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The snow falls to the earth in silent, shimmering flakes. Sam is mesmerized as he watches from the warmth and safety of his favorite armchair. This is basically his perfect day—or it will be, at least, when Dean comes back with The Princess Bride like he requested.
The older Winchester has run out to rent some movies (because DVD is the superior medium, according to him) and preemptively stock up on groceries before the storm gets bad, so it’s just Sam and Cas at home.
“It’s very beautiful,” Cas comments, sitting in the chair across from Sam’s. His voice has softened up over the years, and Sam loves it.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Even as a kid, this was my favorite weather.” He trails off wistfully before laughing a little and adding: “We lived in Connecticut for a bit, and Dean would always pelt me with snowballs on our walk to school.“
When he looks over at Cas, he notices him frowning. “That doesn’t sound very nice,” the fallen angel says.
Sam laughs outright now. “Trust me, it’s a happy memory. It’s … Have you ever heard of a snowball fight?”
Cas shakes his head, and that just won’t do. Sam needs to remedy that.
“I’ll show you,” he says, smile gentle but words leaving no room for argument.
Sam isn’t sure why he wants to teach his friend about snowball fights so much. It’s not like he ever liked them that much in the first place, and, at his grown age, he obviously doesn’t care for them at all now. It just seems like an injustice that Cas never got to have a human childhood. Dean is constantly teaching Cas about human things, so this is no different. It’s just called being a good friend.
Since having finally settled in one place for an extended period of time, Sam has splurged on a decent winter coat. He puts it on now, plus his boots.
“You don’t get cold, right?” he checks.
“Right.”
“Great,” Sam says, and grabs Cas by the elbow to pull him up the stairs and out of the bunker.
Outside is even more magical. The ground is covered in a pristine sheet of snow, undisturbed by man, and the snowflakes are falling at the perfect rate.
Sam crouches down on the ground and motions for Cas to do the same. “You just pack the snow like this, see?”
Cas follows his example by gathering up some snow, and he effortlessly makes a perfect sphere.
Sam huffs out a laugh. “Perfect,” he tells him, then they both stands up, snowballs in hand. “Then you just…”
He chucks the snowball at Cas, nailing him in the shoulder.
“Ow.”
“Try it,” Sam encourages, spreading his arms, an easy target for Cas’ first go.
Cas hits him square in the chest and smiles a little. “That is fun.”
“See?”
The two continue their snowball fight, no longer letting the other get free hits. Sam’s competitive nature shines through as the fight intensifies, and Cas easily matches it.
After a while, Sam manages to get close enough to pull a Dean Winchester Classic and shove snow down the back of Cas’ trench coat and shirt, at which point all bets are off.
Sam’s laughing so hard as they throw snow at each other, so the smaller man is able to knock him over after a short scuffle. He ends up on his back, Cas on top of him, still laughing and now squirming, but then he really looks at the man above him and quiets down.
White snow in his dark hair and lashes. He’s always been beautiful to Sam, unbearably so, at times, but still, there’s just something about looking up at someone for him…
Cas isn’t laughing either as he stares down at Sam, all his body weight lying atop him.
“Sam?” he whispers.
“Uh-huh?” Sam mumbles back, mouth dry.
Before he can even process a thing, chapped lips are being pressed against his own. He stupidly keeps his eyes open even though this is basically 10 years of dreaming finally coming true.
The kiss is over before he can even begin to comprehend that he should be kissing back, and he’s suddenly a flustered mess.
“Oh. Um—“
“Sam, I—“
“Let’s go inside now. It’s freezing,” Sam says, moving to sit up. His body is actually extremely hot right now, but he can’t exactly say that.
Cas easily lets him up, and silently follows him back into the bunker.
Sam is messing everything up right now, but he doesn’t know what else to do.
At the bottom of the stairs, San takes off his snow covered jacket, and Cas does the same with his trench coat. He stands there uncomfortably, arms not touching his body.
“Being wet is quite unpleasant.”
Sam knows the feeling. Dean always tortured him with snow down his back.
