Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam met his soulmate on the first day of college. Which was… perfectly romantic, right? Classically, fairy-tale, surely-that-doesn’t-really-happen idealistic kids’ dreams, on a level with ‘high-school sweethearts wake up one morning and discover each other’s surnames on their wrists’, or ‘the gorgeous person who just saved your life turns out to be The One’. And Sam wouldn’t say that he hadn’t harboured some hopes when he’d insisted on going to college—there definitely wasn’t anybody with the surname Novak in their tiny circle back at home—but… But.

Well. Sam was a practical guy. And maybe he had some shred of romance in him (unlike some other Winchesters he could name, Dean), but he also had common decency. And he liked Castiel, he really did. And maybe everyone had just blown this whole soulmate thing right out of proportion, and that sense of instant connection was probably just once of those romance novel things, and it made sense you’d have to work at it and really build something together, and…

And there was such a thing as platonic soulmates.

He wasn’t disappointed. That wouldn’t be fair to Cas.

***

Sam turned up early on the very first day you could sign in for everything, and he read every flyer and information sheet handed to him thoroughly. Which was why he knew beforehand that, not only was his dorm room ‘Pontiac 358’, but that he was sharing it with one Castiel Novak.

It… wasn’t exactly a common name.

He clutched a bit too tight at the wristband covering the name inside his left wrist, and missed the next five minutes of the orientation speech.

***

Castiel Novak didn’t turn up until two days later. When he did, he was dishevelled, flustered, had only one small backpack with him, and seemed completely disoriented by the campus in general. He hadn’t managed to even locate student services, and he’d missed half of his orientation events already without even knowing it.

He was also gorgeous. Which Sam registered with some shameful relief, in the midst of the embarrassed fluster of standing up from the desk in his half of the room (he’d left the side with the window for his potential soulmate) and greeting the newcomer, offering to help him with his bags and so on.

“Thank you,” said Castiel Novak, looking harried, “I. Um. Excuse me. I thought this was my room—oh. I see there are… two beds. Are we expected to share?”

“Uh,” said Sam, putting Castiel’s backpack on his bed and discreetly wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, “yes? I mean, everybody has a dorm mate, unless you pay obscene amounts of money, and… welcome?”

“Oh,” said Castiel, looking around with a worried frown. “I have money. Would you prefer…”

“Huh? I mean, I’m new to this too. Obviously. Freshman, but…”

“What is a freshman?”

“You don’t—? Oh.” Sam looked Castiel over, taking in his crisply buttoned but faintly rumpled shirt, the precision of his enunciation, the crucifix on a chain around his neck, the harried expression of somebody forced to take in too many new things in one day. “Hey. Uh. I’m guessing you didn’t get out much?”

Castiel shot him half a glare, which melted when he saw the awkward sympathy in Sam’s face. “No, I—my family were—no.”

Were, Sam noticed; but he left that aside for now. “Okay,” he said. “Well. I think everybody feels kinda thrown in the deep end this week anyway. I.” He took a deep breath. Time for the test. “Castiel Novak, right? I’m Sam. Sam Winchester.”

Castiel’s eyes went wide (blue, very blue). Then they snapped down to Sam’s left wrist, while with his own hands he mimicked the same gesture Sam had made when he’d read Novak on his dorm assignment.

Sam breathed out.

“Right,” he said, “so it is you. Sorry. That probably doesn’t help with—big day, huh?”

Sam’s soulmate rolled his eyes at him. Seconds after that revelation. Then he snapped the cuffs of his shirtsleeve and folded one corner, to reveal the name Winchester written on the inside of his left wrist.

“Well,” he said dryly, “this is awkward.”

… Sam liked this guy.

He laughed, relief and nerves. “So. Maybe dinner tonight?”

***

Cas was… great. Definitely. Sam really liked him.

They went on dates together—nice, classic, respectful, getting-to-know-you dates. They learned about each other’s interests and families (at least, as much as Castiel would reveal, which was hardly anything beyond “very conservative” and “home-schooled” and “cut off all contact”, so Sam didn’t push). As the first weeks of classes went by they grumbled and enthused and commiserated about classes—Castiel was pre-med, Sam was pre-law—and they got on well. They became friends. Good friends. Castiel was just the kind of person Sam needed in his life—their studying and housework habits just worked together, perfect and immediate—and he was pretty much Sam’s best friend ever within a couple of weeks.

And they were good for each other. Whenever one was stressed or overwhelmed, or didn’t know how to deal with this or that situation, the other one was there to see him through. Castiel’s sarcastic, all-encompassing, passionate belief was just what Sam needed right now, away from his family for the first time, not sure what he was doing. And Castiel needed somebody to be a sanctuary and a source of information, when the world outside (as he called it) got to be too confusing, too much.

Like that one time when Sam came back to the dorm to find Castiel had fallen down the rabbit hole of internet click bait. Not only that, but he had…

“The internet has decided that I am a Ravenclaw,” Castiel greeted Sam when he came in, sounding deeply aggrieved.

Sam laughed at him. “I can see it. Why, what’d you—oh, Cas. You didn’t fill in one of those surveys, did you?”

The irritation turned itself on Sam. “One of what surveys, Sam.”

Sam dumped his books on his bed and leaned in over Castiel’s shoulder. “Yep. Let me guess: it popped up over the website you were on and offered to work out your Hogwarts house if you filled in a bunch of innocent-sounding questions?”

“… Yes?”

“Including things like age, city, your soulmate name, a few preference and personality questions like favourite colour and so on?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Sam chuckled, and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay. Just, be careful with that kind of thing on the internet. It’s sort of data-mining profiling thing—all those shady websites out there that say they can match you up with your soulmate? They use things like this to bulk out their databases with as many real people as possible.”

