#otrerawrites

Sam springs up from his chair and follows as Cas stalks out of the room, trenchcoat billowing out behind him.

When he reaches the room that holds the Ma’lek box, Cas doesn’t bother to open the door and simply blows it off its hinges instead.

“Sam? Dean?” Jack’s voice is frantic and scared inside the box.

“We’re here, Jack,” says Cas. He and Sam make short work of the latches on the outside of the box.

Jack sits up and climbs shakily out of the box. His cheeks are flushed and sweaty, and his hair is in disarray. His eyes are rimmed red. “I don’t like it in there.”

“We know, Jack,” Cas says gently, but then he looks back to Sam and his gaze goes hard and flinty. “Can I trust you?”

Sam’s heart aches. “Yes.”

Cas turns back to Jack. “Go pack. We’re leaving.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain in the car.”

Jack leaves the room.

“How long will Dean be out?” asks Sam.

“Hours.”

Less than ten minutes later, all three of them are packed and on the road in some old Buick. Sam had made sure to switch the plates so Dean wouldn’t know which ones they were using.

Sam consults a Men of Letters journal he’d brought. “There’s a, ah, old Men of Letters chapel house in Cincinnati. It’s warded, kind of out-of-the-way.”

Cas nods and hands Sam his phone. “Can you put it in Google Maps?”

As Sam types in the address, Jack, who has remained silent thus far, speaks up. “Why isn’t Dean coming with us?”

Sam and Cas exchange a look. Sam clears his throat and tries his best to explain. “Dean doesn’t… he’s not sure it’s a good idea for you to be out of the Ma’lek box.”

In the rear-view mirror, Jack’s eyebrows furrow. “But - you guys are working on a spell to fix my soul. So I won’t be dangerous for much longer.”

Cas takes over. “Jack… there is no spell.”

Silence. “What?”

“There is no spell. Dean lied to you.”

“What?” Jack tries to meet Sam’s eyes in the mirror. “But - Sam. Sam said.”

Sam closes his eyes against the shame. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

"So, uh," Sam stuttered, trying to keep his mind off how close Mick was, "this looks like a baku."

"The hell is that?" said Dean.

"It's a Japanese chimera-type creature. It kills people in their dreams," said Mick.

"Like Freddy Krueger?"

"Not quite," said Sam. "It doesn't kill people in their dreams, it kills people by stealing their dreams. Apparently, it's pretty common in Japan for children to ask a baku to take away their nightmares, but if you summon it too many times, it starts taking all of your dreams. And without dreams, people can't get a deep enough sleep, which leads to sleep deprivation and eventually death.”

"But none of the vics in the article died from sleep deprivation. They all killed themselves."

"Baku can steal metaphorical dreams, too," said Mick. "And without dreams... there isn't much to live for."

Dean scoffed, like he usually did after Mick spoke. "Yeah? What're your dreams, Harry Potter?"

Sam couldn't see him, but he could imagine Mick's lips tightening as he bit back a rude response.

"They're similar to most people's, I would imagine. To be happy."

"Real textbook answer," Dean remarked.

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah, yeah." He pressed harder on the gas. "We're almost there. Say something if you see a motel."

Sam frowned. "Hey, I know cash is kinda,low right now, but are you sure you want to stay in a motel? With, ah..." He tilted his head subtly in Mick's direction.

"Hell no, Sam, we are not changing our whole lifestyle for the Queen of England over here. He'll just have to deal with it. See how real hunters live."

"I'll manage, Sam," said Mick. "It can't be too bad."

Sam chewed on his lower lip and refrained from saying anything else.

Dean pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car to book rooms. Sam got out to stretch and leaned against the car to wait for Dean. He was back in a few minutes and tossed Sam a key.

“You're in room twelve.”

“You got us separate rooms?”

“You're sharing with him,” Dean jerked his thumb at Mick. “I'm getting some company after this is over, and I'm not gonna let either of you complain about it.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I deserve it for putting up with him.”

