sam winchester + strapped down/tied up | supernatural

Supernatural | S5 EP04 : The End

@whumpgifathon Day 5 | How Did We Get Ourselves Into This Situation? - Captivity

Supernatural 15.04 | Atomic Monsters

++

Supernatural 13.21 | Beat the Devil

SAM WINCHESTER 12.01, "Keep Calm and Carry On"

+ bonus:

No, please, Dean, you're the only one who can do it. Promise. Don't ask that of me. Dean, please. You have to promise me.

Supernatural – 2.11: Playthings

anyone else thinking about how sad sam must have been over cas not liking him as much? like he was the one who prayed every night! and he was the one who tried to be good and moral and do the right things, its not his fault he got the stupid demon blood in him he deserved to be loved by an angel! cas not liking him as much must have been like the final straw to him accepting that hes never goingnto be pure :C

(and also that massive crush he had on cas probably hurt like shit)

#SamWeek2024 | day 4 | Mental Health Sam | 7.17

[ @seasononesam @suncaptor ]

I screwed up. I let something out into the world that was… I’m gonna fix it. I am. Dean and I, we’re – we’re gonna fix it. It’s just…

SUPERNATURAL 11.08 Just My Imagination

Whumptober Day 20: Fetal Position

“Sam.”  The gravelly voice sounds from the doorway, and Sam flinches.  

He’s not at his worst, today.  Those are the days where Sam’s bedroom door is closed, where he spends hours sitting at his desk or on the bed, staring at the undecorated walls of his bedroom.  Those are the days where Dean leaves food outside his door without knocking, where Cas occasionally stands guard outside (used to, Cas used to stand guard outside) for hours at a time, angelic presence palpable even through the bunker’s heavy wooden doors.  Sam’s never thanked him for it properly.  Never thanked Dean either, although in Dean’s case that’s probably a positive; he’s just as happy not acknowledging Sam’s bad days at all.

No, this isn’t the worst of days.  Sam’s been reasonably functional, which is a victory in and of itself on a day when there’s no crisis in immediate need of addressing.  He went for a run.  He cleaned up the previous night’s dinner dishes.  He dusted and swept out his bedroom, not because it particularly needed it, but because it kept his hands busy.  He even picked up a book from the library—not the bunker’s library, the town library, a Joseph Heller classic he remembers not really understanding in college.

And now he’s just…stalled.  Sitting on his bed, staring at the pages, at the words that refuse to resolve into a story—trying not to sink back into his head, into the endless replay of the moment where that awful shift took place, Cas’ kindly features twisting into a shape both alien and horribly familiar—

He forces himself to the surface.  “Hey, Cas,” he says, not looking up from his book.  Not really ready to face the angel, all too aware that he’ll have to anyway, sooner or later.  “Dean’s in the garage washing Baby, if you’re looking for him.”

Cas stands his ground; Sam wonders with momentary irritation whether the angel still doesn’t pick up on hints after all these years, or whether he simply pretends not to when it’s inconvenient.  “I wish to speak to you, in fact.”  

Stifling a sigh, Sam puts the bookmark into his book and glances up.  Takes a moment to really look at Cas’ face—Jimmy Novak’s face, he reminds himself, though he’s a little fuzzy on why the distinction feels so important.  “Sure,” he says, schooling his face into the friendly neutrality that’s appropriate to their relationship.  “What do you need?”

Cas, to his surprise, takes a breath, lets it out, looks into the room with trepidation.  Like a vampire who hasn’t been invited in.  The thought occurs quickly, before Sam can squelch it; it’s unfair, he reminds himself, Cas has never intended—  

“I…believe it is customary among humans to make an apology when one has hurt someone they care about.”

Sam’s heartbeat is audible in his ears.  He’s abruptly glad that he’s already sitting down; he focuses on his breath, the way it fills his whole chest, the warmth of it as it blows out through his nose.  Focuses his eyes on Cas, on the features of his face, and does his best to really see them, in a way that’s been difficult since—since.

