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Sam was staring at him, as if he were trying not to laugh. “That’s...us?”
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Not us. Symbols representing us. What, you wanted me to get your name plastered in hearts or something? Screw that. This is art.”
“But...it’s...” His lips were quirking into a small smile.
“What?” he demanded defensively.
The large man could hold himself back no longer. “It’s adorable!” he cackled, falling to the couch heavily.
Castiel’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “Adorable?” he cried. “It is not! It’s...” He looked down at his hand, where his new tattoo was healing between his thumb and forefinger. The curve of the design was elegant but abstract, and unless it was studied closely, one might not even see that it was a deep blue cat watching over a larger, black-brown shepherd dog. The animals were in silhouette, with thin, calligraphic flourish. The cat’s stance was protective and graceful, the dog’s faithful and strong. He looked back up. “Okay. It’s a little bit adorable,” he conceded reluctantly. “But do you like it?”
Sam leapt up and threw his arms around his boyfriend to crush him into a hug. He ignored the yelp of protest. “I love it. You are incredible.”
When he finally released him, the man stumbled backward, and shook out his hair irritably. “You’re obviously a big dumb mutt, and you call me a cat when you’re annoyed with me. So...so I spent three weeks doing drafts. So you better like it. It obviously isn’t coming off.” In case Sam had hated it, he had a backup plan to cover it with a second design, but he had to admit to himself that he would be heartbroken if he had to use it.
Two large hands grabbed his face and he was nearly lifted off his feet for a kiss.
Castiel let his skin simply feel the soft lips for a moment, drinking in Sam’s taste and smell, the way his strong hands pulled him in with too much enthusiasm. They shared quick pecks of affection sometimes, but when Sam truly kissed him like this, he felt himself fall into it, felt suspended in time. He wanted to worship the man, to devour him, to wrap himself in everything that was Sam, inside and out. It was just as well that every kiss was not like this. He would never survive that much intensity.
Sam had been away for the past two weeks. It had been the longest they had spent apart since finding one another, and Castiel had ached with his absence. He had been lost in a way he had never been before. Castiel was the most self-sufficient, independent person either of them had ever met. He enjoyed solitude, and took pleasure in his own company. If he were perfectly honest, by the time Sam left, he was actually looking forward to his time alone. For the first two days of their forced hiatus, Castiel had simply enjoyed the quiet, read his books, and revisited his neglected meditations. By the third day, he was finding himself looking for things to do with himself, so he went for the tattoo with his final draft. The fourth day, he had accidentally cooked enough for two out of habit. By day five, he was no longer actually reading the words in his books, but just staring at them. Days six, seven and eight were spent in complete denial that he was missing Sam badly, and he threw himself into his reading with fervor. Day nine, he applied for a job at the library, and spent three hours volunteering at the animal shelter he had not visited for over a year, and tried not to look at the big dogs with longing. Day ten, he caught himself wandering the apartment, and forced himself to go for a run instead. Days eleven and twelve, he had ordered pizza and stayed in bed, glancing every few minutes at his phone, while watching two of Sam’s favorite movies. On day thirteen, he had gotten the call that Sam would be yet another day away, and he had wanted to throw something, but instead expressed that he understood completely, and did not mind at all. Day fourteen had been devoted to cleaning, himself, the apartment, his car, and anything else he could get to, in expectation.
And now, finally, here he was, with his enormous grin and his gorgeous eyes and his impossible kisses.
Castiel sighed happily.
“You are a cat, Angel,” the man breathed into his hair as their lips finally parted. He took Castiel’s hand to stare again at the ink. “And I do love it. We look like we’re watching out for one another.”
He was pleased that Sam had seen that. “Because we do.”
Sam licked his lips and touched the design gently. “I like...”
Castiel waited, tilting his head very slightly, his blue eyes trained on Sam’s face. He knew Sam well enough now to know that if he just waited, Sam would complete his thoughts without prompting.
A soft, sweet blush painted Sam’s ears and cheeks. “I like that the...the cat doesn’t seem to mind that the dog is...”
The corners of Castiel’s mouth peaked fractionally. He knew where Sam was going with this statement, and it endeared the man to him even more.
“You know. The cat doesn’t seem to care that the dog is...big. Like, he doesn’t mind that the dog’s...you know.”
“Four inches taller and forty pounds heavier?”
The blush intensified and spread across Sam’s face. “That the dog’s not as graceful,” he murmured.
Castiel pointed to the design still resting in Sam’s hand. “The dog is graceful. Maybe not so much as the cat, but that’s all right. He’s strong. And you’re right. The cat loves him exactly for what he is.”
Hazel eyes looked down into his, and burned with gratitude for several seconds. Then he sighed. “So...so I’m hungry. I told Dean not to stop on the way. He picked me up at the station and drove straight here. And since he knew we’d want time...Anyway, he said to tell you hi, and that he’s not being a dick not coming in, just that he’s letting us be. So he and I didn’t eat on our way. Mind if I cook something?”
“Yes. I do.”
Sam frowned. “Um. Okay?”
“I’ve got food on the way already. Should be here in twenty. In the meantime, you’re the appetizer.” He grabbed hold of Sam with both hands and yanked him hard, throwing off the man’s balance just as he knew how to do, and dropped him to the living room floor on his back with a surprised yelp. He placed a knee on either side of him and helped himself to Sam’s shirt buttons.