“Oh.” Castiel scowled at the computer. “How do I delete it?”

“You can’t now, they’ve got it already. Just ignore any emails you start getting swearing they’re your soulmate or offering you amazing deals in really bad English.”

So, yeah, Sam didn’t need to hear specifics to know just how isolated and unhealthy Castiel’s home situation had been. Castiel was cynical and sarcastic and grown-up in so many ways that his naïveté in others took some getting used to. It drew teasing (even good-natured, but still hurtful) from a lot of his classmates or other people in their building who just didn’t get it. So, outside of their dorm room, Castiel shut down a lot. Within weeks he’d built a defensive wall, a face of distance, quiet, superciliousness.

And Sam was there at the end of the day to just… be there when he let that down. To listen to all the pent-up irritation and amusement and wonder at everything he’d observed that day.

Sam loved it. Castiel was a treasure. He was something special and unusual and… right.

Just. Well. Sam wasn’t into him.

Not like that.

A derisive huff blew static into Sam’s ear.

“A treasure? Seriously?”

Sam scowled, on brotherly automatic. “Screw you,” he told the phone.

“Oh, not me,” carolled Dean insinuatingly from halfway across the country. “Sounds like somebody needs to get laid, little brother.

Sam sighed, louder. “Not everything is about sex, Dean.”

“Then you’re not doin’ it right.”

“Dean. There is no right here, okay? All that pick-up crap of yours—it’s got nothing to do with this. This is different.”

Dean’s voice stayed mocking and light, but there was a hard edge behind it all of a sudden. “Yeah, right, I forgot. Because he’s your soulmate. Suddenly it’s special.”

“Dean.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean that. I know you don’t—that wasn’t what I meant, okay? Just. Uh. He’s asexual.”

“… he makes babies by cloning?”

“Shut up. I know you know what it means. But he didn’t, okay? I’ve been encouraging him to do all these things to work out what he thinks about—well, everything, because he’s been all sheltered, and he came back from a queer society meeting last night and told me he thinks he’s ace. As in, not sexually attracted to people, not really into sex except as a ‘theoretical concept’. And he thought I deserved to know.”

“… because you’re his soulmate.”

“Obviously, Dean.”

“That, uh.” Dean cleared his throat. Sam paused, taken aback by the lack of any obvious stupid jokes, by Dean’s unexpectedly serious voice. “That a dealbreaker for you, Sammy?”

“Well. Not a dealbreaker. I mean, I’m not the kind of person who’d—but it’d be nice, you know? I always imagined, with my soulmate—well, who doesn’t?”

Dean snorted in his ear. “Talking to the wrong guy, Sammy.”

“You know what I mean,” Sam grumbled.

“So you’re having second thoughts about your soulmate because he won’t put out? Your soulmate, Sammy. You’re into all that romantic destiny crap.”

“Screw you. Of course I’m no, I’m just… well, would you be okay with a steady relationship where you’d maybe never have sex again?”

Dean was oddly silent for a moment. Then: “I don’t know. Might be nice.”

Sam actually pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it. “You?”

Dean snorted. “Oh, what, because I’m such a man-whore?”

“Well, you kinda are.”

“Yeah, well.” And there was that strange vulnerable tone in Dean’s voice again. “Maybe it’d be nice to not always have to be—putting on a show, you know?”

“Huh,” said Sam. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Sam had done his research, years ago. His parents’ situation was vanishingly rare. Campbell and Winchester on each other’s wrists, an initial attraction, an unhappy marriage plagued by all the guilt of thinking they ought to be perfect for each other, then, when Sam had been just old enough to remember—their Mom had found a new friend. A woman, whose surname was Winchester. No relation.

And eventually, Mom had left them.

If Mom had been right, that woman had been her soulmate all along. And that would mean that Dad’s real soulmate—somebody Campbell—was still out there, somewhere.

But what were the odds?

Well, Sam knew exactly what the odds were. They were very, very low. And outside of tragic romances and comedies of errors, that pretty much never happened. Chances of it happening in one family in two consecutive generations? None.

Especially since he actually liked Castiel. As a person.

So it was Sam’s fault if he couldn’t make this work.

… maybe if he scrimped and saved and took Castiel to a really fancy restaurant…

***

It took him a few weeks, and Castiel insisting on paying for most of it, but he managed to make reservations at a nice fancy restaurant on a night that suited them both. Except that, on the night, Sam came back from the shower to find Castiel standing in the middle of their room, bare-chested in his dress slacks, scowling at his crisp white shirt and good silk tie.

“I hate these clothes,” he said, without looking at Sam.

They cancelled the reservation. Castiel borrowed a pair of Sam’s jeans and a comfortable worn old leather jacket, and they went out for pizza in a little local family-run place, where they could hear each other talk and where the owner stopped by from time to time to chat with them like old friends.

Sam told Castiel about the fascinating bits of the Reformation that he’d been learning about in class that day. Castiel frowned and cross-analysed the theological points of the various splinter sects. They ended up arguing amiably about the degree to which it could ever be possible to reliably diagnose diseases from descriptions several centuries old, given the shift in language and scientific understanding of pathology, not to mention in cultural attitudes towards the meaning of disease. Castiel was passionate and wry when he argued, and for the first time Sam was sure this was the real Castiel in front of him, shorn of uncertainty and emerged from his shell.

“Hey Cas, can I ask you something?” he asked, in the post-dessert lull for digestion.

Castiel just quirked an eyebrow at him, lazy and full.

“What was with the whole clothes thing earlier? I mean, if I’d known…” He gestured vaguely with his beer.

Castiel scowled at nothing much. “I don’t know. They just suddenly felt too much like… home.”

“Which isn’t a good thing.”

Castiel just gave him a Look. Sam grinned at him.

