Sam’s sleep was anything but restful like Cas and Dean had hoped.
Sam watched, a prisoner in his own body, as the angel spoke in his voice tricking Dean then punching him out. He couldn’t believe this was happening.
He screamed as loud as he could. He tried to regain control of his limbs. Anything he could do as he saw the angel walking through the bunker.
The angel approached Kevin. Fear gripped his entire body. No. Sam couldn’t let this happen. Not again. The prophet was innocent. Kevin was his responsibility just as much as he was Dean’s. The poor kid never wanted any of this. He was bright. He had so much potential. Sam saw himself in the kid.
He fought and fought, but to no ...view middle of the document...
Sam woke up screaming, covered in a thick, cold sheen of sweat. His head was pounding. He threw the blankets off of his body and ran into the bathroom, suddenly extremely nauseous. Sam gripped the toilet seat and heaved, his whole body shaking. Every so often a more violent tremor came, forcing him off balance and onto his knees.
When his heart rate slowed back down to a more normal level and he came out of the fit and looked into the mirror. Tears came freely from his red, worn out eyes. He was horribly pale. Sam thought back to just before the last trial, bringing about the only slightly positive thoughts he could muster up. He looked a bit better than he had before the third trial and he wasn’t coughing up any blood..
Trying to relax himself further, Sam started the shower, turning the water on as hot as it would go. He stripped the drenched flannel pants and t-shirt from his body as quickly as he could, but they were sticky and heavy like they had been soaked glue.
“It’s not my fault.” he chanted continuously, his voice reaching barely above a whisper.
He stood in the shower until the water ran cold as ice; his body was shivering and his teeth were chattering. Searching through the armoire, Sam found the softest pajamas he could and nestled himself into the couch by the TV. Turning on a nature documentary to distract himself, he made a silent prayer that things were going better for Dean and Cas.
Dean had popped one of his favorite classic rock mixed tapes into the Impala, cranked up the speakers, and drove wordlessly. Cas assumed that he was feeling a great burden of guilt and wished to drown it out. With Cas not wanting to push him, the pair rode to the warehouse with only the sound of the music blaring out the speakers.
When parked in the street outside, they observed no change in the area since the last time they were there. Cas grabbed the black canvas duffle bag from the trunk and Dean loaded his handgun. They entered from the side door, like they had last time and saw that just like the outside, nothing within the warehouse had changed either.
Dean rifled through some papers on the table, stuffing them into a folder. He examined the layout of papers, strings and pins on the corkboard on the wall. Cas went into the next room in search of the tablets.
Cas walked in to see an ancient, wooden chest surrounded by a line of salt.The sigils carved into every side showed that it was warded against demons and the iron lock further protected it. He approached it, entered the circle, and broke the lock open by squeezing it in the palm of his hand. Cas gently eased open the chest and saw that the tablets were there, safe and sound. Suddenly, the window shattered in and Metatron appeared just outside the circle. He dropped a lit match on the salt and it burst into flames; there was holy oil underneath it. Metatron had left a trap for them.
How could I have been so thoughtless? Cas thought, almost groaning out loud.