Fic: Rings of Enchantment (Chapter 3)
Chapter 3
With a quiz, two assignments, a presentation and a problem set all due in the same week, Sam is exhausted come Friday. He’s glad for the lack of distraction - no work, no investigation, no attempts on his life. The only other thing he’s had to do is move back into the apartment. There’s no sign of the murder that happened there - the decontamination team the landlord hired did an excellent job. He still did a purification ritual once they finished bringing in their things though, just to clear the energy in the place. He won’t forget the scene anytime soon, but at the very least, he isn’t getting nightmares.
Students are slowly coming back to classes, and there are more people on campus this week. The police are still on high alert, regularly patrolling the university and the surrounding city, but the overall panic seems to be dying down. The administration building will reopen on Monday, which means he can finally return to work. He’s relieved - even as thrifty as they are and with the help of the local food bank, they won’t last much longer without the secondary income.
Intermediate Latin is still a sombre affair though - no one will take Bela and Cassie’s usual seats, and staring at the two vacant chairs… Sarah, who often chatted to them, had to excuse herself on Monday as she fled the classroom in tears, and even Professor Løkse has gone easy on them lately in an attempt to lift the dismal mood.
It’s been a full week since he heard anything from Detective Castiel, which is probably good news. Perhaps the angel has solved the case and returned to the Grigori.
Sometimes though, he still feels like he’s being watched, and he hopes it’s not another killer. Sometimes, he half expects someone to appear out of nowhere as he rounds a corner, and he’s not so relieved when no one does. Sometimes, he wakes to a flash of blue, and he’s not sure it’s just a trick of the light.
As he passes the library after calculus recitation, he remembers the Special Collections storage room, and suddenly, he needs to know. If the detective is not there, he reasons, he can probably stop worrying that he might get killed and move on.
Walking into the library, he’s glad to see the crowd hasn’t picked up yet. It’s still far from crunch time, so it’s nowhere nearly as packed as it gets circa finals week. Still, the library cafe is always open, making it a popular place for all-nighters and group work meetings, so he’s probably going to need a bit of help sneaking into the right room unnoticed.
“Imperspicuus,” he mumbles as he heads towards the room in the slightly less crowded section. He can’t avoid being seen, but he can certainly avoid being remembered.
No one even turns to look as he punches the code in and slips through the door into the heady scent of old books - parchment, leather, even vellum and various types of ink. It’s pitch dark inside today, and he gropes the wall blindly for a light switch. “Detective? Castiel?” he whispers as he finally finds and flicks it.
Bright light floods the room, and he blinks against the glare to find Castiel standing right in front of him.
He jumps, startled, almost knocks a bookcase over. “Jesus, Cas!” he hisses, trying to steady the shelf. “Say something at least!” The other is just staring unnervingly at him, silent and too close for comfort.
“Sam.” Castiel tilts his head, confused. “Why are you here?”
“I-I uh…” He hadn’t really expected to find anyone. “I was just passing by, and I was wondering if the case has been closed yet because I still feel like I’m being watched sometimes, but I guess if you’re still here, then…” He stops himself - he’s rambling. And the detective is still just staring silently at him - way to make him feel thrice as awkward. “You didn’t find the book then?”
Castiel looks down in chagrin. “No. I searched the whole room. There is no book here that takes a key.”
“I’m sorry.” He feels bad somehow. “That’s all Cassie told me. I wish I had more information.”
The angel shakes his head. “You need not apologize. You have been extremely cooperative.”
Still, Sam heads towards the shelf that the pendulum led him to, pensive. He’d used the key to scry for its matching lock. There’s no reason it should be wrong, unless there was a concealment spell of sorts. But if Castiel has searched the whole room, it rules that out. Perhaps the book was never here, and Bela, too, was misled by a concealment spell?
He scans the rows of books lined up neatly, some older than others, with various designs and typefaces adorning their spines. Or have they been looking for the wrong thing all along?
“Could I see the key again?”
For a moment, Castiel seems to hesitate, then thinks better of it. “Here.” He presses the small silver piece into Sam’s hand. His fingers are warm, his nails neatly trimmed, and they linger - like Castiel doesn’t want to let go, whether of the key or Sam’s hand, the witch doesn’t want to ponder.
He inspects the key, looking closely at the ornate shape of the bow and its carvings. “Maybe it’s not a keyhole we’re looking for.”