“Jeans look good on you. We should go clothes shopping tomorrow.”

The eyebrow again, but this time it was amused. “I thought that was something that only women do together.”

“Yeah, I think our masculinity can survive intact for one day, don’t you?”

When they got back to their hall, they were both tipsy enough to be warm and comfortable.

“Walk you to your door, sir?” asked Castiel solemnly.

Sam snickered, and bowed to him gallantly outside the door that read Sam Winchester, Castiel Novak.

“Thank you for a lovely date, sir,” he replied, half playing but meaning it.

Castiel looked at him, eyes deep and blue in the shadows, a little unsure.

“You too,” he said, with determination, and took Sam’s hand. His own were hot, and strong, and a bit damp; and he tugged on Sam’s hand and stepped in, so Sam met him halfway.

It was… nice.

Castiel kissed like he was studying the experience, careful and task-oriented. His mouth was soft, and tasted faintly of chocolate and beer.

He also went almost immediately for the open-mouthed thing, for depth and tongue, like he thought that was how this was meant to go.

Sam cupped his free hand around the side of Castiel’s face, tilted it slightly, and changed it. Less depth, more sensuality. More care.

Castiel made a curious noise, and leaned in against his chest.

It was nice. But still no spark.

“Hm,” said Castiel after a moment, and looked at Sam quizzically from a few inches away. Then he smiled, and kissed Sam on the forehead.

And that felt sweet. That felt… real.

Which was a terrible thing to think. Like the other kiss wasn’t. Sam was a terrible person and needed to do better for Castiel. For his soulmate.

***

They went clothes shopping. Castiel got jeans all of his own, and casual shoes and boots, and t-shirts and over shirts like Sam’s.

Then Castiel went shopping again, and bought other clothes: blacks and deep rich colours, and floating fabrics and skin-tight things, and scarves and necklaces and bracelets and shirts with jokes on them that appealed to Castiel’s weird and obscure sense of humour. Put together they made the strangest combinations that shouldn’t have worked but somehow… looked like Castiel.

Sam wasn’t really surprised when Castiel came back from class one day and announced he was getting a tattoo.

“Her name is Charlie,” he said. “She’s the secretary of the queer society. Her art is very impressive. We have discussed the piece I would like to commission—semi-abstract, centring around the concept of flight—and she has made several sketches and colour suggestions.”

“Where would you get it?” Asked Sam.

Castiel eyed him. “Trailing down my arm from my shoulder. You don’t object?”

“Cas. Are you—asking me for permission?”

“…No,” said Castiel.

Sam nudged him. “Idiot. Nobody but you gets to decide what works for you, okay? Not parents, not soulmate. I think if it makes you happy, that’s awesome. Want me to come with?”

Castiel’s smile was only with his eyes, but it was all pleasure.

***

The tattoo parlour was all open and airy, with old comfy sofas, and Charlie and her colleagues yelled casual happy insults at each other as they worked, and the walls were lined with books and display cabinets of interesting piercings. Sam loved it immediately.

Charlie’s girlfriend Dorothy, a bright-eyed trans woman in spectacular red boots, brought Sam a coffee, and he curled up in one of the sofas with a history of the Crusades and a portfolio of Charlie’s designs.

She did animals and scraps of images, long flowing lines that suggested movement and worked with the shift of body and muscle, delicate touches with splashes of watercolour that suggested something fantastical even about the most literal and everyday piece. A bee taking off from a twig, or a turtle considering diving from its log, became something out of fairyland.

Sam could see how her style would suit Castiel. And the sketches he’d seen—the chaffinches and sparrows spiralling up in lines of wind and dancing leaves, autumnal near the wrist and blushing through to summer at the top, joyous and delicate and wild, with splashes of purple and reds and oranges—well, Castiel might have said the theme was “flying”, but to Sam it looked like “freedom”.

He listened with half an ear to Charlie chattering on and Castiel’s monotone rumblings in reply, as they finalised the design and decided on a schedule for the several sessions it would take to complete. Then Castiel was stripping off his shirt, and Charlie was swabbing down his arm; then he must have removed the wristband, because Charlie was exclaiming, “Winchester, huh! Well, how about that?”

Sam winced, and sunk a bit lower into his seat. It wasn’t like Charlie knew that Sam was Winchester, but… Castiel was a private person, and they definitely hadn’t made an announcement yet, and you didn’t go discussing people’s soulmate names in public because that was just… yeah.

Castiel’s baffled silence must have been accompanied by a mortified look, because then Charlie was apologising as she started up the needle: “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. It’s just, my bestie’s got a Winchester too! What are the odds?”

“Really,” said Castiel, in the kind of thoughtful tone that set off warning bells in Sam’s head.

Sam cautiously raised his head over the arm of the sofa, just in time to see Castiel send a significant glance in his direction.

“You’ve known this ‘bestie’ some time, I take it?” he asked, as Charlie set to her work. The curl of Castiel’s fingers around the other arm of the chair was the only sign of a flinch.

“Oh years,” she said cheerfully. “Pulled each other out of bad patches a few times when we were teenagers, that kind of thing. When a guy’s cleaned you up after a couple of dickheads roll you in an alley then plots a terrible and complex revenge plan for them, and you’ve been called by the hospital three times as his emergency contact and he wears half your early work on his body, well, you don’t have that many secrets, you know?”

“He sounds like a good friend,” said Castiel, and ignored Sam’s frantic little shut up gestures to ask, “What does he do now?”

“Street kid to vet’s assistant,” said Charlie happily. “And he’s working his way through vet school. Couldn’t be prouder.”

“That is impressive,” said Castiel, shooting another significant glance at Sam like he thought he was being really really stealthy, the idiot, like even considering the possibility that this other guy might be Sam’s soulmate wasn’t a betrayal of Castiel himself.

