Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every morning, Sam gets a “good morning” text and every night, Sam gets a “goodnight” on Skype. They didn’t mean to make it a tradition. It started when Sam had a particularly busy day in classes and fell asleep while on Skype, right in the middle of their daily video call. Now they do it every single evening without fail. Sam lays on his bed, arm curled around a flattened pillow like it was a body as he peers over the edge of it at his laptop screen on his nightstand—where his partner Castiel is just waking up to go to class in Murmansk, Russia for business. Sam’s call request wakes Castiel up and he lays in bed beside his laptop, dutifully staying until Sam falls asleep. It’s not at all like falling asleep with and waking up with each other, but it’s the closest thing they have.

***

"I simply cannot believe that you sent me flowers for my birthday," Castiel says over FaceTime. "Sam, you called Russia. You called a Russian florist. For me.”

Sam blushes and looks away from his partner, determined not to let the iPhone in his grip catch the red rising in his cheeks. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

And by saying that, Sam means it wasn’t a big deal sending flowers. The whole 'making an international call to a Russian florist and reading some lines off of a piece of paper printed out from Google Translate'—that was a little bit of a big deal, at least for him. He was nervous he would fuck it up, or that they wouldn’t understand him, but all went well in the end.

"Thank you, Sam," Castiel says sincerely, his warm and glowing smile brightening up Sam’s iPhone screen and his overall morning as well. "Really."

"Happy Birthday, Cas."

art by Prinzik

***

Near the end of every month, Sam checks his little apartment mailbox habitually, looking for the inevitable and expected letter from Castiel. It was a thing they started back when they first started dating—writing letters because Castiel had yet to get his hands on a decent enough phone.

They agreed to send their letters out on the tenth of each month, mailing them as basic snail-mail in order to be thrifty and equal. Plus, there’s always something nice to be said about waiting for a letter from your loved one to arrive.

Sure enough, on the twenty-seventh, Castiel’s letter arrives—a little beaten and bent, but it’s come a long, long way. His scratchy script embellishes the front, written in both Russian and English. Sam adores the foreign letters of the language he can’t speak and thinks about the very seldom times he’s heard it flow from Cas’ lips when they’re FaceTiming in public.

He opens it on his way to the cafe down the street, where he likes to take notes for class and drink the cheapest coffee near campus. It’s a drawing—wait no, it’s a series of boxes stacked upon each other, some blacked out with permanent marker, with a long numbered list down the side. Sam frowns down at it, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket.

[Sam: Dude, you sent me a crossword puzzle…?]

[Cas: Look at it closer.]

[Sam: Oh.]

[Sam: OH!]

[Sam: This is amazing.]

[Cas: Let me know when you finish it.]

During his morning coffee-study break, Sam lays the crossword puzzle out across the small tabletop.

'Month that we first made contact.' That was easy. Sam fills in the word 'September.'

'I Wanna ____ Your Hand - Beatles.' He smiles at the reference to pop culture, one of the rare ones. 'Hold' goes into the boxes.

'Nearly 5-_______ miles between us.' It’s a longer word with more boxes, so 'thousand' goes into the blanks. Sam zooms down the rest of the list—it isn’t hard, but Cas didn’t try to make it difficult.

'What we feel towards each other.' Sam stares down at the four little spaces. He knew what he wanted to say, but they haven’t said it yet. He’s not even sure if Cas feels that way. But sure enough, there’s a V as the third letter, and it can only be one word.

Sam fills out the last three boxes with an L, an O, and an E.

'LOVE.'

***

Castiel was told that a special package was coming in the mail for him several weeks ago. After seeing the little slip of yellow paper on his apartment door indicating there’s a package at the post office for him, he turned right back around and walked the six city blocks to retrieve it.

As soon as he was behind his closed door, Castiel whipped out his small pair of scissors and carefully tore through the tape lining the edges of the box. It was much heavier than it looked, the cardboard bent and bowed under the pressure its contents. Whatever Sam put in here, he packed it well.

When the top of the box is folded back, he’s immediately met with bright red. Castiel gingerly takes it out of the box, sleeves and hood unfolding from the garment and he realizes that Sam has sent him a hoodie with ‘Stanford’ emblazoned on the front in white appliquéd letters.

His hands are shaking, just a little. Castiel slowly brings the garment to his chest, clutching it in a hug—a hug he wishes he could give the real thing, but his heart stutters when he realizes Sam has sent him a temporary replacement.

Castiel pulls it over his head—his button-down shirt and sweater be damned—and inhales deeply into the neckline as it settles over his shoulders. It’s loose on his frame, but cozy in the chilly air of the apartment and every bit of the sweatshirt screams Sam Sam Sam.