Sam tapped on the window of the Impala. Mick looked up. Sam gestured for him to get out.

“I’m gonna be in room fourteen. I’m thinking we get some takeout, do a little research on this Freddy Krueger thing, then go to sleep and interview the vics’ families tomorrow?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Sam said as Mick got out of the car.

They went their separate ways to their respective rooms.

“Okay, I know this isn’t exactly what you’re used to,” Sam told Mick, “so don’t take off your shoes, don’t sleep on the covers - actually, maybe just don’t touch the covers at all - and, uh, if you see any weird stains don’t think about where they came from.”

“Right,” said Mick, looking a little queasy.

The room was small, like most motel rooms. One of the beds was so close to the door that they could barely get into the room. There was a small, old, staticky television on a table directly across from the other bed. The carpet was a hideous electric green.

Sam took the duvets off both of the beds and put them on the floor in the corner, then dropped his stuff on the bed closest to the door. Mick did the same with the bed by the television and began to unpack. All the clothes Mick was taking out of his duffel bag were suits.

“Hey, did you bring any casual clothes?” Sam asked.

Mick raised his eyebrows. “This is casual.”

Sam bit back a laugh. “You ever try to fight in a suit?”

Mick shook his head.

“It’s not exactly easy. It’s fine, we can pick you up a few outfits or something tonight. Come on.”

They went over to Dean’s room and Sam knocked on the door. Dean opened it.

“Hey, can I borrow the keys to the Impala? Mick needs some clothes.”

“What?”

“He only brought suits.”

Dean snorted. “Smooth. No way am I letting you drive my baby if I have a choice, though. I’ll drive and we can get some food on the way back.”

They all got back in the car. Dean turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

“Either of you know if there’s a Goodwill nearby?”

“Dean, don’t make him get clothes from a thrift shop. He’s already had enough culture shock.”

“No way in hell are gonna go to, like, J. Crew or LOFT or somewhere to spend a million dollars on hunting clothes,” Dean growled.

“We don’t have to go somewhere high-end, just, like - I don’t know, Target.”

Dean rolled his eyes like going to Target was the worst store imaginable. “Fine.”

When they arrived at Target, Dean stomped through the store to the men’s section with Sam and Mick hurrying to keep up. Dean grabbed a bunch of flannels and some t-shirts off the racks and shoved the bundle at Mick. “Try these on, see if any of them fit.”

Mick took the clothes. “Where are the fitting rooms?”

Dean jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Back of the store.”

Sam and Dean hung around the outside of the dressing rooms while they waited for Mick to try on the shirts. Dean tapped his foot impatiently and checked his watch every five seconds.

“Well?”

Sam turned around. Mick was standing behind him with his arms spread out, like have at it, then. His shirt was buffalo plaid and buttoned up all the way to the neck. “How do I look?” he prompted.

“Uh, good,” said Sam, who couldn’t help but notice the way the flannel accentuated his narrow hips. “Like a hunter.”

Dean snorted. “He’s got a long way to go.”

Sam ignored him. “Will other shirts fit under it? It gets cold at night sometimes, so hunters tend to layer up.”

“I dunno. Give me a sec.”

He disappeared into the fitting room and came back out a minute later, looking the same as before.

“Did it fit?”

Mick nodded and tugged at the collar a bit. “But I must say, it’s quite warm with all these layers.”

Sam stifled a laugh. “Mick… are you… wearing another shirt under that one right now?”

“Yes, why?”

“You should unbutton the flannel, it’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

Sam stepped forward and unbuttoned the top few buttons without thinking. Mick stilled, and Sam realised that it was probably weird to help someone unbutton their shirt unless they - well. It would be weird to keep unbuttoning. Would it be weirder to stop? Sam kept going, feeling the heat of Mick’s body as he did so, until he’d unbuttoned every button and revealed the white t-shirt underneath the flannel.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and took a couple steps back.

Mick seemed as thrown as Sam was. “Thanks,” he said, his face redder than usual.