And how had he figured it out, that Sam was having doubts? Sam had been so careful. They were going to have words when they got back to the dorm. Sam had to make sure Castiel knew that he was enough.

“I know, right?” Charlie beamed, without looking up from her work. “I mean, I’m just an artist, but him, he’s smart. Even though he’d never believe it. And he’s got so much heart.”

“Is he seeing anybody?” Castiel asked, while Sam smacked his forehead and mouthed you’re not subtle and gave him death glares where Charlie couldn’t see. Castiel just blinked sweetly back, because there was no stopping Castiel once he’d decided on a course of action.

“Why?” teased Charlie, “you interested? He is pretty gorgeous, if you’re into guys. And snark.”

“No, I’m not looking to date casually at the moment, thank you,” said Castiel carefully. “But I know a family by the name of Winchester.”

“Oh hey, maybe we should just happen to trick him into going to some party with some of them.” Charlie flashed a grin up from Castiel’s arm. “He won’t even think about looking, he’s impossible, like he thinks he doesn’t deserve—oh, hey, Gabriel!”

“You cancelling on me, wench?” called someone, as the shop door swung closed with a tinkle. “He’d better be cute.”

“Late booking, and cuter than you,” Charlie shot back, “so you can bother Ash until I’m done. No, Cas, hold still, you’ve gotta—”

“Gabriel?”

And that tone in Castiel’s voice had Sam out of his sofa and on high alert between Castiel and the stranger before he even thought about it.

Something deep inside Sam went… oh.

An easy, mocking tone of voice was the first impression Sam had of him: lilting, laughing at himself before the world. Then the blue hair, streaked with gold—the gold-amber eyes, expressive-wide and stunned, as the mouth slipped from grinning into shock—the little trail of colourful stars (no, starfish) disappearing down his throat below his shirt collar, and the violently purple shirt over the respectable work slacks and shoes, the…

… the tiny tortoiseshell cat perched on his shoulder? Who immediately hopped down and sauntered over to curl up in one of the sofas, like she owned the place.

And then, there was also the way he and Castiel were staring at each other like mutual ghosts.

“Uh,” said the new guy, in a scraped kind of a voice, and pointed at Castiel. “Charlie. Is that—”

“Oh. Oh!” The last syllable came out almost in a squeal, as Charlie clapped her hands over her mouth. “He’s your brother. This is your brother? Your brother!”

“Yeah, my—”

“Your brother, ohmygod.”

“My brother,” said Castiel heavily. “Hello, Gabriel.”

“Wait, wait.” Sam swung around to look at Castiel. “You have a brother?”

“I have several.” Castiel crossed his arms and glared. “Gabriel was the only one worth the name. Until he ran away from home at age sixteen.”

“Hey,” blurted Gabriel, and scowled right back. “Tattoo, Cassie? University town? Those clothes? Looks like I’m not the only one who’s done a runner.”

“I—”

“Copycat.”

“What? I was fourteen! It wasn’t like I could run away first.”

“Sure you could. You’d’ve been the cutest little urchin ever. ‘Please sir can I have some more.’ Song and dance numbers at every bus shelter.”

“Your logic contains no… logic. And that shade of blue doesn’t suit you.”

“Definitely brothers,” Charlie stage-whispered to Sam, as Gabriel pouted.

“Okay, uh, guys,” Sam put in, “why don’t we go and have coffee somewhere—finish this session later? Or—Charlie, is there a break room where they could—?”

“Don’t bother,” growled Castiel, pulling on his shirt, eyes burning. “I have nothing to say to him.”

Gabriel looked like he’d been punched.

“What?” stammered Charlie. “Come on, Cas, stick around for a bit, you can—”

“Maybe if he’d sent a single word,” snapped Castiel, “any time in the last five years.”

And Sam just… couldn’t let Gabriel look like that. Even if he was a complete stranger.

“Cas,” he said in a low voice, taking Castiel’s arm. “Give him a chance. We all screw up when we’re teenagers.”

Castiel just threw him a look, fury and hurt and a mute plea, and Gabriel took half a step forward and reached out a hand.

“You’re pissed, Cassie. I get it. I’m pissed at me too. But could we just—”

“No. My apologies, Charlie. I’ll call you later.” Castiel pushed past him and yanked the door open. The bell jangled, harsh.

“At least let me give you my cell—”

“Go away, Gabriel. You’re good at that.”

The door closed.

“Oh,” said Charlie, and rushed forward to hug Gabriel, who was still staring at the door.

Sam hovered. Obviously he needed to go after his soulmate, who was upset, and—he was going to, any moment now, but just—

Gabriel’s head snapped around to look at him, and for the first time Sam got the full force of those deep, desperate golden eyes.

“Hey,” he said. “Tall fluffy and handsome. You’re his friend, right?”

Sam blinked, and smoothed his hair down. “Fluffy?”

“Sure, like a puppy. What’ll it take to get his number off you?”

Sam grimaced. “I’m sorry, that was—but I can’t just give you his number. Look, he’ll come round, he’s just pissed—”

“Then your number.” The hurt was masked by a grin, and a flirtatious wink. “Bet I can think of a thing or two to do with it.”

Sam crossed his arms, and arched an eyebrow. “Did you just hit on me less than a minute after your long-lost brother stormed out the door?”

Gabriel made a considering noise, then beamed. “Pretty much.”

Charlie patted his arm. “It’s how he copes.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Please. I am a model of sanity and healthy coping mechanisms.”

Sam’s mouth was doing its best to tug into a smirk. “Okay, how’s this. I need to go after my room mate. But you give me your number, and I’ll talk to him when he’s calmer, and let you know how it goes.”

Gabriel clasped a hand dramatically to his heart. “Did you just hit on me a minute after my long-lost brother stormed out the door?”