His lover laughed quietly. “God, Cas. Did you miss me?”
“Shut up.” His fingers made short work of the clothing beneath him, pulling and tugging at the denim and plaid until there was nothing left but Sam. For a moment, he stopped to stare down at the man hungrily. He ran his tongue over his lips, and chewed at the tiny silver hoop at the bottom. Sam was still blushing. Castiel loved the way his bare chest flushed. It was maddening to watch Sam’s muscles move in anticipation. His blood washed through him in waves, his nostrils flared and his lips parted to reveal white teeth ready to claim the flesh below.
Thank God Gabriel had left for the summer.
By the time their food arrived, Sam was sprawled out across the couch, slick with sweat, with hooded eyes and a lazy smile. Castiel had thrown on some jeans to answer the door, and he had tossed a blanket over his lover carelessly. He treated the delivery man to a handsome, lurid grin, and tipped him well. He set out the food, and took care as he prepared Sam’s dish, serving it to him with a fork, but pulling out his good chopsticks for himself. Anyone who had spent as much time in Nepal as he had knew how second-rate Asian food was in America, but he did not mind. He treated it like a different ethnicity altogether, the way Chicago pizza was utterly divergent from Sicilian.
He handed Sam’s bowl to him carefully. The man was not entirely dexterous immediately after sex, and he would hate for him to spill hot food on himself while naked. Castiel sat crosslegged in the center of the room, using the coffee table for his bowl, and just smiled up at Sam happily.
“What is this?” Sam murmured dazedly.
“Food. Eat it.”
“I want to know what it is.”
“Dan dan noodle peanut stir fry.”
“Is that even on the menu?”
He took a bite of his sesame noodles. “It is if you know how to order it. You’ll like it. I’ve made it for you before. I called it vegetarian Chinese spaghetti and you loved it.”
Sam tried to glare at him, then gave up. “I know what stir fry is, jackass.”
Castiel shrugged and crunched into his own dish again.
“Cas?” Sam was twirling his noodles around his fork, but Castiel tried not to notice. “Can I ask you something?”
He took a breath, and another bite. That was Sam’s earnest voice, the one that led up to questions that took too long to answer. But he was ever honest with Sam, no matter how much he wished the man could just eat in peace. He grunted his consent.
“How many people have you slept with?”
Oh. Was that all? “Depends on your definition, I guess. You want to know how many people I’ve screwed, or how many I’ve done anything at all with? Or how many I’ve shared a bed with?”
Sam was playing with his food. “Everything. I mean, you know. Sex.”
“Sam, we both got tested before we started playing around seriously. And I only go to clean ink and piercing places.”
“I know. I’m not talking about that.”
“Okay. Good. Um. I don’t know. A few in high school. A few while I was traveling before coming here. Then once I was here, you know about those. Meg, Anna, April. Balt. There was a girl I dated once, Daphne. We were together a good while, but she wasn’t into sex. So we just sort of did everything except. Why?”
“Meg, Anna, April...Balt,” Sam repeated carefully. “You always say it like that. The three women. Then Balt.”
Castiel shrugged, wondering if he was missing something. “Meg and Anna I dated a few months each. April was a weekend thing, and she turned out to be a bitch. Gabe and the guys call her The Reaper. And...Balt.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Sam shifted on the couch, sitting up straight and pulling the blanket over his lap properly. “Always ‘and Balt.’ Why have you never told me about Balt? You just say his name, like that explains everything.”
Castiel cringed. "You want me to tell you about Balt?"
"Why not? You know everything there is to know about me and Jess. Jesus, dude, you almost cracked a rib when I let you read the part of my story where I turned him into a woman and had demons fry him on the ceiling."
He smirked. "As far as passive aggressive venting goes, that was pretty funny."
"So? You can't vent too?"
He set his bowl on the coffee table and placed the chopsticks gently on the side. "I guess. What do you want to know? It ended bad. Real bad."
"But how did it start?"
He shrugged, and looked down at the black and red feather wrapped around his little finger. Then he sighed and lay back on the floor where he had just felt every part of the man he loved, and closed his eyes. "Remember I told you I was never anywhere long enough as a kid to get attached to anybody?"
"Yeah. You said they moved you around a lot."
"They did. And usually to good places with good people. It was just only for a few weeks here, a few months there. So I just kept my head down, usually in a book and with headphones, and waited for the next move. I think it's the only reason I always made As in school. I had nothing better to do. And that was fine. When I was about twelve, I cut grass for my foster parents' neighbors and whatever they'd let me do, and saved till I could buy myself a laptop to carry with me everywhere. Started making a list of all the places I'd go one day, researching and whatever."
Sam was quiet, but Castiel knew he was hearing every word of this story he had never told anyone. Even Gabriel could only have guessed at pieces of it.
"I spent all my time alone, reading or studying, listening to music and planning my trip. Years I spent like that. But when I was fourteen, I was placed at this house."
Behind his closed lids, he could almost see the gray house with its gray yard and the gray windows where the girl peeked out until the blond boy had pulled her away from it. Gray. Everything about that place had been gray, except for the two children.