“No problem,” said Sam.

“Hey, Harry Potter, do they fit or not?”

Sam rolled his eyes as Mick answered. “They fit.”

“Cool. Hurry up and change back so we can by them and get out of here.”

“He still needs some jeans,” Sam reminded him.

Dean snorted. “Wanna help him unbutton those, too?”

“Dean!”

Mick went oddly quiet, his fist balling in the bottom of the flannel.

“Ignore him, he’s just being a dick,” Sam muttered. “Come on, let’s go find you some pants.”

Mick ended up choosing some yoga pants over jeans because he liked how flexible they were - and they were flexible indeed. They moulded to his lower half the way Dean’s memory foam mattress moulded to his body. Every time Sam thought about it, he face heated up and he got tingly all over.

The baku leaped forward, its claws outstretched, ready to scratch Mick’s face off. Sam barrelled into it from the side, knocking in over. It bared its teeth at him and screeched horrifically,

“Sam!” Dean shouted. “You help Mick, I’ll keep it away!” He began herding it out the door.

“Dean! Wait!” But Dean ignored him and chased it out of the room, so Sam scrambled over to Mick. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched at his bloody leg.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam mumbled, opening the first aid kit, “you’re gonna be fine, hang on, just give me a minute.” Sam pressed a dressing to the cut. “Can you hold this here for me?”

Mick nodded.

Sam began applying the roller bandages. “Do you feel any different? Lightheaded, dizzy, nauseous?”

“Um,” said Mick, “dizzy. Tired.”

“Okay,” said Sam. He tied off the bandages and leaned back on his heels. “Can I look at your pupils for a second?”

Mick nodded, so Sam leaned forward and examined them. “They’re not enlarged, so I don’t think you’re going into shock yet, but you will soon if we don’t close that wound.”

“Sammy!”

Sam looked up sharply. “Dean!”

Dean entered the room, grinning broadly, both he and his angel blade covered in blood. “I got him!”

“By yourself? Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

Dean shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

By the time Sam finished the last of Mick’s stitches, Dean had showered and left to go to a bar.

Sam stands up and stretches leisurely. “You want to get dinner?” Vaguely, he thinks of taking Mick somewhere not too expensive but classier than Dominos.

“How about some takeout?”

“Sounds good.” Mick shouldn’t be going anywhere with his new stitches, anyway.

They order Chinese from a place down the street and ate on their beds, chatting about lore and the case and other trivial topics. When they’re done, Sam takes Mick’s trash for him so he doesn’t have to get up and gets them both beers.

Mick turns on the television and they channel surf for a while before landing on some conspiracy theory show. It was an awkward angle to watch from Sam’s bed, but he was tired and didn’t really care.

Mick patted the bit of mattress next to him. "Come over here. You'll get a crick in your neck."

Sam obeyed silently, heart beating faster as he got closer to Mick.

They clinked beer bottles. "Cheers to a successful hunt."

"Cheers," said Sam.

It wasn't long before he was pleasantly buzzed. The room was warm, the television dimly lit the room, and Mick was slowly leaning on his shoulder. Sam wasn't sure if it was because he was tired or because of... other reasons, but Sam wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He put his arm around Mick's shoulders and pulled him in closer. Mick went willingly, settling in closer to Sam's body.

The television faded into the background as Sam watched Mick's chest rise and fall. Its rhythm was slow and steady, like Sam's, but probably not because Mick was drunk. Sam didn't even know if he could get drunk, based on that time Mick slept over at the bunker. He had gotten at least a little tipsy, though, with pink spots on his cheeks and lips wet from alcohol. Mick's lips were really pretty when he was drinking. Sam shifted them so he could see if Mick's lips were that pretty right now.

"Sam?"