“Absolutely not,” said Sam. “Charlie was right—he is cuter than you.”

“Nobody’s cuter than me,” said Gabriel with deeply held conviction. Then he grabbed Sam’s hand, scribbled down a number on the back, and winked. “Call me!”

Sam rolled his eyes, and went after Castiel.

***

Castiel hadn’t taken the obvious route back to campus. Sam knew he liked to walk when he was upset, so he wasted a lot of time exploring all Castiel’s favourite walking paths and ended up arriving back outside their hall an hour later, hot and bothered and about to be late for class, at the same time as Castiel.

He was so relieved to see him that it wasn’t until after he’d called out that he saw the familiar sleek black car parked outside the building, and a familiar figure leaning against her.

“Dean?”

Dean straightened up and swaggered over. “Hey there, kiddo. This the better half?” He looked Castiel up and down, and winked. “I gotta tell you, buddy, you are way out of my little brother’s league.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, Castiel. Sorry my brother’s a dick.”

“We have that in common at least,” Castiel grumbled.

“What are you even doing here, Dean?”

Dean spread his hands with his best shit-eating grin. “Can’t a guy visit his little brother?”

Sam gave him an unimpressed look. “Tell me you didn’t drive three hundred miles to vet my soulmate.”

“Gotta meet the family sometime, right Cas?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but he was studying Dean intently and seemed to be relaxing out of his tense, unhappy stance. Which was interesting, because he usually got more uncomfortable around new people, not less.

“Okay, well.” Sam reached a snap decision. He hadn’t really wanted to leave Castiel alone while he went to class, because he tended to spiral down when he got upset if you didn’t distract him. “I have to get to class, but you and you should go have lunch together and get to know each other, no death threats Dean because he’s had a bit of a shitty day, and Cas, don’t let him steal your fries, I’ll be back around three.”

***

All in all, Sam found it hard to concentrate in class.

For some reason, after about fifteen minutes, he found himself pulling out his phone under the desk and shooting off a quick text.

(He just couldn’t get Gabriel’s eyes out of his mind. Which made sense. Sam was just concerned about Castiel.)

S: So apparently today’s national ‘brothers turning up out of nowhere’ day. Mine just dropped by for a visit.

S: though it’s only been two months since I saw him, and he does know where I live. so you guys still win for the drama.

G: is this the deliciously handsome moose puppy

S: Moose have calves, Gabriel, not puppies.

G: :D talked to you for two minutes and i can already hear see the eye-roll that went with that

G: hows cassie?

S: didn’t get a chance to talk to him yet, sorry. In class. He’s having lunch with my brother.

S: dean can be a bit of a dick but he’ll look after him

G: yourflirting with me when you could be getting an education? Im flattered.

S: we’re not flirting, Gabriel

G: speak for yourself. ;) I could flirt with a potato

S: am I the potato in this scenario?

G: hey, don’t sell yourself short. your a radish at the very least.

S: well that’s a… relief?

Somewhat to Sam’s shame, the conversation didn’t stop there. He never did pay attention to the class.

Talking to Gabriel was easy. He was ridiculous and sharp without being nasty, and the words just… flowed. And there was a sort of thrill there, some sense of daring that made Sam just want to push, just a little more—to see what he could draw out of him, if he could make him laugh, smile, say… something, he wasn’t quite sure what. Just. What will Gabriel say next seemed like a terribly important thing.

And there was a warm sort of sense of excited wellbeing nestled in Sam’s chest all the time they talked.

Eventually:

G: so your brothers called dean and I still don’t know what name to save your number as

G: right now its ‘hot buttermuffin’

Sam snorted, then turned it into a hasty cough when the professor gave him a quizzical look.

S: it’s sam. so now I’m baked goods.

S: does that make you a cupcake?

S: small, colourful, apparently permanent sugar high?

G: you know me so well already ;) ;) ;) i also taste amazing.

G: but we can save that for the second date! :D

And that made Sam pause for a moment. Because… was he actually flirting with his soulmate’s brother?

G: there. saved. Sam Hotmuffin.

S: I usually prefer Winchester. :P

There was no reply. Which was odd, given how quickly Gabriel had shot off all the texts so far. But maybe something had come up.

After about ten minutes of trying to concentrate on the class, Sam sent off another text.

S: how’re you doing, anyway? Must have been a bit of a shock.

G: what?

G: oh, you mean castiel

S: well, obviously.

G: fine

S: I’ll text you later tonight, when I’ve talked to cas. That okay?

G: sure

Sam frowned at his phone. Kind of an abrupt change in tone.

But of course, he must have been right before: something had probably come up, and Gabriel was distracted.

He hesitated for a moment, then saved the number into his phone.

Gabriel Novak.

And as he stared at the name, he couldn’t help wondering, maybe even… hoping?

But no—guilt shut that thought down even before it could form. Castiel had Winchester written inside his wrist. Sam belonged to Castiel.

***

Castiel and Dean weren’t back yet by the time Sam got to their dorm. Apparently they were having a really long lunch. Or had gone for a walk or something.

Or they’d annoyed each other so much that one of them had needed to stop to bury the other’s body.

In lieu of getting a call saying that his brother or dorm mate had been arrested for murder, Sam settled down for a spot of studying. He got about half an hour done before he heard the rumbles of deep voices outside, and Castiel pushed the door open.

Castiel looked happy: relaxed, laughing, eyes alight. Dean followed him close through the door, chuckling too, one hand almost in the small of Castiel’s back.

“Oh good, you didn’t kill each other,” said Sam. “Just let me finish this paragraph…”

“Why would I kill Dean, Sam,” said Castiel, in his fond and tolerant voice. “I brought you back two of those pastries you like from the blue coffee shop.”

“Thanks, Cas, you’re the best… uh. Dean?”