He unpacks the rest of the box, pulling out one more hoodie, navy blue this time with a zipper and white cord pulls, and a couple tee shirts. Their cotton fabrics are softened from numerous uses and Castiel can tell that Sam sent some of his more favored shirts. He examines each one of them, holding them carefully in his grip like treasured possessions, before stashing them in an empty drawer in his nightstand.

Donning only the Stanford sweatshirt and boxer shorts, Castiel falls asleep much easier that night, nose buried deep into the fabric and drifting away into unconsciousness to the scent of the man he misses like a desert misses the rain.

art by prettyjared

***

They’re FaceTiming on a Thursday, and Sam has woken up especially early to catch Castiel at a good time. It’s the asscrack of dawn in Palo Alto and only early in the evening in Murmansk.

Sam sits up against his headboard of his tiny room in his apartment, with one fading desk lamp on to illuminate his face so that his partner could see. Castiel had sent an iMessage earlier the previous day, saying that five in the afternoon would be a good time to FaceTime, and when Sam does the math, it works out to… four in the morning. Urgh.

He’d do anything to see his Castiel, even if it was waking up early in the morning on a weekday. But of course, it’s been hard. People always said that being in a long distance relationship isn’t easy… but this, this was very very hard. The sun isn’t even close to rising yet.

But when Sam’s phone plays the FaceTime call jingle and Castiel’s face comes onto the screen—with his perpetual five o’clock shadow, messy hair, impossibly blue eyes, and the warmest smile—all of Sam’s worries and hang-ups about the distance between them melt away.

"Good morning, Sam," Castiel greets him as FaceTime buffers the video. Sam can see the rough shape of him, probably sitting in a cafe for the free internet, and then the connection fully loads and Castiel’s face comes into perfect clarity.

"G’mornin’," Sam murmurs back, voice rough and slurred from sleep and the early time of day. He clears his throat and tries again. "Good mornin’, Cas."

"I’m sorry. I understand it’s very early there, but it was the only time today that I would be available and have wireless," Cas apologizes, and Sam understands, really. He’d rather wake up before sunrise to see another sun in his life than be stuck to somewhat impersonal texting instead.

"Нет, я в порядке," Castiel says to someone offscreen, to someone in the cafe. The Russian slides so easily off his tongue that Sam is captured; he rarely ever hears Castiel speak it, only a few words that don’t translate well here and there. "Один кофе, пожалуйста. Обычный, без молока или сахара … Да, пожалуйста. Ничто иное."

Sam lets the foreign syllables wash over him and his eyelids droop, lashes brushing the skin of his cheeks. He nearly falls asleep right then and there, listening to Castiel speak, except for a “Sam, Sam?” beckoning him back.

"It’s nice," Sam mumbles, eyes opening just enough to see Castiel on his bright screen, who tilts his head in a questioning manner. "You speaking Russian."

"I can do more if you’d like," Cas replies smoothly, corner of his lips curving up. "Я могу сказать больше."

"Mm," Sam hums, settling down into the sheets, ready to sleep. "Go on."

Castiel smiles, obliging him. “Я надеюсь, что у вас есть хороший день сегодня, Сэм. Вы очень важны для меня. Я так тебя люблю.”

***

From the first moment they talked about it, Sam started saving money to meet Castiel in person. Little by little, a dollar here and there, shaved off his paycheck at the end of each month or pennies and dimes saved by using coupons at the grocery store.

It’s actually surmounting to a considerable fund, but flights to—or even from, they didn’t know who was visiting first—Russia are very expensive. Sam checks those prices online every single week, keeping an eye out for a possible but not probable dip in airfare. They never do dip below a thousand.

Sometimes Sam stares at the money he has saved for the visit—he could spend it on food or rent or course books or tuition… but seeing Castiel is priceless.

***

The best thing is talking about what they’d do if they were together in person.

Sam likes toying with the idea of staying in all day, sleeping in while wrapped up in each other’s arms and one of them waking the other with slow languid kisses because they have so many of them to catch up on. His dream-visit always includes lots of touching and cuddling, enough to get it out of his system before they inevitably have to part ways again.

Castiel, on the other hand, seems to wish to do the opposite. He always speaks of going out and seeing the city, visiting places he’s never seen before and sharing all of those new experiences with Sam. Of course, he’s always up for holding hands as they go about their day and ending the day in a relaxing manner—something more in the lines of Sam’s style, and that’s the true difference between them.

But at the same time, talking about all of these hypotheticals is the worst, because they can’t do these things.

Not yet, at least.

***

"It’s called Avocado," Sam explains over one of their Skype calls. "It’s an app for people in long-distance relationships."

Castiel listens to him intensely, always listening to and giving consideration to all of Sam’s suggestions. He holds his phone in his hands, peering at the screen as Sam guides him through the downloading and registration process. The idea sounds nice—another way they can feel closer to one another.