Sam realised he was staring, but he didn't think to stop. Something somewhere in his brain connected, and he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

Mick looked up at him and Sam was half a second away from retracting his question when Mick said, "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

Sam leaned over and just kind of... smushed his lips against Mick's. They weren't so much kissing as feeling each other's skin and breath. Sam brought his left hand up to cup Mick's cheek and turn his face to get a better angle. It was chaste and sweet, like teenagers kissing for the first time. Except they were adults and drunk instead of teenagers.

Mick pulled him down to reach him easier until Sam was laying flat on his back with Mick leaning over him. They separated slightly in order to breath and took a moment to just look at each other.

Sam absently stroked his thumb over Mick's cheekbone. “Y’know… you're really cute. And smart.”

Mick thumped his forehead onto Sam's chest and giggled the most un-Mick-like giggle ever. It was adorable.

“So…” Sam absentmindedly rested his hand on the back of Mick’s head. “Do you… like me?”

Mick sighed. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I’m not good at people,” he confessed. “Or feelings.”

“Does that mean we’re not going to do this again?”

Mick was silent.

Sam’s heart sank. He nodded, a lump in his throat. “Okay.”

“I didn’t say no.”

"You didn't finish it now!"

Sam felt a tugging on his pants and looked down. It was Gadreel.

"Can we eat?"

Laughing, Sam said, "Yeah, we can go eat. Let's go, Gabe. We'll finish the story later."

Not looking entirely with their compromise, Gabriel trailed after Sam and Gadreel, still holding his dog.

The table was already set, complete with placemats under the plates and phonebooks on the chair. Michael had already claimed a seat. Dean was just putting out a plate of hamburgers when Sam and the three angels entered.

Castiel's eyes lit up at the sight. He leaned forward in an attempt to escape Sam's arms and made gimme-hands. "Buggers!"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, Cas, burgers." He took the youngest angel from Sam and plopped him down on the chair with the tallest stack of phonebooks. Sam lifted Gabriel up and set him on the chair next to Castiel.

Gadreel tried to clamber onto the chair next to Michael, but the older angel leaned over and slapped his hands over the chair. "No! Lucifer sits here!"

Gadreel's bottom lip began to tremble. Sam quickly said, "Whoa, hey, don't cry. Look, you can sit next to me, okay?"

Gadreel brightened at that, and he happily allowed himself to be lifted onto the chair next to Sam.

"Where is Lucifer?" asked Dean, setting down a bowl of salad next to the hamburgers. "And Bobby and Raphael?"

"I'll go find them," Sam said.

Bobby and Raphael, it turned out, were in Bobby's study. Bobby was asleep in a chair at his desk, and Raphael was sitting on his lap with Gadreel's wooden puzzle spread out in front of him. Sam couldn't help but grin.

"Hey, kiddo," Sam said quietly. Raphael looked up. "Want some food?"

Raphael nodded and held his arms out to be picked up. Sam lifted him up carefully, trying to disturb Bobby as little as possible.

Sam set him down in the hallway. "Do you know where Lucifer is?"

Raphael shook his head.

"Okay, thanks anyway. Go eat some lunch, and tell Dean that Bobby's sleeping."

Raphael ran off toward the kitchen.

Sam looked in both of the bedrooms, the bathrooms, and even the pantry, but he couldn't find Lucifer anywhere.

He poked his head into the kitchen to make sure Lucifer hadn't gone in there while Sam was looking for him, but neither Dean nor any of the other five angels had seen him.

"Maybe he went outside," Dean suggested. "Want me to go check?"

God knew Sam hated spending more time with Lucifer than was necessary, but he declined the offer. He knew Dean would scold Lucifer harshly for going outside without supervision - not that he shouldn't be reprimanded, but Dean was likely to go over-the-top with his punishment.

Sam went out on the front porch. He cupped his hands around his mouth, took a deep breath, and shouted, "Lucifer!"

When no four-year-old came running, Sam sighed. He was not looking forward to the prospect of looking through all the junk cars on the lot. Then, a flash of white in the front seat of the Impala caught his eye. Sam was suddenly very grateful that Dean was still inside. He'd flip if he knew Lucifer was in the Impala unsupervised

"Lucifer," said Sam, crossing to the car, "it's time for lunch."