Dean was frozen in the doorway, still holding onto the handle, staring at the outside of the door.

When Sam said his name, his gaze flicked up toward him, wide and shocked. Then he stared at Castiel, and back at the door. At their names on the door.

“Novak, huh?” he said, deliberately casual.

“Yes,” said Castiel, puzzled. “Sam did mention that I am his soulmate, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, sure. Uh. Just.” Dean cleared his throat, and shrugged, and grinned a sickly kind of a grin. “Just never knew what his soulmate name was.”

Castiel squinted at him. “How could you not know? He’s your brother.”

“We never really talked about it in our family,” said Sam carefully. “Dean, you coming in or—huh.”

Dean’s left hand was still holding the door open. And with his sleeve riding up, Sam could see the wristband. Which Dean had never worn before.

Dean saw him staring, and jerked down his sleeve with a glare. Then he let the door swing shut.

“Shut up. It’s just easier to blend in sometimes.”

“Since when did you care what people say?”

“Jesus, Sammy, drop it,” Dean hissed. But he was still staring at Castiel.

And Castiel was staring at him, quiet and puzzled and deep.

“Dean,” he said gently, “Sam did mention to me once that his brother has no soulmate name. You needn’t believe that I’d think any less of you or subscribe to that ignorant stigma that people with bare wrists are simply sexually promiscuous or unable to commit.”

“Sam. You can’t tell me your soulmate name but you spill something like that to—you know what? Forget it.” Dean ran his hand through his hair, looking frazzled, and snuck another glance at Castiel. “I, uh. I gotta go. I got a… thing. I’ll—”

“You just got here,” Sam said, bewildered. “Seriously, dude, are you okay?”

“Never better,” said Dean, backing away and bumping into the chest of drawers. “Uh. Okay. I’ll just go and… do the thing. You, Cas. Call your brother. Bye!”

“Thank you, Dean,” said Castiel warmly; and Dean made his escape.

“Well, that was weird,” said Sam.

“I like him,” said Castiel happily, and flopped gracelessly onto Sam’s bed.

“Good,” said Sam, half amused. “So you talked to Dean about Gabriel, huh?”

Castiel hummed agreement. “I am much less angry now. Dean is far more eloquent than he believes.”

“Huh,” said Sam. “Yeah, generally. So, I got Gabriel’s number before I followed you out. D’you want…”

“Oh,” said Castiel, looking dismayed. Then he squared his shoulders. “Yes. Thank you, Sam.”

Sam dug out his phone, and hesitated. On impulse, instead of tossing it straight to Castiel, he thumbed to the afternoon’s text conversation with Gabriel, and tapped ‘call’.

When Gabriel picked up, Sam thought he could hear a wariness under the cheery bravado of, “It’s Hotpants McWinchester! How’s it going, stud?”

Sam found himself smiling, and had to resist the urge to call him ‘cupcake’. “Hey, Gabriel. All good. Just, uh. Cas is here now, and he’d like to talk to you. If now’s a good time?”

“Shit,” said Gabriel in his ear, sounding uncharacteristically small. Then, “Sure, why not? Poor kid’s been deprived of the awesomeness that is yours truly for five years, it’d be cruel to make him wait another five minutes.”

“Uh-huh,” said Sam. “Just so you know, I’m rolling my eyes.” And then, before he could hand over the phone to a wide-eyed and determined-looking Castiel, he added, “Good luck, guys. Cas, I’ll be down on the lawn when you’re done.”

***

Sam had been dozing on the grass in the sun for about half an hour when someone sat down beside him.

He opened one eye.

“Uh,” said Dean, “so.”

Sam yawned. “My brother, the orator,” he mumbled.

“Oh, screw you,” huffed Dean.

“Thought you’d gone to check into a motel,” said Sam.

“Yeah, did that. Uh. But. I came back.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I can see that.”

“‘I can see that’,” mimicked Dean in a prissy voice.

“My brother, master of the witty comeback.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a… witty comeback,” Dean muttered.

Sam snickered. Dean kicked his leg.

“Ow,” Sam complained half-heartedly, still smirking. “Hey.”

“Suck it up, bitch,” said Dean. “So. Uh. Castiel. How’s that… going?”

Sam squashed the immediate guilty feeling that washed over him at the name. “Uh. Fine. I mean, good. We’ll make it work, you know?”

Dean gave him a Look.

“… Shut up,” said Sam. “He’s a really good friend, okay? We can do this. We just have to work on it, together.”

“Right,” said Dean. “Because you were never a romantic. Because the whole soulmate thing is meant to be about forcing yourself into something that doesn’t feel right just because of some random fluke of fate said you should be together.”

… So that was why he was really here.

Sam huffed, and plopped his head back against the grass. Because this was standard-issue Dean. “Look. In the real world, that’s how adult relationships work. It makes sense you’d have to work on it, y’know? Not everybody clicks right off, and—”

“No, Sam, shut up. Just.”

And there was… that odd note in Dean’s voice again.

Sam turned his head between his arms and eyed him narrowly.

Dean looked away.

“I like him, Sam.”

“… good?”

“No, I mean…”

Dean trailed off. Then he glared at his feet, and muttered something like “fuck it” under his breath, and looked at Sam, and grabbed Sam’s left hand. “Can I…?”

“Uh?” said Sam intelligently. Because Dean was staring at him with determination, and his fingers were hovering over the clasp of Sam’s wristband, and this was a thing they had just really determinedly never discussed, because Dean had always been so cynical about soulmates even before it became increasingly obvious that his own name was never going to turn up…

…Dean wanted to see the name on Sam’s wrist?

“… Go ahead,” said Sam cautiously.

“Okay,” said Dean, half to himself, like he was gathering courage. “Okay.”