"And you can send me a hug, if you’d like. Whenever you want."

"A hug?" Castiel asks, looking up from the app’s screen and tilting his head. How could this application help him hug Sam?

"Yeah, all you do is select ‘hug’ and—" Sam brings his phone to his chest, doing a cruel mime of hugging his phone before bringing it away again, "—there."

Suddenly Castiel’s phone vibrates in his grasp. There’s a notification flashing across the screen from Avocado, ‘Sam sent you a hug!’

Castiel smiles, sending a very enthusiastic one back.

***

1:48 PM, Murmansk, Russia

As Castiel takes an afternoon shower, his phone buzzes against the wood surface of his nightstand.

[Sam: I miss you.]

[Sam: I mean I really really miss you.]

[Sam: I've never even met you and I miss you. How does that work?]

[Sam: Sometimes I wake up and I instinctively search for you in my bed. I can't tell you how many
times I've dreamed of it.]

[Sam: I can't sleep, I'm sorry.]

[Sam: I just really want you here.]

***

"I could fly through Moscow, and then to Los Angeles in California and then you’re not too far from there."

"I’ll be in Lawrence for the summer, until August," Sam explains. He’s had those plans since the year before. He promised Dean he’d come home at least once. Dean is even driving to Palo Alto just to get him, because money is tight, California is expensive, and Sam is still secretly saving for Castiel’s visit.

"Not an issue," Castiel responds, without a pause or any sort of questioning tone. "Then from Los Angeles, I could fly to… Kansas City? That’s the closest I could get to Lawrence."

“Christ, how long would this trip even take you?”

"Kayak.com estimates just a little over forty-five hours."

"Fuck," Sam sighs while rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That’s almost two days of traveling, Cas.”

He quietly scoffs, just barely audible over the phone. “I’ve waited this long to see you, a few days more shouldn’t be a problem.”

***

[Cas: It’s been your turn since yesterday morning.]

[Sam: I’ll go do that.]

When the app finally loads on his phone, Sam almost wants to smack his forehead and throw the phone across his apartment bedroom.

During his last turn, Castiel played the word “QUIXOTRY,” earning himself one hundred and fifty-nine points in just one turn with a double and triple letter score space, not to mention the triple word score space.

[Sam: You’ve gotta be kidding me. I’m never EVER playing Scrabble with you again!]

***

Castiel sits back on his heels, staring at the small stacks of clothes surrounding him on his bedroom floor with a small frown on his face. He’s been packing for a half-hour, trying to decide what to bring on his week and a half excursion to Lawrence, Kansas—to Sam.

He sighs a little in resignation, looking up to where his laptop sits perched on his bed and to the open Skype video-call where Sam sits reading quietly while he packs. The sound gets Sam’s attention and the man looks up from his book at the screen.

"Sometimes I can’t believe it," Castiel begins. "I’m going to see you in three days. Three days, Sam.”

Sam nods—he knows. Those seventy-six-and-a-half hours will be some of the longest of his life.
But he’s already started the countdown.

***

"So, uh," Dean starts, standing at the door and looking like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. "Your boyfriend gonna be okay with an air mattress?"

Sam turns to face his brother from where he’s cleaning the bathroom counter. Dean’s small house has enough space for the two brothers, but it isn’t nearly big enough to have three grown men under one roof, not to mention clean enough—at least not yet.

"Yeah, Dean. It’ll be fine," Sam answers, even though he’s not sure what the sleeping situation will be like. Dean’s guest bed is a queen and they’d both fit, but he’s not even sure if Castiel would want to sleep together after only meeting for the first time. Even so, Sam would gladly volunteer to sleep on the air mattress instead. Or even the couch.

He’ll be okay with whatever Castiel is comfortable with, but Sam has waited for more than a year to fall asleep with Cas in his arms and wake up to the warmth of his body pressed against his.

***

Sam’s phone buzzes for the sixth time that morning, tossed aside somewhere on his mattress but he ignores it. Laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, Sam thinks. And thinks. And thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

'What if we don't click that well in person? What if we don't get along when we finally do meet? What if we don't like each other as much after meeting? Cas is set to be in Lawrence for a week, would he be able to move his flight? How awkward would that be? What if he and Dean don't get along? What if Castiel doesn't like how I look? How tall I am? What if—'

His phone buzzes again and reluctantly, Sam retrieves it from among the sheets.

[Cas: I’m boarding my last flight. I love you and I can’t wait to see you without a screen separating us.]

Maybe everything will turn out just fine.

***

Castiel has his own doubts about the trip and his wall built of steely resolve and newly-found confidence comes crumbling down upon him the minute he takes his window seat on the flight from Los Angeles to Kansas City, Missouri—only a forty minute drive for Sam to pick him up.
Looking out the small oval window, Castiel gazes at the colorful morning sky as the sun rises from the west. He exhales softly, folding his hands in his lap to keep them from fidgeting, from shaking.

