Work Text:
Sometimes Sam will look at Castiel, and he'll seem huge. It's not just the trench coat -- though that hangs off Castiel's shoulders in such a drab, bulky way that it's hard to see how trim he really is -- or the wings, which Sam had only seen the once when Castiel first showed up. It's in the way he stands -- a little hunkered, slightly curved in on himself. As if he's conscious of the height of the ceiling, though he's no closer to hitting it than Dean. Sam isn't sure. He gets the impression that Castiel is this huge being that has folded over their motel room to cover and guard it.
Castiel only ever seems small when he's next to Dean, and for some reason, Sam hates that.
Sam doesn't really know why Castiel is with them. He never elaborates more than "to protect you" and gets irritable when pressed. Sam's not stupid, though; whatever the reason, it has to do with Dean. Castiel watches Dean with an eerie sort of intensity, scrutinizes his behavior, and reels in his reckless behavior far faster than their Dad ever did. Naturally, this sets Dean on edge full-time; Sam's gotten used to the two of them fighting -- of Dean chomping at the bit and Castiel grimly accepting every word so long as it means Dean's cooperation.
Castiel doesn't worry about Sam the way the he worries about Dean. He's softer and gentler with Sam, and in a way, Sam is sort of glad that Cas is only like that with him. But absurdly, he wishes that he could inspire in Cas the same burning sort of severity as Dean does. Which is probably why -- when he sees Dean standing at the curb after school with Cas nearby, hands fisted at his side and his face a brooding and pensive collection of lines -- Sam does an about-face and leaves the grounds by another path.
He knows that he's being stupid even as he cuts across town -- moving fast without actually running. It's stupid to want Cas to pay more attention to him than he already does. It's stupid to want Cas to think about him obsessively. Sam's barely into high school and Castiel is -- what? -- thousands of years old? He can't hold a candle to that, no matter how old he gets. Even as much as he'd like to have all of Castiel's focus pinned to him, Sam can't think of anything that would make him worth Castiel's time except just how glad he would be to be there.
Dean doesn't even want him, thinks Sam viciously as he stomps down the sidewalk and slips into an alley to avoid the curious stares of strangers. If Cas looked at me like that, I'd pay attention. I'd appreciate it. I'd--
Sam's thoughts get cut off as he rounds the rear corner of a building. He pulls short of actually running into Castiel, which is nice, but then the nasty voice in the back of his head wishes that he'd run into Cas anyway. At least then, he'd have some idea of what touching him might feel like.
"Sam," says Cas -- and there it is, of course. The tone he uses on Dean all the time; tense and concerned and imbued with the weight of some meaning that Sam can't understand yet.
"Did Dean send you after me?" Sam snaps. "If he did, tell him that I don't care."
Cas looks around them briefly, and seeing a row of dingy crates, perches on the edge of one. It sets him below Sam's eye-level, and though it feels odd to Sam, it seems to relax Castiel somewhat. The tension from a minute ago ekes out of him in little shifts, and when he grasps Sam's hand, his touch is soft -- holding for the sake of holding.
"I came for you myself," Castiel explains with his sad blue eyes turned up at Sam. "It took some time to convince Dean to wait at the school to see if you would return. I can search the town far more quickly than he can."
"Right. Knew that," Sam says, feeling even stupider than before. Castiel's teleportation means that there is nowhere Sam could run where Cas could not find him eventually. It's as much reassuring as it is terrifying.
Castiel looks down at Sam's hand, turning it in his grip until it's like they're shaking hands except it's actually Sam's tiny hand being held between both of Castiel's. He says: "It's not like you to run. That's not the nature of the Sam Winchester that I know."
Sam flinches. Castiel is always saying little things like that about both him and Dean, and Sam can't help but take them as accusations. It's as if The Sam That Cas Knows is someone entirely separate. It makes Sam think that Castiel looks at him and is searching for the potential of someone else -- someone he isn't yet and someone he might not become if he makes the wrong decisions.
"Well, maybe you don't know me as well as you think," Sam says stubbornly.