Blue eyes widen as he holds up the key, and they both scan the rows of books again, paying closer attention now. It’s Castiel who first reaches for a book: a 1667 edition of Milton’s Paradise Lost, possibly from the first print run, bound in dark leather and gilded with gold motifs.
The motifs match the shape of the bow.
The detective glances at him before opening it. Inside, fitted securely in a compartment created by gluing all the pages together and cutting out a rectangle in the middle, is a book with a lock that takes a key. The angel smiles and holds it out to him. He inserts the key into the keyhole and turns. It unlocks with a click, and they exchange a look of victorious elation.
“Good stuff, Castiel. I see you’ve found the book.”
They turn to find a balding, portly man in a grey suit smiling at them. Something about him rubs Sam the wrong way, but he says nothing as Castiel inclines his head in deference.
“Zachariah.”
Perhaps he’s Castiel’s superior in the Grigori.
The middle-aged man with white hair turns to Sam then. “You are a witch?”
“Yes,” Sam answers hesitantly. The disdain is thinly veiled, and he can only hope no disaster strikes.
“I see big things in your future, son. You should get sanctioned.”
“Yes, uh… I was considering that after I graduate.”
Zachariah nods. “Where’s your coven?”
“I don’t have one.” Bobby doesn’t either, and growing up with him, Sam hadn’t even heard the term until he was sixteen.
“There is no need to protect them, you know.”
“No, I really don’t have one.”
Zachariah frowns and lifts his hand. “Maybe final stage laryngeal cancer will teach you not to lie.”
Sam gasps, hands flying to his throat as he sinks to one knee. His throat hurts, and it’s hard to breathe. Castiel angles his body in front of Sam.
“He’s telling the truth, Zachariah. I checked.”
“Oh.” Zachariah waves his hand, and the pain goes away. “Well, do you know any other witches?”
“Not here,” Sam answers bitterly as he lets Castiel help him up. “Back home in South Dakota.”
“With all due respect,” Castiel interrupts. “Why do you ask?”
“We need three witches to perform the spell in that book.”
Castiel tilts his head. “There are witches in the Grigori. Why involve unsanctioned civilians?”
“They will not be back from active duty for a while, and time is of the essence.”
Suddenly, they hear the sound of a librarian punching in the code for the door, and they’ve relocated to the forest outside the library in the blink of an eye. It is evening, and the forest is deserted.
“What spell?”
“Castiel, I am utterly through with your questions.” Zachariah turns to Sam. “Now, we will go to South Dakota, and you will call your witch friends, or you will wish you’d taken Ruby’s deal.”
“Deal?” Sam blinks, lost, then it clicks. “With the assassin?”
The senior angel moves towards him, but Castiel intercepts. “There is no way you could have known the assassin’s name.”
Zachariah smiles pleasantly. “What do you mean, Castiel? I’ve been watching you all this while, and I must say I’m pleased with what I’ve seen.”
“None of us knew her name was Ruby. Why are you here, really? You’re not one to visit Earth unnecessarily.”
A glint catches Sam’s eye then, a flash of metal in Zachariah’s hand, and he dives forward to barrel into the older man. “No!!!”
He’s flung away, but Castiel too has drawn his angel blade, and the two angels begin fighting as he slams into a tree. “Agh!” Pain flares through his body, and he doesn’t slide to the ground. When he looks down, he sees the blood-covered branch protruding from his torso, and it seems to amplify the pain tenfold. He makes a sound of pain as the angels continue to cross blades, the clang of metal on metal loud in the silence of the forest.
He needs help. They need help.
Dean. He reaches out with his mind. They’re nowhere nearly close enough to communicate telepathically, but if he can reach his brother, just a little… Dean!
There! A spark, right at the edge of their connection. “Dean,” he gasps. “Me sequare!”
For several moments, there’s nothing but the two angels, evenly matched in their battle, Zachariah saying things he can’t make out, and he can’t hear Castiel’s voice at all. Then there’s a pop beside him as Dean materializes.
“Sammy!” The blond runs over. “Sammy, Sammy, stay with me, oh God. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you to a hospital, all right?”
“No,” he breathes with effort, shaking his head. “Help him.” He points at Castiel.
Dean glances in that direction and turns back to him. “What?! Seriously?! What the hell’s wrong with you, man?! You’re d-”
“No.” The other guy, he hired the killer. If he survives, he’ll come after us.
“Argh…” Dean looks between Sam and the two angels. “Goddammit, Sammy. Don’t you die on me!” he runs toward them, morphing into dog form as he goes.
