Chapter Text
It really wouldn’t have bothered Sam as much - he was no stranger to his brother hitting on anything that moves - if it weren’t for Castiel being so painfully obviously uninterested and himself currently being held two feet above the ground to a wall by an angry ghost.
His arms were starting to fall asleep and the ghost of the creepy drunk that had inhabited the cottage peacefully, only killing the occasional lost hiker that dared to seek shelter in his home - the usual vengeful spirit stuff - was starting to get really mad now, a storm brewing up around him, making a few pillows hit him in the face and a piece of metal - Sam thought it might have been a spoon - miss him by only a few inches.
Yeah, this was probably his fault.
He took a short breath and tried to form a sort of appeasing gesture with his trapped hands. “Hey, you know what? I didn’t - SHIT!”
That was definitely a spoon that just hit him in the crotch. Ouch. “I didn’t actually mean it”, he croaked.
The ghost was not satisfied with that apology, judging by the angry noises he let out.
“What was that?“, Sam shouted. „I COULDN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE WIND!”
The storm only got stronger and more objects, heavier objects, started taking off as well. To Sam‘s dismay, that included the shards of a broken vase, one of which cut open his cheek.
He hissed in pain, trying desperately to shield his face, which turned out to be quite hard when you can’t move.
„SAMMY!“
Sam’s eyes locked onto the angry voice of his brother, who stood behind the blocked entrance to the currently tornado-turned room, Castiel right behind him.
„STOP PISSING OFF THE GHOST, WILL YOU?“
“HE HAD IT COMING.”
“YOU PROVOKED HIM AND YOU KNOW IT.”
“Whatever”, Sam rolled his eyes, “JUST STOP FUCKING AROUND AND GET ME OUT OF HERE.”
„Yeah, yeah, just- JUST HANG IN THERE“, Dean nudged a thoroughly indifferent Castiel with his elbow, „Hah, get it? Cus‘ he‘s hanging on the wall? Ah, doesn’t matter, lemme just-“
Sam watched Dean lean over to Castiel, doing a wiggle motion with his eyebrows that Sam interpreted as a very weak attempt at flirting which - really? right now? when he was narrowly avoided by flying shards and spoons? - and roll up his sleeves, promptly lifting up the piece of wood, while not so subtly showing off his biceps.
Castiel watched, his face as emotionless as ever, and Sam internally cringed at his brother’s obliviousness before getting hit in the face by a pillow, covering his eyes.
He heard the ghost’s angry screech as it noticed the commotion behind him, which was abruptly cut short by a gunshot.
The tornado died down and Sam promptly fell to the ground, the pillow keeping his head from bashing into the floor.
„SAM-,“ Dean shouted, already lowering his gun and making his way over to him. He knelt before his brother, made him sit up, put his hands up to cup his face and turned him this way and that with a worried expression. Except for the shallow cut on his cheek, Sam seemed to be fine but still, Dean asked, „You okay, Sammy?“
„I think so, yeah,“ Sam answered out of habit, before he realized, „actually, I think I landed weirdly on my wrist … Cas, could you -,"
Castiel, who was looking around the ransacked room, most likely searching for the object that had bound the spirit in the first place - since burning the journal with the awful poetry earlier clearly didn’t work - lifted his head, his face of marble. Sam still had trouble deciphering the angel‘s expressions sometimes. He just hoped the guy wasn’t annoyed by having to do such undignified tasks like healing a sprained wrist.
„Of course.“
He kneeled before him, pushing Dean‘s hands away and took Sam‘s wrist gently in his. A faint glow emitted from them and warmth spread through Sam, starting from his wrist, but soon running through his whole body, loosening the knots in his back and taking away the headache that he hadn’t even realized had been forming behind his eyes, until a wave of complete relaxation came over him, making him close his eyes, lean his head on the wall behind him and let out a content sigh.
„Is that better?“
„Very much so,“ Sam said. „Thank you.“
Sam opened his eyes and saw Dean looking at Castiel, completely awestruck, as far as Sam could tell. And he could. Dean always had that look when talking to women he knew he would spend the night with.
Castiel was, of course, as impassive as ever. „We should hurry in finding the object that bound this spirit. The salt bullet won‘t hold him off for long.“
„Yeah, of course, I mean-,“ Dean cleared his throat and stood up, „it‘s just, I think, I was hit by something too.“
Castiel tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowed. „No, you weren’t.“
„No, no, I was, I just didn’t notice because of the adrenaline, but my back hurts, so clearly something must have hit me-“
„You‘re fine, Dean,“ Castiel said, already turning away and continuing his search around the room. „It‘s normal to start developing back pain at your age.“
„I‘m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.“
„Did he just call you old?“, Sam cut in.
„Shut up, Sammy“, Dean answered and trailed behind Castiel into the next room. „You‘re not even gonna check? I could be hurt, you know.“
„No, Dean, you’re perfectly fine.“
Their arguing faded into the background as Sam got up and started heading upstairs, not wanting to listen to his brother’s embarrassing attempts at getting the angel to heal him. Sam had never seen Dean misinterpret social cues this badly and it was honestly starting to be painful to watch.
The room at the top of the stairs seemed to have been a bedroom once, although only a ratty bedframe and a wooden desk with a broken mirror upon it had survived. As Sam searched the room, he found a box of jewellery in the desk drawer, clearly expensive, embellished with intricate golden vines and flowers, inside it, 4 sets of earrings, a few bracelets and - bingo - a silver locket with a lock of brown hair in it.
“GUYS, I GOT SOMETHING!”
10 minutes later, all three of them were staring at the burning piece of hair on the cabin's front porch, the full moon illuminating their faces in the warm summer night, crickets chirping in the background to the agonized cries of the ghost as it evaporated. Whoever had kept the lock of hair (Sam didn’t know and didn’t care who it was) would be reunited with their close-one soon.
“You know, Sam”, Dean broke the silence, “next time maybe don’t insult the vengeful spirit’s poetry, okay?”
“It was shit, though”, Sam replied pettily, “‘I watch you sleep and breathe, while I lie beneath the heath’? You gotta admit, that’s just creepy. Even you could write better poetry than that.”
“Only if I had a good subject to write about”, Dean replied and threw Castiel a meaningful glance.
Castiel didn’t move a muscle. “The Neanderthals had the most beautiful poetry”, he said, still staring at the pile of ash that the piece of hair had turned into. “You should write about the Neanderthals.”
“I already have something else in mind,” Dean said and added, to Sam’s disappointment, a flirty wink.
Castiel finally looked up at that and gave Dean that impassive look that seemed to reach into his very soul, which Sam would be very intimidated by were it directed at him, but Dean didn’t even bat an eye. It was an uncomfortably prolonged eye-contact, in Sam’s opinion, until-
“Then you should write about that”, Castiel said, finally breaking their weird trance-like gazing at each other and turned to walk toward where they had parked the car in front of the house. “I will return to my heavenly duties now. Pray if you need help.” And he was gone with a flutter of wings.
Dean still had that pleased expression on his face, the one he got when he had successfully picked someone up.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“What?” Dean asked, looking like he just realized Sam was still there. “I think that went great.”
Sam just shook his head and started walking to the car. His brother was hopeless.