He’s nervous, but how could he not be?

Sam is the most amazing person he’s ever met. It’s practically a miracle that they even found each other, not to mention started dating. What if he messes it up? What if Sam doesn’t like him in person? What if this trip turns out to be a disaster?

Taking deep breaths, Castiel tries to reign himself in—repeating 'Sam in three hours, hugging Sam, kissing Sam, holding his hand.'

And his hands shake a little less.

***

When the plane’s wheels hit the ground in Kansas City, something comes alive deep in Castiel’s veins, like his body knew that he was oh-so-very close to seeing Sam. It runs through him like a jolt of electricity, washing over him like a wave of both relief—that he survived the forty-five hours of traveling—and excitement, burning away all evidence of anxiety he previously had.

And a mile away, in the waiting lot of the Kansas City International Airport, something bright and electric buzzes under Sam’s skin as he watches the "en route" notification on the updates board turn to "landed." The two days of the emotional rollercoaster between anxious and excited are coming to a close.

***

Sam stands in the domestic arrivals area, near the back of a small crowd of people who are also waiting to meet travelers. He towers over most of them and it’s one of those rare times that his height gives him a clear and wanted distinct advantage: he can see the automatic sliding doors of the arrival hallway over the top of the crowd.

He’s such a mix of emotions—excitement, relief, nervousness… and maybe panic?—but he tries to keep it stowed so that he doesn’t overthink the whole ordeal. Looking around the crowd, Sam spots that some people have flowers or balloons or large signs welcoming their loved ones home.

He looks down at his meager sign, written in his best handwriting with blue and green sharpies on a small poster-board. ‘Welcome Castiel' is all that is written on it. He didn't want to decorate it too much, or write something too sappy or cliché. Other people’s signs have hearts drawn all over them, with glitter and crazy colors and drawings.

Sam’s sigh is cut short when the arrival doors open and a slow but steady stream of people comes trickling out. Keeping his eyes open and his breathing level and his heartbeat steady, he keeps an eye out for Castiel—dark haired, blue eyed, beautiful and utterly wonderful Castiel, with the smile that always brightens up Sam’s day and the voice that echos through his mind for hours after they hang up.

The voice he’ll get to hear in person, not filtered by speakers or bad connections. The smile he’ll get to see, framed by pink chapped lips he’ll get to kiss.

***

Castiel braces two hands on each side of the airport bathroom sink, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. After forty-five hours of traveling, he feels gross, and it definitely shows—the bags underneath his eyes that nearly match the dark blue hue of Sam’s zip-up sweatshirt that he’s worn since he began his trip in Murmansk, his hair is messy and unsalvageable at this point, and a bit of stubble gracing his jaw.

Still, he splashes a little cold water on his face, trying to rejuvenate himself a little before heading towards the airport exit, past the security checkpoint, out to arrivals and to where Sam told him he’d be waiting.

'This is it,' he silently tells his reflection in a resolute manner, trying to psych himself up to go and finally meet his partner in the flesh after such a long haul. 'Over a year of dating. Fifteen weeks of planning this trip. Forty-five hours of traveling across continents and oceans.'

He tries repeating it, but his heart speaks a little louder, a little more clearly, with an irresistible gravitational pull. ‘Sam, Sam, Sam.’

***

The watch on Sam's wrist ticks at an unbearably slow rate.

It feels like it’s been forever since Castiel's plane landed—shouldn't he be out here by now?—but when Sam looks at his watch again, it indicates the plane landed only twenty-two minutes ago. With de-planing and walking through the airport and maybe even a bathroom stop, Cas isn't really late or anything.

Sam absently rolls the edges of the sign between his fingers, ruining the paper with his fidgeting. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches families, friends, and lovers reunite together right then and there in the arrivals area. There's an older woman crying silently into the shoulder of who seems to be her son returned from the military and it tugs on Sam's heart for a brief moment until he spots a familiar flash of dazzling blue and dark hair.

His head turns back towards the arrivals frosted glass sliding doors, where a small stream of people filter through—one of whom, Sam sees, has dark messy hair, blue eyes, and is wearing his sweatshirt.

"Cas!" Sam can't keep himself from calling out over their respective crowds. Castiel's head whips around, frantically glancing to see where Sam is, so he shouts again. "Cas!"

Finally, he sees Sam.

And their eyes meet, over shoulders and between bodies of the crowd.

Suddenly Sam finds himself in motion, taking fumbling steps towards him and it appears that Castiel is doing the same, the welcome sign in his hands is forgotten.

