(no subject)

[morethananything]

 
John and Dean die when Sam is three. He remembers fire, and Dean's wiry arm pushing at him while his older brother had been pinned, yelling at him, telling him in a too-young voice to get out, Sammy, get out - go get help! But when Sam had got out, nobody else followed, and there was no help that could save his small family. The old apartment had erupted into flame and took five lives that night, his father and sibling included. Sam watched the hot tendrils of flame lick the windows and walls and stood frozen in fear.

He does recall black eyes, twisted little smiles, and a loud, bright boom of light as well. They talk to him a lot - doctors, people who try and help kids like him, people who try to coax a traumatized kid out of his shell. He doesn't talk much; mostly just watches and observes. They think he's suffering from delusions, because when he does talk, he tells them about big lights, smoke coming out of throats, and those ugly black-eyed stares. They don't take what he says to heart much. They mostly just feel bad for him. 

He goes into foster care, jumps between a few places - some nice, some not so nice - until he's five, and settles with the Duketts at age six. They're nice people, and they try to talk to Sam, but he doesn't really feel like he should be with them. He wants the Impala, wants his dad and brother; he doesn't need to remember everything to remember enough. It creates an aura of isolation he wraps himself in like a warm blanket. Mrs. Dukett wants to help, but she has four other foster kids and she doesn't have enough time to really burrow into Sam Winchester's head. It's okay; Sam's good, mostly.

It's Monday, and Sam is back from school. There's a bruise on his head because the older foster kid Sherlyn doesn't like him. Sam doesn't really comprehend that she came from a violent home and replicates it when she's angry. Dad had a temper, but it wasn't anything like Sherlyn's, so he stays outside and plays with action figures in their graciously large backyard. 

He pretends they're his family, and his family always survives the end of his stories.

Comments

[watchover]

He doesn't get to choose. Most didn't, and they were fine with that. It was something ingrained, expected, never contested among his peers. But, some did harbor envy for others; guardians saddled with those destined to fail, destined to do others harm. They spoke as if there was no point in watching over these examples, but they never said so in plain words. Castiel could understand the discomfort, the disappointment, but ultimately followed what he was told.

Sam is destined for great things, years down the road, so perhaps Castiel isn't as jaded as the others just yet, but getting to that point with little interruption is the hard part. He can only guide so much, can only offer so much; ultimately, the way he arrives at the destined point would be up to Sam. Sometimes it seemed too easy.

Others, not so much. Castiel lacked a great deal of understanding in how to directly interact with humans; he was allowed very little exposure given his rank and age. But the more Sam progressed in his young life, the closer Castiel hovered. Instead of merely watching when it was necessary, he would visit. Take note on how Sam was dealing with the horrible, but inevitable, trauma that had come down upon him at such a young age. Demons would be near on occasion, and Castiel silently dealt with them, making sure they would never reach their target.

At present, he's watching Sam, eyes fixated on the stories he constructed with meager toys and limited memory to go on. It's sad, or Castiel at least thinks it's predictable. Humans were so fragile; expecting one, even one so saddled with a heavy destiny, to come from tragedy unscathed was unthinkable. His expression is measured, heavy around the eyes and tight at his jaw, as he continues to watch Sam from a safe distance. Developing feelings of attachment to their charges was somewhat rare, but not unheard of. Castiel didn't know the signs, nor did he seem to care.

[morethananything]

Sam notices things better than people give him credit for. Sometimes he lays down on the wooden deck outside and pretends to sleep, and every so often he notices a flash of a coat or the flutter of wings when he watches out from under long shaggy bangs. It's a curious thing. He thinks he's heard that hushed sound of bird wings before. Maybe.

Today he feels it. Sometimes he feels things he doesn't understand, but he doesn't say anything because the adults will just say it's make-believe, and he doesn't need someone else telling him it's all just made up, like with the black-eyes, like with the bright lights. He curls up a little, sitting indian-style with his action figures held protectively to his chest (he'll protect his family this time) and glances around the yard.

"Becky says she hangs up angels in the house because they watch over people. Is that you?"

He's not making things up. It's not make-believe.