They’ve changed.  Sam realizes, with distant surprise, that Cas looks older, more careworn;  Bobby would’ve grunted and said something like had some city miles put on him.  Lines etched more deeply than Sam remembers, pouchiness under the eyes suggesting too little sleep.  A vessel ridden too hard and long?  A side effect of his battered wings?  Or is it something deeper, heavier, something weighing on him—

Shame?

Breath under control, heartbeat slowing a fraction, Sam meets Cas’ eyes.   “Come sit down,” he says, gesturing to the small chair by the desk.

Cas hesitates a moment longer, but obeys, pulling the door shut behind him.  He perches on the wooden chair in that strange way he has, as if he lacks the physical instinct to relax.  A breath, then two.  “It’s…difficult to work out where to begin.”

At the beginning is usually a good start.  Sam bites back the tart reply; perhaps it’s better this way, where he can be the one to take the plunge.  He takes a deep breath.  “I assume this is about Lucifer?”  No stutter on the name, no visible outward sign of distress.  Neat and perfect, barely a splash.

Cas looks at him, face weary.  “I made the wrong decision,” he says without preamble.  “I betrayed your trust.  I nearly got you and your brother killed.”  Another pause, then a simple admission.  “I have no excuses.”

“You don’t.”  It comes out a little sharper than Sam intended, and Cas’s face tightens, but he only dips his head in acknowledgement.

“I don’t.”  Cas’s misery sits heavy and nearly audible between them.  “I see how you flinch away, when I look at you.  I understand why.  I…miss the trust that we had, before.”

“Me too.”  This time, the words are simply forlorn.  “You have to understand, seeing him in your face—”  Sam stops, clears his throat.  Takes a breath.   Opens his mouth again.  “We don’t trust easily, in our line of work,” he says.  “We know you felt it was justified.  But your betrayal…”  His throat is threatening to close up again, tears prickling at his eyes, but he manages to get the words out through thickened vocal cords.  “It was awful.”

Cas nods, his head sinking further down.  “Especially for you.”

“Yeah.”  Sam’s voice is barely more than a whisper.  A tear is sliding down his cheek.

“I won’t ask your forgiveness.”  Cas sits a little straighter, squares his shoulders.  “That would be selfish, and besides, what I did was unforgivable.  But, for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”  A moment, as if emphasizing the point, and then he stands.  “I’ll leave you be now.”

“Cas.”  By the time Sam gets the name out, the angel has nearly reached the door to the room; he pauses, hand on the doorknob, and turns to look at Sam.  

It’s Sam’s turn to struggle, another pair of tears sliding down his face.  “Everyone makes wrong decisions sometimes,” he finally says.  “We do the best we can in the moment.  And I think…the most important thing is that we forgive ourselves.”  

Cas looks at him with an expression that on anyone else Sam would call agonized.  “Then how do we keep it from happening in the future?”

Sam swallows, thick, finds that the words are coming a little easier.  He even feels a half-smile lift one corner of his mouth—damp, wry-bitter, but unmistakable.  “We make our best that little bit better.”  A breath, in, out.  “And if we’re very lucky, eventually the people we care about are also able to forgive us.”

Cas thinks this over, acknowledges it with a single nod.  “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam nods in return, breathes a little easier.  “Of course.”

A moment more of thought, then Sam finds himself pinned under Cas’s gaze—the one that, even if Sam didn’t know him, would tip him off to Cas’s inhumanity.  The one that sees through things.  “I hope you are able to forgive yourself, too.”  And he turns and leaves, shutting the door once more.

Sam breathes once, twice, three times—each breath growing heavier and heavier.  With the sweep of an arm, he sends the book flying; it thuds against the wall before falling on the floor, spine split.  Sam ignores it.

He slides down onto the bed, curls into the fetal position, and sobs.

#SamWeek2024 | day 4 | Mental Health Sam | 7.17

[ @seasononesam @suncaptor ]

there's something just sooooo like. bananas about Sam getting visions of burning bushes and his dead father and flashbacks of the Cage believing that it's because he's praying to God and God is telling him that he needs to go back to the Cage and there's soooo many implications in that alone and then. AND THEN. he goes back to Lucifer and Lucifer tells him that it was him all along. Lucifer reaching out from the Cage to bring Sam back in.

like - whatever you do, you will always end up... here