He huffs out a small laugh, Cas’ comment having cut some of the tension. “I’ll, um, grab you some clothes to change into. Wait here.”
He heads to his room and searches for something that won’t be too embarrassingly large on Cas. A few flannels leftover from accidental sleepovers with Dean (Sam’s bedroom has the TV, so it happens more often than you’d think), plus a few of Dean’s hand-me-downs. But that doesn’t feel right. Sam doesn’t want Cas to wear Dean’s clothes.
He finally discovers the Stanford tee that fit him at 18, before he gained another two inches, and figures it’ll be good enough. He also grabs a pair of sweats that Cas will just have to roll up.
He returns to the map room to hand Cas the clothes. He goes in search of some privacy, and Sam mindlessly wanders into the kitchen. Now that his blushing and overheating has subsided, he actually is a little cold, so he decides to make some hot chocolate. Dean should be back soon anyway, and he’ll want some too.
3 mugs of cocoa later, and Cas is wandering into the kitchen in his dry clothes. He’s about the same height as Jess, so Sam’s clothes look equally ridiculous and adorable on him as they did her.
“Hey. It might taste like molecules to you, but I made cocoa?”
“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says graciously, taking his mug and taking his place across from Sam at the table.
Sam sips his drink for a minute before deciding that they aren’t himself and Dean—they can’t just choose to not talk about something big that happened. “Hey, Cas?”
“I’m sorry,” Cas says instantly.
Sam’s face falls, but he tries to conceal it.
Cas notices anyway. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask, I mean,” he remedies. “Not sorry I did it. I don’t regret it.”
Hooooly shit.
“I’m sorry too,” Sam says softly, once his brain starts working again. He smiles a bit, hoping he’s not making a fool of himself, before continuing: “Sorry I didn’t kiss back.”
Cas looks relieved. “So…”
“So, basically, we both want to kiss each other.”
“That’s correct.”
“So, we like each other? You like me?” Sam holds his mug with both hands. He feels like a high schooler again in the best/worst way.
“Yes. Was that not obvious?”
Sam can tell he’s asking completely genuinely too, not even trying to make fun. He ignores him. “We should be boyfriends. If you want.”
That was awkward as fuck, but thankfully Cas says, “Yes. I’d like that.l
“Okay.” Sam taps his fingers on his mug, feeling crazy. Could it really have been this easy all along? “So, how long have you—“
The bunker door opens and Dean’s footsteps descend the steps. “Sammy!” he calls out. “I got your stupid movie, but we’re watching it after mine!” He arrives in the kitchen, bags in hand, and instantly notices the hot chocolate waiting for him. “Oh, awesome! Thanks, man.”
Sam stands from the table to take half the groceries from his brother and help put them away. As he’s making the transfer, though, Dean slaps his chest with the back of his hand.
“Dude, did you get laid?” Dean asks.
Sam splutters and eventually lands on, “What?”
“You have that look in your eye. When the hell could you have possibly—“ His eyes dart to Cas and he instantly laughs. “Are you serious? Fucking finally,” he guffaws, moving past Sam to start putting his half of the groceries away.
Sam is left a blushing mess all over again. “Dean we didn’t—I didn’t get laid. We only—I mean, we didn’t even—“
Dean laughs away, and Cas is no help either, just sitting there silently, embarrassed too.
“Fuck you,” Sam says, punching Dean’s arm. He drops the groceries on the counter. “Put these away yourself. And we’re watching my movie first.”
Dean keeps laughing, but he’s slowly calming down. Before Sam can leave arms length to sit back down, he grabs him. “Hey, wait, seriously.” With a genuine smile, he tugs him closer and lowers his voice so only Sam can hear him. “I want all the details later. I’m proud of you, man.”
Sam is still beet red. “Whatever, Dean,” he says, but he’s pleased. Were Cas’ feelings obvious to Dean all this time, or just his own? God, he’s curious.
He sits back down across from Cas, and the two share an embarrassed smile. Sam is so excited to develop their relationship further in the coming days; he knows Dean will give them plenty of purposeful alone time.
Yeah. This is Sam’s perfect day.