"You okay, Angel?" Sam asked softly.
He swallowed. "Of course. It was seven years ago." He was tempted to add something about not being a kid anymore, but he hated the way that sounded. "Anyway, I was almost fifteen, I guess. Moved in just for a few weeks. I don't remember." It was a twenty-one day placement. Three weeks before he would go somewhere more permanent. That's what they told him every time. Somewhere more permanent. He was too old for most shelters at fourteen, and yet too young to have a chance at emancipation. All he had to look forward to was somewhere more permanent.
He cleared his throat. "These folks already had kids there. Foster kids, I mean. Two of them. A little girl, like nine, and a boy, just a year or two younger than me."
"Was that...?"
"Balt. He was this incredible live wire, filled with energy he didn't even know what to do with. And this couple, they tried everything to beat it out of him."
"Literally?" Sam guessed sadly.
"Yeah. Like I said, I was pretty good about keeping my head down and just getting through. But I just couldn't. Disobedience at this place was like murder one. After the third time I saw Zach go after Balt, I just couldn't stay quiet anymore. I hit him. Just flew at him, ripped the belt out of his hand and threw my fist into his jaw. Needless to say, Zach beat the shit out of me. But he left Balt alone for a while. I was his new project. Naomi called it reeducation, like it didn't count as beating the shit out of a kid so long as he learned something from it. I always wondered about her. Like maybe she really got into fostering kids because she wanted to do some good, but lost sight of it all along the way, especially when Zach spouted Bible verses while he...did what he did."
"Jesus, Cas. I'm sorry, man. I didn't know."
"Nobody knew. After one fun Friday night spent spitting blood into the sink, Balt finally came to me and helped me clean up. He said the night I had stood up for him, he had been covering for Bella."
"The little girl?"
"Yeah. He didn't elaborate, but Zach must have been..." Castiel felt ill suddenly. "Hurting her," he finished at last. "Balt had refused to leave her alone with him, and he had taken his belt to him. That's when I walked in."
"Jesus," Sam swore again.
Castiel laughed without humor. "But it was all right, because the guy knew his Bible verses. Because he was doing the work of Heaven. Anyway, three nights later, Balt stole a chunk of cash and took off. I guess he figured I'd watch over Bella from then on. Can't blame the kid. Problem was that when Zach found out? He put me in the hospital. Said I was a bad influence, that Balt was just following my lead, that everything the kid did was because I disobeyed first."
Sam was setting down his food, and moving to rest beside Castiel then. "Cas, I'm sorry."
"Not so sorry as I was. When I finally got someone to believe me and they went to check out the house, Zach and Naomi were gone. Just gone. And Bella..."
He did not realize the tears were streaming down his face until he felt Sam's soft lips on his closed, swollen eyelids.
"Anyway, it was too late for Bella. I wasn't there to protect her, like I should have been. Soon as I healed up enough, I went out and found someone to give me my first tat." He raised up his small finger.
"What, the feather?"
Castiel felt an odd smile come over him. "No. That came later. Among other things he did, Zach took a pair of pliers to my fingernail. So before it grew back..." He opened his eyes slowly.
Sam stared at the finger for a moment.
"You can't see it well anymore. It’s seven years old, and it’s the only one I have that wasn’t done by a real professional. It's a tiny bell, right where the nail should have been. Where it is now. I just didn't want to forget her. That was stupid; I'll never forget something like that. But a few years and a few tats later, I got the feather, to remind myself I was named for an angel, and that angels were meant to protect people like Bella."
"You were a kid, Cas."
"Well, I wasn't a kid two years ago when Balt showed up at my door. Apparently there aren't very many Castiel Novaks in this state; I was easy to track down. I was twenty. He was eighteen. He had been in and out of juvie, but he was out of the system, so he came to find me. Said he'd never forgotten what had happened, that he had thought about me for years. That I was his hero."
"Wow."
"Yeah. Well, he was this gorgeous kid, still a live wire in every way. He wrapped me up so tight, I couldn't see what it was doing to me, that it was wrecking me. I’ve been around a lot of drugs in my life, but I was never tempted to do more than smoke a bit till Balt was there with every chemical available to man. Told me the world was coming to an end, so we might as well blow coke and jump on the bed. I'll never forget that. Every night it was something else. Pulling him out of parties before cops showed up, trying to help him hold down a job. I spent so much time bailing him out, trying to clean him up, that I didn’t realize what it was doing to my own head. He never meant to hurt me, but he didn't know how not to. I was already in too deep. After about eight months of the least healthy codependency possible, I told him I had to get out. He wasn't cleaning up and I was only going down with him. I was running out of excuses to stay clean when he walked in every night with something new, promising to make us forget. When I caught myself wondering one night why I wasn’t shooting up with him, I made myself leave. Hardest thing I ever did."
Somehow, his head was in Sam's arms, and he found himself curling into the embrace.
"Felt like I was back at that house, and walking away while he was getting the crap beaten out of him, choosing to save myself instead of him. I knew I had to. I couldn't save him any more than I could have saved Bella. But it hurt so bad. Last thing he ever said to me. Said I'd stabbed him in the back, all the way through the heart."
"I'm so sorry, Cas."
