Chapter Text
It starts like this:
A shadow falls across the pages of Castiel's book, and Sam says, "Hey, you ready to get out of here?"
Castiel blinks up at him, looks around and realizes that the Classics library is completely deserted but for the two of them. A glance at the clock shows why— it's six minutes past closing time, and once again Sam has shooed out the recalcitrant professors, done all shelving, tidied up the long tables, righted the bust of Plato that is constantly listing to the left and now waits patiently for Castiel, the actual library employee, to return to reality and take the keys he has dangling from a finger.
"My apologies," he says contritely, and Sam laughs.
It's almost winter, and night descends early; after five, the university dims the lights to save on energy costs, and Sam and Castiel walk in and out of pools of harsh florescent light. "Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Sam asks, and Castiel gives him a puzzled frown. "For Thanksgiving," he elaborates.
Castiel tilts his head. "Giving thanks for what?"
They're on the fourth floor, and as they wait for the ancient elevator to lumber its way up Sam gives him a strange look. "The holiday Thanksgiving, Castiel. You know, turkey and football and the parade?"
Castiel attempts to connect turkey, football and parades to any holy day he knows of, and fails. "I am unfamiliar with this practice. Please explain."
And Sam does. Castiel values Sam's friendship very highly, not just because Sam is the only friend he has, but because the law student is one of the least judgmental people he has ever encountered. Sam never makes Castiel feel slow or stupid when he asks questions like, "But where does the water come from?" or "If the pizzaman truly loves this babysitter, why does he keep slapping her rear?"
After he'd asked the latter, Gabriel had given him a wide-eyed look as much pity as it was shock. "Are you telling me you've been on Earth for a year and you've never seen porn? Cassie, baby, let me set you up!" The archangel had snapped his fingers and summoned an entire cheerleading squad, and Castiel had been forced to flee the penthouse.
Sam is saying, "—and everyone pretty much lies around and moans about full they are, I guess? Then they probably go to bed early. The day after's Black Friday— when a lot of stores open insanely early, for the start of the Christmas shopping season," he adds, anticipating the question.
Sam's uncertain phrasing catches his attention. "Probably?"
Sam shrugs, and the elevator doors open. "It was kind of a nonevent for us, growing up. I've never had the kind of Thanksgiving they show on television."
Castiel frowns as they enter the small metal box. In all the time he's known Sam, he has never heard him speak of his family or childhood. "What are your plans, then?"
Sam's face is rueful, and a little sad. "Don't have any, so far. Get caught up on reading?"
There is a meaningful gesture to be made here, something Castiel is human enough to sense the shape of but not practiced enough to know exactly what. "We could do something together," he finally offers, and sees that he has chosen correctly when Sam gives him a shy smile.