam and Dean so deeply to touch what felt like the angel's equivalent of a soul, and heal it.

When it came to Dean, Castiel often took point. Dean needed Sam in his arms while he healed and he had very little patience or interest in Sam being anywhere else, doing anything else. It put Sam out of commission when it came to orchestrating anything more for Dean. That's where Cas came in. He could prepare food, bring blankets, and sometimes he’d even open a literal dimension for Dean to process his trauma.

Cas would have them sit on the floor or ground, scoot up close so Dean could fasten an arm around Sam on one side of him, Cas on the other. They'd spend some time syncing heartbeats (Sam's was always a little fast in trepidation of what Cas was about to do, but it calmed Dean to calm Sam so it always worked out). Then Cas would spread his immense wings and wrap the feathers around them, effecting a private liminal dimension. 

It was eternal and celestial, and Dean could take as much time in this timelessness as he wanted. Touching and holding the two loves of his life, knowing they were safe and warm against his heart, he could work things out in this soft nirvana. He could process and fix and break down his trauma, find security and balance again. All while humming Led Zeppelin, of course.

And finally there was Sam. 

Of course, Sam, being Sam, was a little trickier. There was a threshold of tolerance

Castiel in particular couldn't cross when it came to using his angelic powers or wings. When Sam was vulnerable or disoriented, crossing that threshold might mean a spiral into despairing pleas for mercy to Lucifer in fluent Enochian. That had only happened once. Castiel had had tears in his eyes and it'd taken Dean three hours to snap Sam out of it and bring his heart rate down. 

They'd learned, though.

The ritual Sam needed was more grounded and physical. Determinedly so. Sam had a history fraught with unreliable perceptions of reality, so he didn't appreciate anything that would mess with that. Even, or perhaps especially, if it made him feel good. He also struggled to feel comfortable in his own skin, to feel like his body was his own. 

In short, Sam just needed touch and sounds. He soaked up physical and vocal expressions of support and love like a sponge.

So here Cas and Dean were, bodily embracing their youngest in the backseat together, telling him he was theirs, he was safe, he was loved.

They were an hour away from their destination. Sam seemed to have fallen asleep. Mary bit her lip, looking between the window and the rearview.

"What's, um, what's wrong with him?"

Dean worked to keep his tone neutral. "He was tortured for days." 

"No, I know. I just thought… Cas healed him, right?"

"I can repair the body, not the lasting trauma. It harms the soul."

"Well ,yeah, but"—Mary huffed—"this is a little dramatic, isn't it?" she whispered. She was embarrassed for them, she realized.

She checked herself. She wondered what she was thinking. She hated how the hunters she knew would drink and fight and legitimately get themselves killed in senseless violence, all to "cope" with their pain, and yet here she was calling this dramatic? Acting like this was embarrassing for them?

As much as she hated it, the Campbell discomfort around emotions must've still slicked its way onto her. She winced, disturbed to think about herself like that.

"Souls are unfathomably strong," Castiel explained, "especially when they've been marked and scored so many times. In Sam's and Dean's case, unlike most humans, their souls have learned how to heal."

Mary squinted in thought as she watched the road. "Sam's soul is healing itself?" She angled the rearview mirror again to see. Castiel had Sam's knees hiked up and leaning against his chest. Dean's arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders and waist. Sam's hair was drying in curls and his face was pressed into Dean's neck, breathing steadily.

"Yes," Dean confirmed. He absently rubbed Sam's back. "With our help."

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw Cas kiss his palms until they glowed blue, then lean over and press them onto Sam's side. Sam gasped and shivered in his brother's arms but it didn't sound bad, more like surprised relief.

"Your help?"

"Cas's grace helps to heal Sam's soul," Dean answered, "and I'm just me, but Sammy seems to like me while he's healing"—he chuckled as he hugged Sam a little tighter—"so I stick around."

"You both need each other to heal because you're soul m— Ah! What is it, Dean?"

"How far away are we from the bunker, Cas?" Dean growled.

Cas shrugged. "Four point seven miles."

"Mom, Cas and I have to take care of Sam once we get there, so you'll be on your own in the place for a while. I hope that's okay."

"I completely understand," she said evenly, but her knuckles were white. What had Castiel almost let slip? 

Anxiety and curiosity crept through every fiber as they approached the bunker. Her determination to get to the bottom of this built into a firm resolve.

They arrived. 

Per Dean's instructions, Mary took a small side road that twisted downhill for five minutes before they came to a dark tunnel. The earthen walls reminded Mary of underground caves at first but then slowly the tunnel's shape smoothed, the walls turned metallic, and after passing through one swiveling wall, she was astonished to be driving into a huge, clean, spacious subterranean garage full of vintage vehicles.

"This is like Batman," she muttered to herself, inexplicably angry as she shifted the car into park by smacking the stick with her palm.