He gripped Sam's bare arms tightly, wanting to bury himself into the man's strength. "If it hadn't been for Gabe, I think it would have killed me. I didn't love Balt, and he didn't love me. It was mutual destruction. Both of us blamed me for Bella, and both of us felt like I owed it to him to take care of him no matter what it did to me."
There was silence between them, but it was comfortable. Castiel was tired. After waiting all day-all week-for Sam to return from his conference in Texas, after a beautiful round of much-needed lovemaking, and after the telling of a story he never thought he would tell another soul, he was weary down to his bones.
"Sam? I think I'd like to sleep now."
"Of course." The large man half-lifted him to a stand.
Castiel smiled at him. "You're stunning naked, you know that?"
Sam looked like he had forgotten. "Oh."
He laughed quietly. "Come on, pup. I know you're hungry. Eat your dinner. I know my way to my own bed.”
"I don't mind."
Castiel touched his face. "I just need some sleep. I'm going to shower, then crawl into bed. You eat and watch a movie or something and then join me later."
It was a dismissal, and Sam knew it. He nodded. "Okay. Cas?"
"Yes, Sam."
"I love the new tattoo."
A weary smile broke over his face then. "I'm glad. And I'm glad you're home."
***
Home.
Sam watched Castiel pad silently into the bedroom. He heaved a sigh. That word, home, had never been a concrete concept for either of them. For Sam, home was Dean. In his whole life, the only home he had ever known was the one Dean had made for him. Even when they were on the road with their father, Dean had done his best to make Sam feel safe wherever they were. Campgrounds and motels, parking lots and truck stops...as long as Dean was there, he was home. He could remember the arguments about Sam's education, his father insisting that everything was fine, Dean pointing out that Sam had not been in a school for more than two months his whole life.
Then, Dean had turned eighteen, and everything had changed. Their father had not been at the extended-stay motel at the time. As was often the case, they were on their own while he took off alone. Dean had gotten him enrolled in a school, and was helping him sort out his class schedule, when Sam had suddenly burst into tears.
Dean had reached for him in surprise. "Hey! Hey, what's...You don't have to take Latin if you don't want! I thought you'd like it!"
Even while the tears streamed down his face, he had laughed. It seemed Dean could always pull a laugh from him. "No," he croaked. "Latin's fine. It's good. I'm just so tired, Dean."
His brother's face had fallen, and a twinge of pain had crossed it. "I know, man. Hey. It's okay. One more month, okay?"
Sam had thrown his hands up angrily. "One month! That's the point, Dean! One month is all I got to make and lose friends. To figure my way around this town and the school, where everything looks the same as a hundred other places we've been, but slightly different, so that I'm always a little bit lost. One month to enjoy learning Latin and then we're off someplace that maybe doesn't offer anything but French and Spanish. One month is the point, Dean!"
The older boy had nodded quietly. "I know, Sam."
"You don't know! You never cared about school! You always made friends in five minutes. Takes me five days to get up the nerve to even talk to somebody and by then, we're packing for another town! As soon as I'm old enough, I'm dropping out too! I'm sick of it!"
Dean had closed his eyes for a moment, and Sam knew he was collecting his temper. "Sam, don't you ever say that again. You hear me? I'll kick your ass if I hear you say that again. Now shut up and listen to me. When I said one month...do you even know what's coming in a month?"
Sam shrugged. Whatever it was, he didn't care.
"I turn eighteen, okay? And I promise you, I promise you, once that happens, you'll never have to be on the road again."
A flood of emotions filled the boy, and he struggled to understand, but the realization of Dean's age struck him and nearly threw him off his feet. "Shit. Shit, Dean." He dropped onto his chair heavily. "Eighteen? I-I didn't even...we never did birthdays, and I kind of forgot...Jesus, Dean, are you going to leave us?"
It was the scariest half-second of his life before Dean had given him that handsome grin that brightened every room, that always made Sam feel at ease, that charmed every girl in every town they'd ever been. "Eighteen, Sammy. You and me? We're getting out."
Sam knew now that he was the only reason Dean had stayed until he was eighteen. If it were just him and their father, Dean would have taken off long before legal adulthood. But he had waited for Sam, to be able to give him a real home.
Home was wherever Dean was.
And now, home was beginning to mean Castiel's arms. His lover had never known a home either. Perhaps that was why they understood one another so well. But Castiel had never had a Dean. Twenty-two years without a Dean.
Sam frowned to himself. He reached for his phone and dialed as he cleaned up the dinner dishes.
"Sammy?"
He smiled. "You never say hello like normal people."
"You call just to mess with me?"
"No." Sam swallowed with difficulty. "I called to say thank you."
Dean was quiet on the other end for several beats. Then he cleared his throat. "What, like I was going to leave your ass at a filthy bus station? You're too pretty. Some creep might have taken you home."
Sam chuckled. "Yeah. That too."
"What's on your mind, man? You gotta talk something out?"
He let his hair fall over his eyes as he smiled to himself. Dean hated talking. Always had. But he knew Sam needed it sometimes and so he offered, no matter how awkward it was for him.
"I don't know. No. I just wonder if I ever really thanked you for everything you did for me as a kid."
"You were a pain in my ass. Feel better now?"
He laughed, and stared out the apartment window. "Yeah, okay."