It's like he's falling, being pushed forward by some invisible force. He can't fight it, he wouldn't even try, so he goes with it. The crowd and the people Sam steps between and around start to disappear. He feels like the rest of the world is blurring and there's only one point left in focus. Cas.

And he's only a few feet away, arms stretched out and looking at him with a tired face but a gaze and smile that lights up even the darkest corners of Sam's heart.

They tumble into each other's arms, immediately clutching around each other as hard as they can. Castiel's arms wrap around his ribs, hands reaching up to grasp at his shoulder-blades and hold him close. Sam does the same, taking Cas into his own embrace and folds him in close, determined not to let him go until he feels necessary, wishing to cover him up and absorb him completely.

Their faces end up pressed close into each other's necks and Sam is nearly overwhelmed by his senses. Castiel is warm against the skin of Sam's cheek, he can feel his pulse racing under the taut muscle of his neck and shoulder. The physicality of their proximity seems instinctually impossible, but yet here they are.

Sam feels a wetness grace the corners of his eyes, it's uncontrollable. It's like a flood of emotion, previously pushed back due to the busyness of preparations for Castiel's visit and the stress he's endured, finally unleashing at this moment in time. He closes his eyes, savoring the fact that these are some of the most happiest tears he's ever shed in his lifetime.

Savoring the fact that Castiel is right here, within reach, in his grasp. Finally.

They stay like that for a gratuitous amount of time, much longer than any average hug but Sam couldn't care less, and neither could Cas, it seems. They've never gotten to hug each other in person, they have more than a year of catching up to do.

But it's not too long until Castiel's arms loosen around Sam's back, signaling to let go. Keeping a sigh to himself, Sam pulls away reluctantly, but his arms remain loosely around the weary traveler. Castiel looks up at him, smiling a smile that warms Sam from head to toe. He can't stop from smiling back, there's no holding anything back now. There's no need to.

"Sam," Castiel speaks, for the first time in person, and it's glorious. His voice is just as rough and as low as it is when it comes through speakers of a phone or computer, but somehow much better.

Castiel's eyes flicker down to Sam's lips a few times before they both lean forwards. The last thing Sam sees is Cas' eyes fluttering shut before his own close, a split-second before their lips meet.

It's only a patient press of their mouths, shorter than Sam would like it to be—he could kiss those lips for hours, and who knows, maybe they'll do just that when they get back to Dean's house—but they pull away again, still holding onto each other like they're never letting go.

Eyes narrowing for a moment in a very familiar squint, Castiel peers at him curiously.

"Sam," Cas repeats, with a hint of a smirk building at the corner of his lips. "You weren't supposed to be this tall."

***

The hour drive back to Dean's house in Lawrence is quiet, but Sam feels that his heartbeat is deafeningly loud, a resounding noise that echos between his ears, disrupting the silence in the air.

He keeps left hand on the wheel, keeping the Impala steady on the road—Dean would kill him if there was even just a scratch on her paint, but he still handed the keys over in a great show of trust in order for Sam to pick Castiel up—while his right hand lies on the black leather of the bench seat between them.

Castiel's left hand does the same, laid over Sam's with their fingers laced together, heat reverberating between their palms. He lazily looks out the window at the passing scenery—mostly trees and open land lining the Kansas turnpike. Every time Sam glances over, he swears he can see Castiel's eyes droop shut for a brief moment before snapping back open, nearly falling asleep. It would be adorable but Sam knows Cas isn't just sleepy, he's tired.

But really, Sam couldn't blame him, not one bit. He'd be just as tired if he was the one who traveled forty-five hours across the hemisphere.

***

"And this is my room," Sam announces, ushering Castiel through the doorway. "Or the room I use when I come visit Dean, at least."

Castiel inspects the room with a careful eye, just as he did with the rest of the rooms during the house tour, but this time he takes his sweet time exploring the nooks and crannies of the room. Sam deposits Cas' suitcase at the foot of the bed, out of the way but within reach.

"I, uh, hope you don't mind sharing," Sam starts again, interrupting Castiel's roam about the room. He stops mid-stare at a photo collage on the wall to spin to look at Sam, brows knit together. Sam's quick to continue. "I mean, I'll take the air mattress or the couch or something."

Cas stares at him for a long moment, impossibly blue eyes flicking from Sam to the bed and back a few times before taking a breath to speak.

"Sam," he says sternly. "I did not travel this far for you to sleep on an air mattress."

***

Castiel emerges from the steamy bathroom close to midnight, donning pajamas and Sam's red hoodie. He's busy rubbing an off-white towel over his hair to catch the droplets of water.

"You're gonna be hot in that," Sam points out from where he's reclined on the bed, gesturing to the sweatshirt that hangs loose on his partner's frame.