He unpicked the worn leather ties, and (more gently than Sam would have expected) eased the carven leather cartouche off Sam’s wrist.

The leather inside was dark with oils, shaped exactly to Sam’s muscle and flesh. Sam’s skin underneath was paler than the rest, because it only saw the light when he showered and slept.

Except for the name, Novak, in firm clear black letters. Which Sam had been covering since the morning it had appeared, when he’d been barely sixteen, because he didn’t want to make Dean feel bad but then Dean had noticed him covering his wrist and gone out and got smashed and…

“Huh,” said Dean quietly.

“What,” said Sam, “didn’t believe me?”

“It’s.” Dean cleared his throat. “Sammy. It’s not that. Uh.”

He hesitated for a moment. Then he held out his own left hand toward Sam.

Sam stared at him. Then he stared at the wristband Dean was wearing—cheap and new and trashy, the kind of thing you buy in a gas station.

He swallowed.

“Seriously?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sam, just do it,” Dean grumbled.

“Fine,” Sam huffed.

He unfastened the wristband. And his world went very quiet.

“… how long?” he managed.

“Two months.”

“Dean. You’re twenty-two. Nobody gets it that late.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I’m nobody.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

Sam sat up properly, and traced his fingers over the letters on Dean’s skin. They matched his own exactly.

“Not a common name,” said Dean, when Sam said nothing.

“This… this is why you came here? But I didn’t tell you Cas’ last name.”

“I, uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “I was on a website. Just. Y’know. I was rethinking some things. And it said… Novak, seeking Winchester. Same town you’re in. So I thought, why not drop by, visit my little brother?”

Sam looked up. Dean’s face was half ashamed, half shy and eager.

“Didn’t expect that he’d be… you know. Little brother’s room mate. Or. Uh.”

“He’s not my soulmate,” Sam breathed. “It’s not him. It’s not me, for him. That’s why it never felt right.”

Dean cleared his throat, and took his hand back. “Yeah, well. Don’t tell him for a bit? I just. This is weird. I always assumed… you know. The idea of… having somebody. Uh.”

“Dean,” said Sam, and laughed, delight and pride. “I love you, but you’re an idiot.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Sure.” Sam grinned at him.

“Bitch,” Dean grumbled, smiling stupidly at the ground.

“Soulmate-poacher,” Sam shot back.

Dean looked up, and smirked. “Well, his brother’s in town, isn’t he?”

“… Shut up.”

Dean’s face only got more smug. “Is he cute? Do you like him, baby bro?”

“What are you, twelve?” grumbled Sam, as the butterflies of terrified hope zoomed into his tummy and collided with each other in a squirmy mess. “Go get us some pizza from the place on the campus square, it’s getting to that time of day. And it’s nice enough to eat outside.”

Dean pretended to consider it. “Do they have pie?”

“Dean. Would I send you to a place that didn’t have pie?”

(Then Metatron turned up, and Sam punched him in the face, because every fic should have Metatron getting punched in the face.)

Except he didn’t get any time to think things over. Because he’d hardly lain back on the grass and stared at the evening sky in wild surmise before Castiel was sitting quietly down next to him, and handing him back his cell.

“Thank you,” said Castiel.

“No problem,” said Sam. His voice croaked. He cleared his throat. “Uh. So. How did it go?”

“As well as… could be hoped,” said Castiel.

“Big day, huh?”

Castiel turned his head and smiled down at Sam—tired and kind, the way he was. “You could say that.”

Sam swallowed a guilty lump. “I, uh. Cas.”

Castiel laid a hand on Sam’s wrist. The left one. Which was still naked. “May I, Sam? Just for a minute. I’d like to talk.”

“Of course,” said Sam, relieved. “Of course, Cas.”

“My brother,” said Castiel carefully, “was everything to me. When I was young. He… shaped my world, in a way my parents didn’t. When he left I was… I believe the correct term is ‘heartbroken’. And that choice of his has damaged me in ways that I cannot begin to articulate. I understand now, intellectually, why he left—after all, I left to escape exactly what he fled too. But that does not undo the hurt I have felt in the years between.”

“Cas—”

“Which I cannot lay on him. Because he was a child, and a child who was trying to save himself, as every child has the right to do. And because he despises himself for so many things already that I must not put that burden on him.”

Sam rolled up onto his elbow, and looked at Castiel. At his—his best friend. Without any of that other crap.

“I’m sorry,” said, sincerely—sincerely for perhaps the first time, without having to be anything else.

Castiel smiled at him, and slipped his hand into Sam’s. “I know. But, Sam. It is a strange thing, especially as a child of a rich family, to learn that your idolised brother has had to steal to survive.”

“Yeah, I imagine—”

“And Sam. Do you know what drew him out of that?” Castiel’s eyes were boring into Sam’s, firm and inescapable and sympathetic. “There was Charlie, first of all. Another street kid who had strategies that complemented his. And then there was a cat. A small tortoiseshell cat, whom he found injured by the side of a road, and took to a local vet’s. Two vets: married women, named Jody and Donna. They did their best for the cat, who survived and now goes everywhere with Gabriel, and took him in, and slapped him around the ear until he stopped being an idiot, and trained him up as an assistant. And, with the help of Charlie’s mysterious funds about which I have been informed we do not enquire, he is now attending veterinary school.”

“… oh.” said Sam.

“Oh!” said Sam.

“Quite,” said Castiel, and squeezed Sam’s hand. Then he let it go. “I did not ask him, but I would be very surprised if my brother does not have your surname hidden on his wrist.”

Sam looked at him. “Cas—my brother—”

Castiel’s eyes went wide and soft. “Dean.”

“Yes,” said Sam. “He—we thought he would never get his soulmate name, but it turned up, and—”

Castiel slapped Sam’s hand, gently, but a clear “be quiet” signal. “I had deduced as much,” he muttered in an undertone, then he stood up. “Hello, Dean.”