Dean sighed into the phone. "Sammy, I don't want you to thank me for anything. Okay? We're brothers. It was my job to look after you. And I never minded it."
"Thank you anyway."
"You looked after me too, you know. I mean, I don't want to know how far off the reservation I could have ended up if it weren't for you. I'd be wearing an orange jumpsuit or lying in a gutter someplace if I haven't always known you deserved better than that. You kept me human, man."
A twinge of guilt nagged at his stomach. "At least you wouldn't have to be paying for tuition."
"Whatever. You pulled in enough grants to make it balance. But, uh...I was thinking about what we talked about on the drive today. Did you...?"
"I didn't bring it up yet."
"Good. Because I was thinking about it. I don't want you to do something you aren't ready to do just because it's going to save me some money. You're just dumb enough to do that. When I mentioned it, it was just to...you know...to tell you it was okay if it was what you wanted. When I said it would save some money too, I was just thinking out loud. I wasn't saying it's what I want. Just that it's okay if it's what you want."
"I know."
"So? You think you want to live with Cas next year?"
"You first. You going to live with Pamela next year?"
"Shut up. I don't know yet."
"Well, neither do I. You aren't the only Winchester with commitment issues."
Dean laughed then. "Jesus. Who would have thought we would both finally be here, huh?"
Here. In love with good people, staring down forever. Dean would never be able to say those words out loud, but Sam knew what he meant. "Yeah. Dean? If...if Mom hadn't died, do you think she and Dad would still be together? Like in a house with real jobs and stuff?"
"Dad was a good mechanic. But...I don't know, Sammy. I try not to think like that."
It was his way of telling him the conversation was over. Sam had not managed to get out two consecutive questions about his mother their whole lives; it was hardly a surprise now.
"Yeah. Okay. 'Night, man."
"Turn your brain off for a while, okay? Get some sleep."
Hard to do when there was an angel hurting in bed beside him. "I'll try."
He abandoned the dishes in the sink. Castiel would probably get up in the middle of the night and do them anyway. He wiped his hands on a towel, and could hear the shower shutting off in the next room, so he picked up his travel bag and slipped into the bedroom.
"Cas?" he called. "You need anything?"
The impossibly low voice rumbled from the bathroom. "No."
"Yeah you do," Sam muttered to himself sadly. He retrieved a pair of boxer briefs from his bag and pulled them on. Looking around the room for his hairbrush, he found himself wondering what it would be like to live with Castiel permanently.
Neither of them owned much. Each of them had grown up knowing that everything had to fit in a backpack or be left behind. Every picture and song was stored on their laptops and phones. Castiel seemed to have not purged his wardrobe in years. When Sam had teased about how much of the older man's time was spent with laundry, he had smiled and told Sam that he had worn the same three articles of clothing, including the long trench, through all of high school, everywhere he went. On his travels, he had carried only two sets of clothes and the same faithful coat. Now that he was settled somewhere, he wanted choices.
He owned very little, but what Castiel did own was precious to him, Sam knew. There was a small Australian Aboriginal figurine placed right next to the native Canadian knife. There was a traditional tea set from his time in Asia. On his dresser was a piece of jewelry made for him by a young girl as thanks for his hard work in Haiti helping to build a school. There were ticket stubs outlining the mirror for punk rock concerts and Burning Man. And there were books everywhere. Especially when Gabriel was out of town, Castiel's books seemed to take over the whole apartment. Dozens were dog-eared at a time. Sam had no idea how he kept characters and plots straight in his head.
Sam had never saved mementos. He had learned very early on that there was no point in trying to memorialize one town or one friend in a hundred different places. He didn't even want to try to count how many classrooms he had been in, in how many schools. So it was not as though there wasn't room for him here.
Castiel liked his space. He liked solitude. Sam knew he missed him when he was away, was always happy to see him, but that did not change the fact that the man had been a loner his whole life, and liked it that way. He loved people, loved helping them especially. But he was as territorial as a cat.
He honestly had no idea how Castiel would react to the suggestion that he move in to stay.
When he finally emerged, Castiel dressed in his own boxers and stared in the mirror for a moment before turning to his lover. “Sam?”
“Yeah, Cas.”
“Sex with Balt was never like it is with you. I don’t know if he was ever sober when we had sex. Ever. God, I don’t even know if he was gay. It wasn’t…I was still that kid who had stood up for him, who had thought he was worth saving once. I don’t think I was ever anything else to him. And he really wasn’t anything else to me. He was somebody I had tried to help once, and failed. I think everything after that was just trying to set things right. But he didn’t want that. Some part of him, I think, wanted to punish me for what I let happen, and I think some part of me did too. I got out, but it was months later than I should have. I just couldn’t leave him like I’d left Bella, not until I knew there was nothing left, that I’d tried everything. When I was so low that I wanted to let him help me forget like he kept pushing me to, I knew that was it. That I had failed completely. It was a relief, to be honest. Balt didn’t want to be saved. So there was nothing left for me but to walk away.”
Sam nodded at him, feeling tears burning at his eyes. “Cas…”
The older man shook his head. “Don’t. I just wanted you to know. It was never like it is with you. Not with anybody else, not ever. With you, I don’t ever feel like I’m losing me.”