Castiel stops drying his hair, letting the towel hang limply at his side as he drops his gaze to what he's wearing. He hums lightly, shrugging in what seems to be agreement.

"I suppose I don't need it," he says before pulling it over his head, dropping it and the towel unceremoniously to the floor before sliding into bed beside Sam. "Because now I have the real thing."

***

Sam loops his arms around Castiel’s waist, tugging him backward across the mattress until they were flush together, chest to back. Just over a year of dating long-distance and Sam finally has the love of his life in his bed. Castiel has already fallen asleep, dead tired from his long trip to Lawrence, so Sam lets his head fall into the crook of Cas’ neck, breathing in deeply.

There’s nothing better than the scent of the one you love finally sleeping in your arms.

***

When Sam wakes up at a leisurely nine thirty-eight in the morning, his arm is stretched out over empty space on the sheets. A cool empty space, lacking any evidence of a second bed occupant.

His eyes snap open and he sits up quickly. Was it all a dream? Is Castiel still in Murmansk, doing research before he gets ready for bed?

That would be the worst, most cruel joke the world could ever play on him.

But sure enough, the carry-on suitcase is still at the foot of the bed and the towel is still on the floor from the previous night.

Sam wanders out to the kitchen, drawn there by the promising smell of food and the soft sound of conversation. It turns out that both Dean and Castiel are awake, the latter is at the stove, cooking in a stolen pair of Sam's baggy pajama pants and the Stanford hoodie.

"Dude, you've gotta try these pancakes," Dean says from the table. "You should convince him to give us the recipe, because damn.”

Sam smiles but doesn't reply, instead joining his partner at the counter. He lays his head against Castiel's shoulder, watching lithe hands prepare another stack of fluffy pancakes.

"Thought you'd sleep more," Sam murmurs against his shoulder.

Castiel smiles warmly but doesn’t take his eyes off the pan of three golden pancakes. "I've never slept so well in my life."

***

They spend the day together, exploring the city of Lawrence like tourists. Sam's never felt the need to visit the museums in more recent years, having exhausted their purpose and novelty after the first few trips back to Lawrence when he was younger, but Castiel seems to be in love with them.

They stand in the panorama exhibit of the Lawrence Museum of Natural History—the taxidermied animals stare back at them as Sam trails behind Cas, who is more or less reading every single informational plaque.

At least they're holding hands. Sam would go to every single hall exhibit of every single museum in all of Lawrence if he gets to hold hands and be with Castiel. That's a spectacle in and of itself.

"I think..." Cas turns to him, later when they're in the car on the way to a restaurant downtown. "I think that was our first date."

Sam's brows knit together, not sure what Castiel is trying to say. "We've been on dates before."

"I meant a real date," Castiel shrugs, looking back to the window as the car pulls out of the museum's parking lot. "A normal date, like normal couples."

"We've never been normal, and we don't have to try to be."

***

Dinner was... well, 'romantic' is the best word Sam can think of to describe it. He didn't realize just how nice it is to talk with Castiel when he's only a few feet away, face to face and in the flesh. All they ever do is talk about stuff, but oh, how it's different when they're together in the same space.

Now they're back in Sam's bed, arms loosely looped around each other as Castiel's lips find his own, repeatedly and relentlessly. Cas kisses him like a dying fire, down to the embers after a long day but still burns as hot. With every touch of their lips, it draws the breath right out of Sam, leaving him dizzy and disoriented and filled by Castiel's love and tender attention.

Sam could stay like this forever, it's everything he's dreamed about for months upon months, and guess what?

He get's to do it all over again tomorrow.

***

Everywhere they go, Castiel carefully ensures to take every opportunity for photographs. And not only just photographs of museum exhibits and the statues and scenery of downtown Lawrence but also tons of photographs of themselves, to the point of asking complete strangers nearby to help take a photo of them.

At first, it strikes Sam as excessive. But it only takes one tiny remark for the meaning of Cas’ actions to practically punch him in the face, his own brain calling him an idiot.

“Well, we’ve never had any photos together until today.” Oh.

By the end of the day—in addition to Castiel's camera memory card—the camera roll of Sam’s own iPhone is filled to the brim with pictures of them holding hands, smiling, making faces, and even a few pictures of them kissing. Thankfully, Sam’s arm is long enough to take decent enough selfies with his partner, giving him pictures he’ll able to keep close to him and look at any time, even when Castiel is gone.

art by kayaczek

***

Tonight is a casual and relaxed night-in, since they've been going out every day since Castiel arrived. They're in the living room, stretched out on the worn cushions of the couch together while they watch a movie and eat delicious Russian tea cakes smuggled in by Castiel's suitcase.

"Sam?" Castiel asks, keeping his eyes on the screen. Sam looks over to him, eyes attentive. "Do you think we'd be drift compatible?"