They left Mary in the library as they shuffled together into the spacious bathroom. Sam insisted again that he get his pants off. 

"Okay, easy," Dean coached. "Use the bench. Stay balanced." Sam did as he was told. His hands shook. He let out a pitchy, frustrated sound as he tried and failed to unbutton his fly. "C'mere. It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered as he stepped closer and got his brother's fly. He pulled the dirty, ripped jeans down, along with Sam's briefs. Cas helped Sam out of his shirt. 

Sam was naked, ready to go to the shower when he saw Dean holding his underwear.

"That wasn't consensual, was it?" Dean asked gravely. The way he was holding the offending cloth was discrete and so Cas squinted, not understanding. 

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line. He made fists with his hands and shook his head in answer before stalking over to the shower. 

Sam needed to get clean first. He just wanted to feel clean.

The showerheads were huge enough for two or three people so when Sam swore and backed up for the third time, unable to get the temperature right, Dean stripped and walked over. Cas figured he'd join and started undressing too.

"Let me get it, Sammy," he murmured, coming in to help on the opposite side of the spray from where Sam was. Their antipossession tattoos mirrored each other. Dean hesitated when he reached out to put his hand over Sam's on the shower's temperature wheel. 

"You tell me if you don't want to be touched, okay? I'll back off."

Sam swallowed and nodded, pulled his hand from the control so Dean could work with it. Dean stayed on the other side of the spray, testing the temperature with his palm as he rotated the wheel.

Sam cleared his throat and Dean looked up, eyes bright and worried. "I, uh, I don't want you backing off," he stated firmly. "You and Cas," Sam looked over to Cas and nodded. "It helps. It always helps."

Dean twitched a smile. "Okay, Sammy." 

Dean passed through the warming shower spray to put his hands on Sam's ribs. "Give it a minute or two and it'll be warm enough for you, princess," Dean joked as Sam folded into him.

Their best friend came over to add another heartbeat.

"Thank you," Sam whispered, reaching out to Cas too. He huddled into them. Dean reached up and angled the shower spray towards the three of them now that it was hot. When the wet heat crashed over their bodies, it felt so good Sam thanked them again and again as he moved under the spray, reached out and touched slippery, warm skin, looked into their eyes through dripping hair. Dean and Cas returned the gazes and touches, adding soap to their hands. Cas worked on Sam's stomach while Dean got his chest, tracing Sam's tattoo with a washcloth, and then his shoulders. He did Sam's back and butt and inner thighs, then held Sam, who was trembling and muttering thank you's while Cas was careful soaping Sam's genitals.

That Sam was letting them do this meant a lot of both bad and good. Good, that Sam trusted them so deeply that he was letting them clean him like this. Bad, that he was still so traumatized that he was letting them clean him like this. He was on autopilot too where he was just expressing gratitude nonstop under his breath.

"It's okay," Dean whispered, "Sammy, you're welcome. You're safe. You're clean and warm..." he spoke over Sam's mutterings.

"Sam, there is nowhere we'd rather be," Castiel said, finishing his work and standing up. Sam pulled them in and rested his head on Cas's shoulder.

The bunker had a mind of its own and dimmed its lights to soft amber. The water pressure remained steady, the temperature blissfully hot on their skin. The three of them, loosely connected in an easy hug, swayed lightly.

Sam started talking.

"When she realized she couldn't get what she wanted by torturing me, she drugged me. Power of suggestion or something, she must've said we were a couple. 

I remember confusing her with Jessica." Sam's voice cracked on her name. "She must've… walked me through it somehow…'

"Through what?"

"Sex. I thought I wanted it," Sam cried. "So it's fine, right? I'm just—"

"It's not fine, Sam. It's rape," Castiel said, eyes dark and grave.

Sam's face screwed up. To hear what was done to him named like that was overwhelming and the water didn't camouflage Sam's tears. Dean and Cas kept their arms around his back to keep him steady. Dean's other arm was across Sam's chest, Cas had one across his stomach. They braced him as he confessed.

"I was tied down to that chair when the illusion shattered. I don't know if she even actually touched me." Sam shuddered, then slipped away from their holds. He stopped short of the spray, not really wanting to leave his brother and best friend but not wanting to be seen by them either. He hunched over and covered his face.

"Sam?" 

He faltered, the floor slick.

"Sammy!"

Dean lunged forward and caught Sam and with Castiel's help, controlled his fall to the shower floor. Sam started to cry in earnest, curling up on the tile. 

"It's not your fault, Sam. There's nothing you could've done." Dean blanketed Sam's back with his body.

"I could've known-"

"No, Sam," he shook Sam's shoulders a little.

"There was nothing you could've done," Castiel said firmly. He got a hold of Sam's hand and held it. Sam squeezed back.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean said softly as Sam choked back tears.