When the hazel eyes blinked, a stray tear flashed down his cheek. “Thank you, Cas. That’s how I feel too. Like you’re not taking from me, the way it always felt with Jess. It’s not about control with you. The first time you held me, before you even knew my last name, I knew I was safe with you. Just like the tattoo, right? Looking out for one another, instead of staring each other down.”
The sudden smile on Castiel’s face made Sam’s whole body swell happily. “You get me, Sam. Nobody ever did before. Nobody ever bothered to try. Exactly zero people have ever heard that whole story I told you tonight. Something about you makes me want you to know me. I’ve never felt that way before.”
Sam took his hand in his, and gently touched the new ink. “Cas, are you still scared?”
The flinch was so slight, and covered so quickly by a smile, that he thought he might have imagined it. “No, Sam. I’m not…scared. I’m utterly terrified. But even that’s good when it’s because of you.”
“How can I help?”
The pink lips paused as his tongue flicked over them. Then he took a deep breath. “You can move in with me. This summer. Stay here with me.” The hope in the intense blue eyes was washed in fear, and it tugged at Sam’s heart.
But he smiled. “You sure?”
Castiel stepped backward in a defensive posture. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Wouldn’t say it if I weren’t sure.”
Sam watched the man for a moment, saw the shallow breaths he was taking, the way his chest stuttered with them. He closed the distance between them slowly, like approaching a stray cat who looked ready to bolt. “Cas, I’d love to move in here. But if you’re going to panic…” He smiled at him warmly. “Angel, I never want you to do anything you aren’t comfortable doing. Not for me.”
The worry wrinkling Castiel’s forehead smoothed a bit. “I know what I want,” he said firmly. “I want you where I can watch over you.”
In the past several years, Sam had felt entirely too big for everything in his life. Dean’s Impala was badass, but he managed to slam his head or his shin getting into it every single time. His friend Charlie had rolled her eyes at him every time he had tripped over his enormous feet while they walked around campus. His roommate Michael had told him too many times to count that, regardless of how few possessions he had, he still managed to take up most of their room. He could remember every time Dean had sighed as it occurred to him that he needed to buy his kid brother new jeans, because he had outgrown his last pair.
Then there was Castiel, who looked up at him from four inches below, with those fierce blue eyes that promised not to let anything hurt him. Castiel, whose lean body could nearly disappear behind his own, still wanted to watch over him. It was not the angry bulldog devotion of his older brother. It was quiet confidence, a complete awareness of Sam’s frame of mind and his desires. Every touch from Castiel was calculated to be exactly what Sam needed, whether it was a soft caress of lips and fingers carding through hair or a swift tackle onto the living room floor. Castiel was his guardian angel. It was what they both needed.
“I want that too,” he breathed finally.
With a curt nod, Castiel dropped himself into the bed, and pulled the blankets over himself, curling in to the warmth, and within minutes, he was snoring.
***
It was still dark when Castiel found himself wandering the apartment. He did not remember if he had actually decided to get out of bed, or if it had just happened, but here he was in front of a sink of dishes, cleaning them and putting them away quietly. He finished the task in just a few minutes, since there were only two bowls and a few containers to deal with. Then he looked around for anything else to do. He smiled at the discarded blanket on the couch. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, more beautiful in the world than Sam Winchester lying naked on his couch under a small Nepali blanket decorated with the Aṣṭamaṅgala padma. The lotus was the symbol of primordial purity of body, speech and mind, liberated from the waters of desire, and he had thrown it over his lover moments after having incredible sex, so that the delivery guy would not catch a glimpse. Castiel snickered at the thought. It was delicious.
He returned to his room to find the big puppy had taken over the whole bed in his absence. He did not mind. He never minded when Sam sprawled out. Too often, the man seemed to close in on himself, as if he were trying to make himself appear smaller. It was only when he was truly relaxed or excited that he allowed his body the space it wanted.
Sam was stunning. It was the word that came to him every time he saw his lover. Stunning. Sometimes, it was nearly literal, when Sam appeared unexpectedly, and Castiel froze, even ceased breathing, when he caught sight of him. Sam rarely bothered to take time with his appearance, but it was exactly because of this that Castiel found him irresistible. After two days of not shaving his young beard, with just a hand rushed through the brown hair, with an expression somewhere between dangerous and vulnerable, he was everything Castiel could not fight against.
When he realized he had been staring at Sam for several minutes, he smiled to himself and worked to untangle the man from the sheets without waking him. It looked as though Sam had lost a fight with a golem made of blankets. The thought made him smirk.
“Castiel?” It was a quiet mumble from inside a pillow, but it sounded as hopeful as it did muffled.
“Yes, Sam.” He leaned over his lover to hear him better.
Without warning, the damn puppy grabbed him and pulled him onto the bed, then slung his leg and arm on top of him with an inelegant crash. Then he smiled happily and fell back to sleep.
Castiel frowned. Now he was locked into Sam’s unyielding arms, and there was little point in trying to escape. He lay his head on the man’s chest and sighed with defeat. There were worse places to suffocate than inside the arms of the man he loved.
***
Pamela always finished with a laugh. Hearing it made his heart swell impossibly, as she climbed off of him and smirked on her way to the bathroom.