The corners of Sam's lips turn up in a small smile as he looks back to the screen. "Yeah."

"Really?" Castiel asks skeptically, glancing to Sam for confirmation.

"Definitely."

Castiel is considerably pleased by this admission, and as Mako and Raleigh engage in the final fight to the Rift, Castiel elbows Sam gently to get his attention again. "Do you want another tea cake?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"No," Castiel says, smiling as he reaches into the box of cookies. "I don't."

"See? Drift compatible."

***

Sometimes Sam catches himself thinking, drifting off into thought while they're relaxing before dinner or in bed before falling asleep.

The past few days have been some of the happiest that Sam has had in a long time. He's been able to spend time with the man from the other side of the world, the man he's come to know and love. It's all been so incredible that sometimes he can't believe that Castiel is actually there—in Lawrence, in his bed, in his arms.

And despite knowing that this is not a dream, he knows it will still come to an end in a few days, when Castiel has to go back to Russia.

***

"I fold."

"So soon, Sammy?" Dean chuckles. "Come on."

Sam rolls his eyes sarcastically before flipping over the last card in the community line-up, completing The River. It's a ten of hearts, and Sam can see right through Dean's Poker face—he's got something good in his hand and his confidence shows in subtle ways that Sam is very familiar with.

Castiel, on the other hand, has a face made of steel or stone. Throughout the entire game, he's made no indication of what kind of hand he has, be it good or bad. But he's stayed in, even when Dean bet high, and that counts for something.

"Alright, bets are in. Check this out," Dean says proudly, laying his cards out in a fan on the kitchen table, including three tens, an ace, and a six. "Four tens. Beat that."

"Xорошая попытка." Castiel glances down at his cards for a moment before laying them on the table as well. A ten, jack, queen, king, and ace—all hearts. "Straight flush."

"No fucking way!"

***

"Remember when we first met?"

Castiel looks up from stirring the bowl of cookie dough, hands slowing only slightly as his eyes narrow in a squint. "You mean online?"

"Yeah," Sam nods, checking the oven's temperature. "Like our first messages and stuff."

Castiel laughs. "They were awkward."

"No, they were cute." Sam says but Cas gives him a look and he relents. "Okay, yeah, they were a little awkward. But we got better, you know, when we became friends."

"And they haven't felt awkward since the day you asked me out," Castiel states, spooning out the dough onto the baking sheet. "But... did you ever imagine us getting this far?"

"I never..." Sam pauses, considering Castiel's question carefully. It feels like a loaded question, but it's not something that Cas would try to trap him with. He's not like that. "I never expected to find anyone on Ace-Book, especially someone and amazing as you. And then asking you out was really hard, and I was so worried I was gonna fuck it up."

"Well, let me just say that you have been nothing but perfect since Day One," Castiel says with a smile, retrieving two clean spoons from the kitchen drawer. "Now, come help me lick the bowl."

***

It’s been hours since they were supposed to out of bed, but neither Sam or Cas can find the willpower to leave the comfort of each other. It’s way too easy to stay in Sam’s bedroom and deny the reality of the day.

The day that Castiel leaves to return to Russia.

Neither of them have mentioned it yet. Perhaps if they don’t talk about it, it won’t happen. It’s been a great week, the best Sam could have ever hoped for, but the fact that Cas has to leave nearly taints the rest of the good experience.

Castiel is doing a good job at distracting him, kissing Sam to within an inch of his life in the most lazy way possible. It’s the best way to spend a Sunday morning, but it’ll be the last time he does it this way, at least for awhile.

He must not be the only one overthinking it, as Cas’ lips slow against his before he completely pulls away, resting his forehead on Sam’s.

“I don’t— I can’t leave you.” Castiel says, like he’s finally letting out a breath. “Not after meeting you. I can’t.” He swallows. "Я люблю тебя слишком много."

Sam frowns, unable to find the right words.

"I know," is all he can muster, gathering Castiel into his arms and holding him close. They only have a handful of hours left together. The countdown starts again.

***

The drive back to the airport that evening is one of the most painful things Sam has ever done. Somehow, it feels like he's driving to his own execution voluntarily. He's so close to just turning the car around and keeping Castiel for another week, but the world just doesn’t work that way.

It definitely doesn't help that the ride has been completely silent since it started, with only the purr of the Impala's engine and the low playing of the radio station's classic rock. Their hands are laced together on the seat between them, exactly how they were when Castiel first arrived.

It's not fair, none of it is. He finally finds the perfect person and he just so happens to live what feels like a world away. 'Forty-five hours,' Sam's mind reminds him of Castiel's upcoming long journey.

Sam rolls to a stop at a red light and glances sideways towards his partner, who sits solemnly in the passenger seat. He looks much more alert and alive than when he first arrived, but there's a profound look of sadness on his face.