“Uh,” said Dean, standing there with takeaway boxes and the expression of a rabbit in headlights, “Cas. Hi?”

***

The phone almost rang out before Gabriel picked up.

“So,” said Sam, before he could say anything, “your brother and my brother are making eyes at each other and took the pizza with them, and… can I come over to yours?”

He waited, heart pounding, for one silent tense moment, before Gabriel sighed noisily at him, and audibly rolled his eyes. “Those crazy kids. Fine. I’ll text you the address. But you’re bringing Indian.”

***

Gabriel’s place was… surprisingly pleasant. In an eclectic colourful hoarder magpie kind of way.

Sam didn’t know why he was surprised to find it pleasant. Especially if, you know. If Sam’s wild surmise was right. It would make sense that Sam would feel comfortable and happy in the space of his…

“Winchester,” said Gabriel at the door, singing the syllables out all wary and smooth.

“Novak.” Sam winked, high on possibility and hope and sheer fucking want at the sight of him, and hefted the bags of Indian. “I got some of most things. Mind if I come in?”

“Obviously. I mean, you know how many years’ bad luck it’s gonna cost me if all the mirrors in the place take one look at you and shatter out of sheer despair at ever reflecting anything that hot again?”

Sam felt himself begin to smile again, that goofy irresistible thing that Gabriel seemed to draw out of him. “You think I’m hot?”

“Well, yeah,” spluttered Gabriel. “Have you seen you? Also those dimples should be illegal.”

“You know,” mused Sam, slipping in through the door and carefully avoiding the cat who was doing her best to trip him up, “you’re kinda cute when you’re wrong-footed.”

Gabriel jabbed a defensive finger at his chest. “That could happen to anybody!”

“Well, you’ve had kind of a big day,” Sam teased. “I’d understand if my sheer hotness was enough to tip you over the edge into madness.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, and took one of the bags, ushering Sam into the kitchen. “Yeah, about that. How’s the kid doing? Really?”

“I think he’ll be fine,” said Sam. “He’s a resilient sort of guy. And, uh. He’s kind of had a big day too. Between you and… Dean.”

“Love at first sight, huh?”

Sam busied himself unpacking the bag, but he didn’t miss the way Gabriel’s eyes caught and snagged on his bare wrist. Even though, from that angle, Gabriel couldn’t see the name. Just the fact that… it was uncovered.

“Kinda,” he said, watching Gabriel back, out of the corner of his eye. “They really hit it off over lunch, then it turns out… well, you’ll hear about it pretty soon anyway, I’m guessing. They’ve got each other’s names inside their wrists.”

Gabriel turned fully toward him at that, eyes going wide and soft and stunned. Then his mouth curled into something warm and ironic, which Sam really wanted to kiss.

“Well, how about that,” said Gabriel. “Novak and Winchester, huh. What are the odds.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Sam innocently, passing him one of the plates. With his left hand. Just at not quite the right angle to…

“Nothing,” said Gabriel, too quickly. “Just. Good for them.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and put down his own plate on the counter, and turned to face Gabriel, leaning on his right elbow.

“Funny story,” he said, deliberately. “Cas and I have been assuming that we were soulmates, these last couple of months. It just never really felt right, you know? But, obviously, he’s got Winchester on his wrist…”

“Oh?” said Gabriel, faking casually terribly badly, eyes darting away across the room and back to Sam’s face and down to Sam’s left wrist and away again.

“And, well…”

Sam turned his wrist over so that Gabriel could read it.

Which made Gabriel jump so badly that he actually managed to spill hot curry down all over his hand and the blue cotton bandana that wrapped his own wrist.

“Shit!”

“Gabriel.” Sam turned hastily to the sink, taking Gabriel’s hand to drag it under the cold water.

“Ow. What. It wasn’t my fault, you ambushed me. Ow. No, don’t—”

Sam paused, with his fingers loosening the edge of the bandana. “Well, it should come off, it’s soaked through and hot.”

“So are you,” Gabriel grumbled. “Fine.”

“Should I close my eyes?” Sam asked, half teasing and half gentle, as he unwound the messy cotton from the reddened skin below.

“Screw it,” Gabriel muttered. “You worked it out anyway, you menace.”

“Gabriel,” Sam breathed, tracing his fingers over the letters of his own surname there inside his soulmate’s wrist. Then he held Gabriel’s hand loosely in his, and drew it under the water.

They were quiet for a moment. Then:

“I’m really nothing special, you know,” Gabriel muttered.

“Your best friend would beg to differ,” said Sam softly, then nodded at the little creature who had hopped up onto the counter to make a worried little ‘meep!’ noise. “Also her.”

“They’re a best friend and a pet. It’s kind of their job. And come on, I’m fine, it wasn’t that hot.”

“Maybe I just like holding your hand,” said Sam, and winked at him.

Gabriel actually blushed. Then he scowled, and turned off the tap with his other hand. But he didn’t pull away.

“Yeah, but what if it’s not me,” Gabriel babbled. “Like, your real soulmate is my third cousin twice removed over in Georgia and my whole family just has a Winchester kink and you’re going to be forever known as the guy who kissed every Novak ever trying to find his one true love and—”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Sam, grinning stupidly, and kissed him.

“… Okay, but that doesn’t prove anything,” said Gabriel, ten glorious minutes later.

“You’re as bad as my brother,” said Sam, who was now lounging happily on the chair with a flushed and dishevelled Novak on top of him and one leg locked around his thigh.

“Maybe you’re just really really hot,” hazarded Gabriel, “have you considered that?”

“So,” said Sam sweetly, running his fingertips along Gabriel’s cheekbone, “dinner tonight?”