Dean sighed happily. His eyes wanted to close, but his smile wouldn’t let them. After all, that gorgeous woman would return soon, and he might miss something if he did not keep them open.
He never wanted to miss a moment of Pamela. The only thing he knew he could always expect from her was unpredictability. She was equally likely to walk back naked for round two as to walk out fully clothed with intentions of leaving him forever, or just for a trip to the Roadhouse. The uncertainty of the world with Pamela in it made Dean’s heart race just as it gave him ulcers. Having it any other way was not an option, but, for the record, he wouldn’t.
“Come on. Out of the fire and into the frying pan,” she called.
So the Roadhouse it was. He allowed his eyes to close briefly, and breathed in through his nose to pull in every last detail of her scent. It was just as well that he did not need much sleep. Pamela was exhausting, but he was unwilling to miss even a moment of it.
He was pulling on his boots by the time Pamela emerged. She smiled at him in approval. “Good. Thought you might have fallen asleep.”
“I thought about it,” he admitted.
“Then you remembered how incredible I’m going to look dancing with Jo on that bar, and you changed your mind.”
He snorted. “No, I was remembering Benny owes me money. Come on.”
The Roadhouse was quiet at this point in the week, and it was actually how Dean preferred it. Now that he had Pamela, for as long as that might last, he did not need a wide variety of females to hunt, and he always wanted to growl when some strange man looked too long at Pamela, Jo or Ellen. This was the perfect time to hit the Roadhouse, when there was just Benny, Ash and a few of the others floating around the pool tables, and Jo and Pamela could dance their hearts out. He grinned at a familiar face and dropped his arm from around Pamela as they walked in.
“Sheriff Mills!” he called. “Benny giving the law trouble?”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Not today, Winchester. I’m just here for a drink.”
“Off duty? Let me buy you one.”
“Not on your life, mister.”
Dean let loose his cackle, and several friendly faces lit up and turned to greet him.
“Dean!” Jo cried out. “Get your ass over here and show this kid how to play! I’m pretty sure he’s a lost cause, but I don’t want him getting hustled!”
He sauntered over to the pool tables, giving Jo a peck on the cheek on his way by. “Who’s this?” he asked.
The kid could not have been more than seventeen. He was drinking soda and holding a stick like it could turn into a snake at any moment. “My name’s Kevin.”
“Okay, Kevin. How’d you find your way to this hole?”
“I just needed to get out of the house for a while.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He shouted toward the bar as Pamela got the jukebox blaring. “Benny! Give me a beer, will you?”
“You paying for it, brother?”
“No. You are.”
Benny scowled at him, but headed into the back for the beer he knew his friend liked best.
Dean laughed. “He owes me money,” he explained to the kid as he picked up a cue. “And that’s because he always manages to lose at this game right here. You played before?”
“Not…not really.”
“Okay. First things first. There is no manly way to drink from a straw.” He grabbed the plastic out of Kevin’s drink and tossed it to the floor amidst peanut shells. “You got to look tough if you’re going to not get the crap beaten out of you.” He began racking the balls while Kevin watched. “First you gotta choose the right cue. I can tell you now that’s wrong for you.”
“Why?”
“You got small hands, buddy. You want a smaller wrap, and a shaft that ain’t so wide. There’s a 12 over there. That one. Grab that. Okay, a lot of drunk guys have been using it, so make sure it’s tight.”
“What does that mean?”
Dean demonstrated with his own. “See there? Just check that it’s tight. If it’s loose, it’ll affect how you strike. Okay?”
Kevin was smiling finally. “It’s like you’re talking in a different language.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m from Kansas.” He winked, then straightened up again. “It doesn’t matter how good you get, if you don’t know how to pick a cue. Okay? Now you’re going to chalk between every shot. Just-don’t twist it. Now hold the cue out. You want to feel the balance, like this. See? Then grab it about an inch into the wrap past that point where it balances. Can you-yeah. Like that. The hand you write with, that’s going there. Your other hand, you take the cue and let it sit on your middle finger. Make a circle here. Yeah, good. No, don’t lean into it. Your hand has to be off the table. Just rest your fingertips on the green. Okay. Move this foot forward a bit. Okay, now you look like you’re bowling. Turn your body away from the table-yeah. Now you can lean, but don’t push. That’s how you’re going to do it. Get lower. You want a long stroke, don’t just poke at it. And once you’ve hit it, stay down so you can see what’s what. After a while, you’ll feel it, but for now, you gotta see it. There you go. The rest of it is just geometry.”
The kid was grinning ear to ear when Dean stood back from him. “That’s very cool.”
Dean caught a beer tossed to him from Benny. “Thanks, buddy!” he called. “You know, when I’m back there, I actually open them for folks.”
“Can’t hear you over the sound of whiny bitch,” Benny shouted back in his deep drawl.
This earned the bartender another round of laughter. He turned back to Kevin, as he grabbed his key chain to pop open the bottle. “So? You got it? Ready to play for money?” he teased.
Kevin’s eyes went wide.
“Just kidding, buddy. Practice a while. Get Sheriff Mills to kick your ass a few times. She’s nice about it, and you’ll learn something, and she won’t take your cash.”
“Thanks!”