For all he knows, the Sam that Cas knows so well might not think about wanting Cas to look at him and talk to him all the time. That Sam might not see the way Castiel's mouth purses in confusion -- his plush lower lip popped out to form a tight, little frown -- and think about kissing it. For all Sam knows, the fact that he does think those things screws up his future-self beyond repair, but he can't help it. He wants to think about Cas all the time. He wants Cas to be at ease with him, but he also wants more than that -- the attention and the love that Castiel has thus far seen fit to give to another.
So he takes what might be his only chance. After all, when's the next time gonna be that he and Cas have a moment alone without Dean or his dad lurking around? Never, that's when -- so he pulls his hand free from Castiel's grip and steps forward.
Castiel's perpetual five o'clock shadow is rough against his palms. His jaw feels too big, too massive for Sam to cover in the way that he wants, but Castiel's mouth is soft like his hands are. Sam presses his lips to Castiel's as hard as he dares, expecting Cas to push him away at any moment and wanting to memorize what it feels like to kiss him before he's denied it completely.
But Cas doesn't pull back or push Sam away. He lets Sam kiss him. He even turns his head a bit so that they rest more easily against each other. Shocked at being allowed this much, Sam moves that much closer. His kiss is inexpert, sloppy, but as Cas moves in response, Sam learns what to do. He learns to mouth at Castiel's lower lip and to kiss deeply and openly while Cas unfurls slowly with each touch.
Sam fists one hand in Castiel's collar and moves the other to the back of his head. Curling his fingers in Castiel's hair seems like the most natural thing in the world suddenly, so Sam does just that. He gets a great, big handful of Castiel's dark hair and pulls. Sam intends to get Cas' neck exposed so that he can get his mouth on that too -- to know what his skin tastes like finally -- but when Cas tilts back obligingly with this voiced catch in his throat, Sam comes to a grinding halt.
Castiel looks -- there's really no better word for it -- ruined. Though he wouldn't go as far as to say that Cas is blushing under the shadow of his beard, Sam can't take his eyes off the pink swell of Castiel's bottom lip and the rosy tip of his tongue sneaking out to wet it. A spike of want buries itself in his gut with such ferocity that it makes Sam's breath shake but also leaves him directionless, clueless. There's so much he wants to do to Cas that he doesn't know which to do first, and so he is paralyzed -- holding on to Cas and savoring the tingling remainder of their kiss. It's only when Castiel's hand comes up to clasp his shoulder that Sam can even gasp his name, startled by how far he'd gone -- how far he'd wanted to go.
"Cas," he starts with guilt on the tip of his tongue, but no sooner do the words form than does Castiel cover Sam's mouth with a hand to silence him.
"Don't apologize," Castiel says and drops his hand to splay his fingers over Sam's heart. "You're very different from the Sam I know and love, but in this respect, you are my constant."
Sam trembles weakly with the words and then sags into Castiel's arms, which open up immediately to embrace him. "I thought it was Dean," he says.
"It wasn't," is all the reply Sam gets. Castiel presses a brief kiss to his temple -- the touch feels hot -- and ushers them both to standing. He holds out his hand. "Can I take you to Dean now?"
It's soon -- too soon -- and he still wants. "Wait," Sam says, brushing aside Castiel's hand but holding on to his wrist. He pulls Castiel down by his tie. "Is this... Is this kind of weird to you?"
"It's different," Castiel admits, though his small smile is indulgently fond.
"So I'm taller when you know me," Sam muses, looking upward as if might see his future-self standing near to serve as proof of how far he still has to go. "It seems like a long time off. I don't know if I wanna make you wait that long."
A light laugh huffs from between Castiel's teeth. "I've waited for longer for a great many things, Sam Winchester. Ten more years won't kill me."
"Ten?" he echoes, surprised by his own incredulity. He tightens his grip on Castiel's tie and pulls him those last few inches so that he can rest their foreheads together. "I don't know if I can survive ten years, Cas."
Another one of those abrupt laughs bubbles up from Castiel's chest -- warmly affectionate. "You'll survive a lot longer than ten years if I have anything to say about it," he says and then kisses Sam with such sweet tenderness that an unbridled longing stirs in Sam's heart.
"You swear?" he asks.
"I swear," Castiel promises. "I'm here to protect you."
Ten years seems like a long time right now, Sam thinks when he finally takes Cas' hand so they can head back to the school, but it'll be worth it.