They stayed there on the floor for a while after that. Dean embracing a curled up, weeping Sam, Castiel on his other side stroking his hair and holding his hand. The shower spray came down a little more gently. They tried to breathe.

Mary found their bedrooms and gathered clothes for them. It'd be her excuse if she were caught wandering around any part of this place.

When she finally got the nerve to open the doors to the showers just for a peek, she had to blink through the steam and get past her disbelief seeing all three of them together naked and holding Sam as he was fully sobbing on the floor. Even through the loud spray of the shower, she couldn't mistake the sounds, how Sam's whole body was shaking with them.

"I'm not clean yet. I'm not," Sam cried. It echoed around the room and reached Mary's ears.

"Yes, you are," Dean replied sternly. "You're squeaky clean, princess," he joked but it didn't go down well judging by Sam's emotional grunts.

"Sam, would it help to hear it from an angel?" Castiel asked, voice low but earnest. "You are pure. Your soul is... incandescent," Castiel said forcefully. Sam sat up, feebly fighting gasps as they held him, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Your soul is resplendent. Sam. It's been torn apart and healed so many times it is living, energetic, celestial art ." Dean turned off the showerhead. Mary held her breath. 

Sam had stilled, red swollen eyes focused and enthralled with Cas's words. "And it is in perfect harmony with your brother's as your soul mate. And both of your souls are further infused with my grace. It is a miracle, Sam, when I look at you, when I look at your soul. Both of you," Cas added, glancing at Dean. 

The brothers stared at the angel until, as one, they pulled Castiel into the tightest hug.

"Cas," Sam said wetly. "Thanks."

"It's the truth." Castiel kissed Sam's forehead. 

Dean nosed Castiel's neck, whispered into his ear "you're awesome" before kissing him along the temple.

"Okay, we're…." Dean paused to gather himself. "We're gonna dry off and maybe get something to eat, and then we're gonna go to bed, okay? That's the plan. Tell us if you want to change it, Sammy. Anything you want." 

Mary's heart clenched, recognizing the way Dean had just outlined the rest of the day. It reminded her of how she'd explain the day to her 4 year old.

"No, that sounds perfect," Sam replied, voice scratchy and wet. Dean nodded, stroked Sam's hair.

"God, Sammy," Dean sighed. 

"I know. It's a lot. I'm a lot."

"Never too much," Dean reassured, dragging him in for another hug. Sam opened up quickly, getting his arms around Dean's back and snugging in.

"What do you want for dinner?"

Sam huffed. "I don't know." They smiled at the vague return to normalcy even if they were still embracing. 

Castiel had gotten towels for them in the meantime. He wrapped one around Sam first, then handed Dean's his once the brothers parted. 

Mary stopped biting her nails and left to drop their clothes off where she'd found them. 

Walking down the bunker's halls, Mary considered what she'd just witnessed. 

Were they… homosexuals together? 

Just the thought of the two brothers (she certainly refused to think of them as her sons now) and incest had her unconsciously pressing a palm to her chest as she walked back to the room. A shadow of nausea followed her until she thought more about how what she'd witnessed. It hadn't felt sexual.

It'd felt sacred. 

Still, Mary cringed. The sight of them slick and naked, bowed over Sam like that was seared into her brain now. It might've been sacred but it sure as hell wasn't for her.

The three of them left the bathroom in towels and, reluctant to part, went to the closest bedroom first, Cas's, so he could dress. Then they went to Sam's, then Dean's.

They were ready to go out and meet Mary for a few minutes before they'd retire to Dean's room where his giant bed with the memory foam could fit all of them. 

None of them wanted to see Mary as an obstacle to get past but it was undeniably the case.

Sam lifted their spirits when he came up with a dinner he wanted though. Grilled cheese and tomato soup got Dean excited to get started because that was a classic. 

Sam was good with Mary, who looked a little green around the gills for some reason. They were both quiet; Sam still needed to do some healing. He ate mechanically and flinched or shivered when Mary asked questions. They were all relieved to say goodnight early. Cas and Dean shuffled Sam between them into the hallway, Dean's bedroom and then the middle of Dean's bed. Cas got in on Sam's right side, Dean on his left. They turned off the lights.

Sam breathed as he lay on his back, eyes watery and staring up into the darkness. When it was clear he wasn't going to roll into either of them, Dean reached out and put his palm on Sam's chest just below his neck. Sam flinched and Dean shushed him, rubbed his hand in circles. Sam put his hand over Dean's, gripped it tight so it would stay still over his heart.

Cas followed suit, only on Sam's stomach above his naval. Sam turned into the angel's touch a little bit. It let Dean reposition himself so he was propping Sam up from behind a little more. "Cas," Sam whispered, his eyes closed. "You smell like every good thing. Sunshine and rain, books and the beach…." He trailed off.