The white edge of Lucifer's wing didn't move. Sam opened the driver's seat door and almost laughed. Lucifer's three sets of wings were cocooning his body. Not even his fingers or the tips of his fingers could be seen.

"I can see you, you know. Feathers don't make you invisible."

"Go 'way!"

Had it been Cas - or, hell, any of the other angels - Sam probably wouldn't have hesitated to simply pick him up and carry him inside, but this was Lucifer, so hesitate he did.

"Lucifer," he tried again, "c'mon. Dean made burgers."

"I don't want any!"

"Dude. Hurry up, or I'm gonna have to put you in time-out."

Lucifer's head poked out of his wing cocoon, making him look like a bizarre turtle.

"No! I'm gonna stay here forever."

Sam remembered something he'd read on one of those parenting websites he'd found: "You probably won't understand most things your child does or says, but ask them to explain and do your best to support them."

Sam knelt down next to the Impala, wincing a bit as his knees popped.

"Lucifer," he said. He made his voice quieter, less sharp. "Why don't you want to eat lunch?"

"I do."

Leaning back on his heels, Sam frowned and asked, "Then why won't you come inside?"

Lucifer mumbled something unintelligible and covered his head with his wings again.

"Dude, seriously. I can't help if you won't tell me what's wrong."

An odd noise was coming from underneath the wing cocoon, and the cocoon itself was visibly trembling. Sam took a deep, calming breath, then took a wing between his thumb and forefinger and gently lifted it. The back of Lucifer's head was revealed. He was shaking.

"Are you crying?" Sam blurted out incredulously. The toddlers cried, sure, but it was usually loud, violent crying that begged for attention. The way Lucifer was crying now was near-silent sobs, punctuated by little gasps and hiccoughs.

"No," insisted the angel.

Sam closed his eyes and reminded himself, he's powerless; the worst thing he can do is bite you. Then he lifted Lucifer out of the car by his armpits. Ignoring his squawk of protest, Sam sat down on the dirt and set Lucifer on his lap.

"Look at me. No, hey, look at me," he repeated when Lucifer avoided his eyes. When Sam was certain he had Lucifer's full attention, Sam asked him, "Why don't you want to go inside?"

Lucifer's bottom lip trembled. Then, "You don' wan' me!"

Startled, Sam said, "What?"

"You won' let me sit by you an' Dean'll not cut my burger an' Bobby'll make the mean face!"

Sam was taken aback. "You're upset because Bobby's grumpy and Dean won't cut up your food?"

"An' I never get to sit next by you! You hate me!" With that, he covered his face with his tiny hands and burst into tears again.

Oh. Oh. Lucifer was upset because the adults weren't treating him like the other angels. They were holding grudges against him for things he didn't remember doing. The kid was four, and they were treating him like he was still a millennia-old, nearly-omnipotent fallen angel.

Sam thought back to a couple days ago, when Lucifer had asked Sam to play with him. Sam had claimed he still had research to do, and now he recalled how lonely and forlorn Lucifer had looked as he played with his plastic army men by himself.

Then, yesterday, Lucifer had wanted to sit next to Sam, but Raphael had sat there instead. Later in the day, Lucifer had crushed Raphael's fingers with his miniature fighter jet and thrown a tantrum when they put him in time-out.

Just a few hours ago, Lucifer had asked to sit on the couch while Sam read Green Eggs and Ham, but Sam had told him that, between himself, Castiel, and Gadreel, there wasn't enough room.

How long had they been treating him like a pariah without noticing the effect it had on him? No wonder the toddler thought they hated him.

Tentatively, Sam wrapped his arms around the boy, being mindful of his wings, and pulled him to his chest. Lucifer immediately threw his arms around Sam's neck and started sobbing into his shoulder. Sam rubbed light circles between his shoulder blades and carded his fingers through Lucifer's hair, all the while rocking him back and forth and murmuring, "Shh, it's okay, it's okay."