Dean smiled at him, then brought the beer to his lips as he turned to survey his realm. His eyes were drawn to a laughing female in tight jeans and a Ramones shirt, dancing by herself next to the jukebox. He loved that woman, far more than it was probably safe to. In all likelihood, she would probably eat him alive just like Sam had predicted so long ago. But he would die happy.
***
The puppy was hungry. Castiel smiled to himself as he watched Sam tilt his head and scrunch his nose at the selection of pastas. “I don’t get it. Aren’t they all the same?”
He took a deep breath. “What?”
“I mean, they’re in different shapes, but does that even matter?”
Castiel took hold of a box of whole wheat fusilli, and tossed it in the cart next to the egg noodles. “Depends how you’re serving it.”
“It’s all either spaghetti or mac and cheese to me.”
“Yes, Sam. I know.”
“Are we almost done? What are you making when we get home?”
Some days, Castiel could tell when Sam was hungry even before he could. He got impatient when he had not eaten. “What would you like?”
“I don’t care. Ooh, let’s pick up some cereal.”
“I’ll make you oatmeal. It’ll be better for you.”
“Nope.” Sam grabbed for the box at the top shelf. “I want cereal.”
Castiel felt as though he knew what it was like to shop with a toddler. “Then get cereal. Do you need to eat something to tide you over till we get home?”
“No, I’m good. Do we have soda at your place?”
“I have tea.”
“Then we need soda.”
He watched in exasperation as the puppy bounded out of the aisle after his liquid death. “Naturally,” he sighed to himself. He waited stiffly until he realized he had been staring into the distance at a family with small children, and he was being glared at by the male in the group. He lifted one corner of his lips in apology, and looked away quickly. The fluorescent lights were giving him a headache.
“Dude. Look.”
He turned wearily to see Sam returning with a bottle of soda and a jar of something. “What is it?” he said a bit too sharply. When the jar was dropped into his hand, he felt his annoyance fade. “Honey.”
“But not just honey. Look at it. It’s fair trade and certified sustainable. I know you like that. You cried during that bee documentary.”
Castiel’s face warmed under a pink flush. “I did not.”
“You kind of did. Anyway, I thought it would be good with your tea.”
He nodded quietly. “I know it will be. Thank you, Sam.”
The large man shrugged and dropped his soda into the cart. “It’s just honey.”
It was not just honey, but he did not know how to describe it to Sam. It was yet another example of Sam’s kindness, his way of squirreling away every bit of data Castiel allowed him, and using it to make him happy. It was the way Sam knew him.
“Are we done?”
Castiel smiled down at the honey as he placed it gently into the cart. “Yeah, Sam. We’re done.”
“Did we get apples?”
“I got apples,” he confirmed patiently.
Castiel was quiet on the trip back, content to listen to all the stories about Sam’s conference, about everything he had learned, things he had contributed as their university’s representative, workshops he had attended, networking he had managed, and, finally, how much he had missed Castiel himself. Once they arrived at the apartment, Castiel had barely parked the car before Sam had grabbed up all but one of the bags and headed toward the door. He approached him with the remaining bag, and found a strange look on his face.
“What?”
“Cas, if you were God, what would you do?”
“If I were God.”
“Yeah.”
“We probably wouldn’t have to shop for groceries.”
“I’m serious. We talked about it one night at the conferences. Some girl said she had gotten into pre-law because it occurred to her that if she were God, the first thing she would do is end war, and so she’s going into international law to work on treaties and stuff. So it started this whole discussion, and it made me wonder about you.”
“I’d smite hypocrites.” He pushed the door open and retrieved his key, then followed Sam into the apartment.
The man was laughing. “I knew you were going to say that!” he stated breathlessly.
Castiel looked at him for a moment. Then he nodded. “I bet you did.”
Sam lifted all the bags onto the counter, then ran his hands through his hair. “I did. I love that there was no hesitation, not a minute to think about it. You know exactly what you’d do.”
“Pretty much. Heal good people. Smite the shit out of folks who think they’re better than everyone else, who take advantage of those weaker, who spread hate. And I’d probably make Gabe an angel. He could walk my rope lines for me, and smile pretty while I hid in the great library in the sky.”
Sam was watching him put away the groceries. “Gabriel is an angel name too, isn’t it?”
“Yup. Dude that spoke to Mary and Muhammed.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Well, his parents were religious nuts. If they could see him and Raf now, I don’t even know.”
“What’s Raf like?”
“He’s a little bitch.” Castiel pulled out an apple and tossed it to to his boyfriend. “Eat. You’re getting that tone in your voice.”
“What tone?”
“The one that says you’re going to eat me if I don’t feed you.”
Sam began to grin. “Maybe I’ll eat you anyway.”
Castiel raised an eyebrow, but continued putting away his supplies. “Maybe I’d let you.” The older man knew Sam well enough to put the glass honey jar down as he said it. Sam practically knocked the wind out of him when he grabbed him, pulled him out of the small kitchen. Ignoring Castiel’s shrieking protests, he threw the smaller man over his shoulder and carried him into the bedroom. His lungs emptied as Sam dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed. “Goddammit, Sam-“
“You love me,” he reminded him through his hungry smile.
Yet another thing that Sam knew about him, which he could not deny, nor would he.