"I know," Cas took Sam's hand. He liked to hold hands; Sam and Dean's were always so warm. "Is it comforting?" Cas asked.

"Yes," Sam breathed, squeezing Cas's hand.

"I would've tried to replicate your brother's scent-"

"Please no, the one Dean in bed with us is enough," Sam chuckled.

"You two saying I smell?" 

Sam laughed and even Cas grinned. 

"You do, though." Sam pushed his back deeper against his brother's chest. Dean reacted by snaking his other arm under Sam, wrapping him up tight in his arms. "You're alive," Sam breathed, relishing it.

"I am." Dean pressed his forehead against the back of Sam's neck. "You've got me back, Sammy. I've got you. Nothing bad is gonna happen again, all right? Not as long as I'm around. Got it?"

Sam laughed ruefully but nodded. Even if he knew it wasn't true, he wanted to believe it, and so he did.

"I gotcha," Dean whispered seriously now. "Just stay with me. Here and now."

"Don't let go," Sam begged.

"I won't, Sammy." He kissed the nape of Sam's neck. "I won't."

Sam sniffed and clutched Dean tighter.

Sam was out for the count. He'd gotten comfortable holding Castiel like a teddy bear, with Dean spooning him. Dean was propped up a little higher and could see some light reflecting off Cas's eyes as the angel stared up at the ceiling.

Dean lifted the hand he had around Sam's chest and gently nudged his friend.

"What're you thinking?"

Cas sighed. "Mary."

"What about her?"

Sam slept peacefully on between them.

"She has a… strange energy to her."

"What do you mean?"

Cas shook his head. "I can't put my finger on it." Relaxed silence fell between them. "At first I thought she might betray you."

"Cas," Dean said reproachfully, but he listened to his friend. Castiel's instincts were good and Dean knew he himself was biased. 

"I watched her when we got to the farmhouse to make sure she wouldn't."

"Thanks," Dean replied, sarcastic.

"I wouldn't betray you," Mary said, opening the door to Dean's bedroom and causing the angel and eldest brother to tense up. Cas turned the light on. Dean flipped a cover over Sam's eyes so he wouldn't wake up as she approached the bed.

She went over to Cas's side instead of Dean's.

"But… I'm not your mother."

Dean made a face. "What are you talking about?" He glanced at Cas, whose gaze was piercing into hers like a true warrior of God even if he was also being used as a teddy bear to cuddle in bed by the youngest Winchester.

"You two grew up without a mother. With a father I refuse to believe was my husband," she stated, smooth and quiet and certain. "John wouldn't do what you said he did to you. He wouldn't do that to our kids." She said it quietly, clearly daunted, and horrified.

Dean gripped Sam tighter under the covers. He hadn't been expecting this.

"I'm sorry," Mary continued. "But my boys are home safe and sound in Lawrence, waiting for me to get back to 1984. You... neither of you are them.” She could barely conceal a sneer but Dean caught it. 

Sam whined in his sleep and Dean loosened up on him, let a hand free so he could wipe his eyes.

"I understand now," Cas said, unmistakable contempt in his tone. "Your energy was a discordant lack of love."

"I love , Castiel," she shot back. "I love John. I love my babies - they're four years and six months old. I need to raise them. I need to grow old with John." She bared her teeth, pained as she said her next words slowly. "I need to make sure this timeline never happens," she said with a shiver, like this was the most despicable scenario she could've imagined.

Dean rolled his eyes. Great, he thought wryly, my homophobic mom from 1984.

"We're not gay-"

"You tell each other your souls are incandescent."

Dean paused. Okay, so taken out of context and given that she must've seen them naked in the shower room together to have heard that, it did sound kinda gay.

"I'm an angel," Cas offered, trying to explain. "I can see souls, literally. It's not like-"

"Save it," Mary shot back. "I'm leaving." Her eyes softened. "I'll fix this," she said. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll fix this."

She backed up away from the bed, turned on her heels, and left. 

It was quiet again.

Cas turned off the light.

Sam was still asleep.

"That went well," Dean quipped quietly but his words were wet and shaky with emotion. The heartache of his mother's rejection, her abandonment… it was a lot. 

He rubbed his eyes, cleared his throat. 

"Fuck, that stung," he huffed honestly, surprised how much it hurt. 

"Sam," Cas whispered, startling Sam awake. "Turn over and hug Dean," Cas suggested and Sam, still mostly asleep, obeyed and got surprised again when Dean was so enthusiastic to pull him into a tight hug under the covers.

Cas slipped out and got into bed on Dean's side to snug in against his back. 

Dean was in the center now. The warmth and security of their small family penetrated through all three of them.

With a calm wisdom, Dean relinquished a desire to know or care much about Mary. He already had his family surrounding him. He was invincible. 

All three of them were.

Afterword

End Notes

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