When Lucifer was all cried out, Sam asked, "Do you want to go eat lunch now? I'll let you sit next to me."

"Dean," Lucifer mumbled.

"I'll make him cut up your burger."

"Bobby."

"Bobby won't even be there. He's sleeping."

After a moment's hesitation, Sam felt Lucifer nod.

"Okay, up we go." It was a tad bit difficult to stand up when he had a toddler attached to him like a limpet, but San was getting used to it - toddlers were clingy.

"Wait! My stuff!"

"What?"

"My stuff is in the car!"

Sam looked in the backseat of the Impala, and, lo and behold, there lay Lucifer's pyjamas, a t-shirt and pants, and the Ziploc bag filled with plastic soldiers.

"What's this in here for?"

"Was tryna run away," mumbled Lucifer into Sam's shirt, "but I di'n know how t' make the car go."

Sam snorted. "I'll bring it all inside after we eat."

At the porch, Sam set Lucifer down, but when he held out his hand, Sam took it in his own larger hand and led him into the house.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the hand-holding, but Sam shook his head at him, silently asking him to save his questions for later.

"Heya, Sammy," he said. "I was about to send out a search party for you."

"Sorry. Lucifer had to have a talk."

Dean furrowed his brow in silent question. Sam mouthed I'm okay and Dean relaxed. Any other interaction was stopped by Michael shouting, "Lucifer! I saved you a seat!"

"No, I'mma sit with Sam now."

Michael frowned, like he didn't understand. "But I saved it for you."

"Lucifer can sit next to you at dinner," Sam assured him, "but he's going to sit next to me for now."

"No, me!" piped up Gadreel.

"You can still sit next to me. Lucifer can sit on my other side."

Throughout lunch, Lucifer smiled so much that he could hardly chew his bite-sized pieces of cut up hamburger. His good mood continued when Sam agreed to play with him afterwards.

"Pew! Pew! Pew!" Lucifer made high-pitched gun noises with his little kid voice. He gestured with his plastic army men like the were shooting down the tiny plane Sam was whooshing around.

"Uh oh!" exclaimed Sam. He pretended to crash the plane.

"It's hurt!" said Lucifer. He scooped it up and ran over to Raphael. "Raph'el, its wing is hurt!"

Raphael looked up from his own wings, which he was examining with great interest.

As Sam watched the little boys interact, Dean came up behind him and ruffles his hair. Annoyed, Sam pushed his hand away.

"Quit it, jerk!"

"Make me, bitch," Dean shot back with a grin, but it soon melted. "What the hell is up with you and Lucifer?"

"Whaddaya mean?" asked Sam, even though he knew exactly what Dean was talking about.

"You went out to find him at lunch, and since you came back, you've been acting like he's your own damn kid, and not the actual fucking devil!"

Sam flinched. "Volume, Dean. The kids are still in the room." He leaned against the bottom of the sofa and tilted his head back to look at his brother. "Dean, he's a kid. He barely remembers anything from before. The rest of them are exactly the same. I'm not gonna be a dick to a little kid because of something he doesn't know he did. And you shouldn't, either."

Just then, Lucifer came running back, Raphael at his side.

"Raphael made the plane better!" He held it out so they could see the pretend gunshot wound covered by a fabric bandage from Raphael's toy veterinarian kit.

Dean stared down at the plane for a few moments, and then, in a shockingly kind voice, said, "That's great, guys."

Lucifer looked up at Dean uncertainly, but then Raphael tugged on Dean's hand and said, "Play with us." In no time at all, Dean was laying on his stomach and laughing as he helped Lucifer and Raphael wage war on Gabriel's stuffed corgi.

The battle quickly devolved into chaos. The other angels joined in, too. It seemed to be Sam, Lucifer, Gadreel, and Michael against Dean, Gabriel, and Raphael. Dean tried to recruit the Castiel, too, but the littlest angel seemed more interested in hiding the army men than in playing with them.