FADED ▷ Sam Winchester [2]

10 | TURNING PAGE

"Yes," Cas says. "Sam was persistent on waiting for you to wake up, but Dean put him to bed."

I smile and laugh a little.

"What?" He asks, confused.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I don't sleep. I'm an angel," Cas says. I nod my head in acknowledgement.

"Right. So, what do you do when those guys are sleeping? Have parties?" I ask, shuffling through the cupboards. I'm starving.

"Uh... no," he says. I turn and arch and eyebrow and smile at him.

"I'm only teasing you, Cas," I say, grabbing the box of Froot Loops.

"Oh," Cas responds.

"So how mad are those guys?" I ask. Cas narrows his eyes a little and tips his head, confused. In that moment, he looks kind of like a confused cat. I have to fight the urge to laugh at it.

"What?" He asks.

"I mean, they're mad, right? Lucifer still got away," I say. Cas sighs a little, his expression returning to normal.

"Well, Sam was worried," he tells me. "We weren't sure if you were going to wake up. And, Dean... I believe he's frustrated that Lucifer got away again."

I look away, feeling upset with myself. Upset I couldn't do more. "Frustrated with me," I correct Cas. I don't wait for him to answer, but I just go back to my room, carrying the box of cereal with me.

The fact that I feel my throat tightening up and tears forming in my eyes makes me feel even worse; why should I care what Dean thinks? I did the best I could do in the situation, it's not my fault Lucifer got away. Screw him, ya know?

I shake my head and close my door before sitting at the edge of the bed. I find my duffel bag, which Sam must have brought in from the impala, and dig my journal out. I've been getting lazy with it these past few weeks. I wrote a little about Asa Fox's funeral and that crossroads demon Jael but just a little, and I haven't wrote any since then.

Is it worth writing about Lucifer? The extent of my hate towards him could not possibly be put into words. It would be a waste of pages, honestly.

"Bailey?" I look up as Sam pokes his head into my room. "I thought I heard you walking around. How're you feeling?"

I clench my jaw and look up at him from my journal. I smile, shrugging. "I'm great," I say, a little too happily, before looking back down at my journal with a frown. Sam is too smart to buy that, I know.

"What's wrong?" He asks. Using my peripheral vision I can tell he is stepping a little closer. I stay still, writing on a page of the journal, but I'm not really paying attention to what I'm writing anymore.

I suck in a breath and shake my head. "I should've did more," I confess.

"What?" I can tell he is furrowing his eyebrows. I look up at him and my suspicions are confirmed.

"He still got away, didn't he?" I say, my voice cracking. I don't like talking about my feelings, or failures, or both. I look down again. If I'm gonna tear up, I don't want Sam to see it.

"Bailey..." he sits down at the bottom of the bed, so he can be closer to me but still far enough away for me to be comfortable. "You did what you could. Don't let Dean get to you, okay? He's not upset with you, just Lucifer."

"Okay," I nod a little to let him know I got the message.

A beat of silence pass between us, and I realize a couple tears fell onto my page, smudging the writing. I sigh in frustration, shutting the book and setting it on my little night stand.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Sam asks, letting me know he was still there. I wipe my face a little and sit back again the headboard.

"What?"

"What were you doing working for Lucifer? You seem smarter than that," he tells me. I scoff a little. I bet he's just sucking up because he wants to know the story. But, since I'm emotionally vulnerable right now, that part of my brain isn't really working.

"I had made a deal, and he said he could get me out of it," I say.

"But he's the devil," Sam points out. "That didn't stop you?"

"I didn't care," I say, shrugging. Normally, I think I wouldn't be comfortable in this conversation, but it's four in the morning and I'm mentally and physically exhausted, and I just don't care. "I didn't want to go to Hell."

"What is it that you did for him exactly?" Sam continues to press. Wow, he really wants this story tonight.

"I was his..." I squint my eyes, trying to think of the right words. "Little errand girl." Sam gives me a surprised look. "He had me doing the dirty work he didn't want to do. Which... wasn't much, actually."

"Like what?" Sam says.

"Mostly killing," I answer. He looks slightly taken back. I purse my lips together. "I was desperate. I didn't care. I wanted a way out. I'm a different person now." However, Sam doesn't look entirely convinced.

"Okay, how long were you working for him, exactly?" He asks.

"Uh, six or eight months," I answer. Sam raises his eyebrows and gets this look on his face like that wasn't the answer he was expecting. But was he expecting more or less? "Sorry," I say. "It took me a while to realize that what I was doing was wrong. I wasn't in a good place then." Sam doesn't say anything for a moment. I suddenly get defensive, frustrated with his silence.

"Hey, I was just working with him," I say. "It's not like I'm the one who let him out."

Sam looks at me and then clenched his jaw. He looks away from me. I feel bad instantly. I know that was a mistake he made. I have no right throwing that in his face.

"I'm sorry," I say. "That was stupid–"

"No, that's a good point," he responds, getting up off my bed. "You're not the one who let him out, I did. So I shouldn't chew your ear out for working with him for a few months."

"I didn't mean to say that," I say firmly. "Will you sit back down please? I wanna talk to you some more."

Sam sighs and looks at me. He's standing next to the door, probably seriously considering leaving. "Please?" I ask.

He sits back down. And I tell him everything.