Sam lets go of Cas' hand in favor of twisting to take his face into his grip and pulls him into a passionate kiss, one full of love and longing, with a splash of heartache.

They break apart when the light turns green, turning away from each other and letting out heavy sighs in sync.

Sam continues to drive, but how it hurts him to do so.

***

They don’t do it on purpose, but they draw out the farewell process as long as they possibly can, until the last minute before Castiel absolutely has to leave and enter the security line. They hang onto each other for dear life, holding tightly like they’ll never let go.

But they have to, and when the large clock on the wall ticks over to eight-twenty, Castiel lets go. He obviously has much more self control than Sam does.

After making sure that Castiel has his suitcase, his backpack, ticket and wallet, they kiss one last time, but when they pull away and Sam’s eyes flicker open, he’s met with a small rectangular package wrapped in newspaper as Cas pushes it into his arms.

“Open it later,” he murmurs, pressing one linger kiss to Sam’s cheek before turning away, towards the line. “Goodbye, Sam.”

“Bye, Cas,” Sam replies automatically, and it takes all of Sam’s being to hold himself together when he watches Castiel disappear behind the security checkpoint. Now he’s left alone again, and the place where Castiel has occupied for the last week feels like a black hole.

***

Sam sits stiffly in the driver’s seat of the Impala, still parked in the short-term parking area of the Kansas City airport. He flips the package in his hands a few times and examines it for a moment, taking in that it’s wrapped meticulously in yesterday’s paper. Whatever it is, Castiel wrapped it recently.

He tears carefully at the edges, dislodging the tape on one end before reaching a hand in and sliding out the contents onto his lap.

It’s a photo album, wire-coiled with a rather skilled pencil sketch of Dean’s house as the cover, signed in the corner with Castiel’s name and a little heart next to it, which makes Sam smile. His smile grows wider as he flips through the photo album, every space filled with a photo taken during Cas’ stay in Lawrence, pasted into the pages in order of which they were taken.

The last page is a note, handwritten in black ink in a familiar scrawl. Sam strains to read it in the low lighting of the parking structure.

‘Sam,

This past week has been wonderful, full of amazing experiences that I am glad to have been able to share with you. Seeing you in person was better than anything I could have wished for. Having you so close was like a dream come true.

I confess. I once had doubts about the distance, about how things would go between us in person. But the seven days I spent with you tore those feelings away and I am left with only feelings of love and adoration for you. I want to see you again. I need to see you again. I fear that I will not survive if we wait a year between visits. You have such a hold on my heart that I could have never imagined.

Alas, we are separated again, but hopefully not for long. Thank you for your hospitality (and Dean's). I love you with all of my being, infinitely more than I hate this distance between us.

You are worth every mile.

Sincerely, со всеми моей любви, Castiel.’

***

It’s well into the evening in Lawrence when Sam’s phone rings, a cheerful dinging noise indicating an incoming FaceTime call. He scrambles to his room to answer it, leaving Dean on the couch to watch the rest of Star Wars IV by himself, which Sam wasn’t quite paying attention to in the first place.

Castiel’s face comes into focus, staying pixelated around the edges due to his apartment building’s shitty internet. He looks dead tired, as expected after such a long trip, and it looks like he’s already settled into his bed, despite it being just after sunrise in Murmansk. “Hello, Sam…”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam greets softly, crossing his room to lay on his own bed—his now uncomfortably empty bed. It's strange, starting up the daily 'how was your day?' over the phone after being able to wake up next to each other for a week. “How were your flights?”

“They were tolerable,” Castiel sighs, pulling up the sheet to under his chin. “But the last one had a crying child on it. For hours.”

Sam grimaces. “Ugh.”

“I know.”

They linger there in silence for a long moment, reveling in each other's digital presence and mourning the loss of their previous proximity, and it’s quite possible that they both are thinking about the same thing. When Castiel opens his mouth and speaks, Sam’s suspicions are confirmed.

“It’s strange," Castiel mumbles, musing. He sounds pained at the thoughts in his head. "Not being able to reach out and touch you. We were only together a week, but I already got used to touching you and falling asleep next to you,” Castiel continues, casting his eyes away from the camera on his phone, unable to meet Sam's gaze.

“My bed feels cold.”

Sam’s lips curve up into a grin--he can't help it, he really can't. His partner is near tears and he can't keep himself from smiling.

“Well,” Sam says. “I guess you’ll have to wait until Christmas for me to come warm it up for you.”

Castiel gasps and his eyes whip back up towards his phone, widening in glorious surprise and Sam’s heart surges with love and joy on the sight of it.

"Sam!"

~

The distance hurts, but it hurts a little less now.

But as the saying goes: “Distance means nothing when someone means everything.”