For once, Sam’s really glad for his height - at least his feet reach the ground. Dean attacks Zachariah only to get flung away too, but he quickly picks himself up with a growl as soon as he hits the ground. He watches more carefully this time though, circles to look for an opening, as Sam fights to stay conscious. Castiel is pressing the assault, backing Zachariah through the trees. Sam focuses on the ground behind the senior angel. There must be tree roots under there.
“Nouskaa,” he whispers with the last of his strength.
Some tree roots rise out of the ground, and as Zachariah steps back, parrying a blow from Castiel, he trips. Dean seizes his chance, and the force of his attack sends the angel slamming into Castiel’s angel blade. A brilliant light radiates briefly from the older man’s body, then he falls limply to the side and the smell of burnt flesh fills the air.
“Sammy!” Dean is back beside him in an instant, once again in human form, and Castiel quickly joins him. “Stay with me, all right? You’re gonna be okay.”
Together, they lift him off the branch, and the pain almost blacks him out, but then suddenly, it’s gone, and he’s warm - like a pleasant heat is suffusing his body. He blinks several times to clear his vision. Dean and Castiel are holding him up, and the angel has a hand pressed to the wound in his abdomen… that is no longer there.
“Cas,” he wheezes softly, and the detective squeezes his hand, looking troubled.
“We have to hide now,” Castiel says softly, pressing his hand to Sam and Dean’s chests.
“What th-”
The shock of searing pain in his ribs is his body’s limit, and the world quickly fades to black.
Sam wakes to the stained white ceiling of his bedroom, the taste of plaque lining his mouth. He feels exhausted, somehow, but there is no pain. From the daylight streaming in through the window, it must be late morning.
Lord, he hopes it’s a weekend.
Hauling himself out of bed with a groan, he drags himself to the door, opening it to the familiar sounds and smells of Dean in the kitchen - sizzling bacon. He doesn’t doubt Dean could live on nothing but bacon and cherry pie. Dean comes out with a plate of said bacon, some eggs and toast and stops.
“Whoa, look who’s up.” His brother sets the plate down on the table, comes over to grab him by the shoulders and shake him a little. Like he will dissipate if Dean doesn’t make sure he’s solid. “You okay there, Sleeping Beauty?”
“Yeah.” He nods, running a hand through his hair tiredly. “Yeah. How long have I been out?”
Dean claps his shoulders lightly. “About eighteen hours.”
Oh good. That means it’s Saturday, and he hasn’t missed any classes. He sighs in relief.
“You should eat something.” His brother nudges him in the direction of the table before heading back towards the kitchen. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”
Suddenly famished, Sam sits down gratefully and nibbles on a piece of toast as he waits for Dean to join him at the table. He doesn’t have long to wait.
“So,” Dean opens as they begin eating in earnest. “Anything you want to tell me about yesterday?”
Sam shrugs. “Looks like the Grigori commissioned the murders. This is big, Dean. I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”
“You told me you’d stay out of this!” The other drops his fork to point an accusing finger. “What the fuck were you even doing there, huh?!”
“Dude, I still felt like we were being followed, all right? I just wanted to check if the case was over.”
“Right. So you go straight for the WMD and stick around for the explosion?! You know who does that, Sammy? Crazy people!”
“D-”
“So what, are you crazy crazy or just thinking with your knot?”
“What?” He feels the color rising in his cheeks. “I-”
“Oh no.” Dean’s voice drops into quiet horror. “Oh no, no, no. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I wasn’t even expecting to find him there!”
“But you were hoping.” It’s not even a question, and Dean’s expression all but screams, “Kill me now.”
“Yeah, for an answer!”
“Oh, so if the chance came up, you wouldn’t?”
Sam scowls at the hypocrisy. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”
“Hey, I like leggy brunettes. Don’t give me that bitchface.”
For a moment, Sam contemplates pointing out that both he and Castiel fit that description, but then his phone starts playing the refrain for Brian McKnight’s Back At One - a text message. He fishes it out and freezes, eyes wide.
It- It can’t be.
Castiel said Brady is dead… or isn’t he?
‘Be careful,’ it reads. ‘The sigils will hide you, but everyone is searching. They may be watching. Trust no one. C.’
Sigils? Wait, C? As in Castiel? But then why does he- Oh.
“Who is it?” Dean asks.
“Just a friend.” It’s Detective Castiel telling us to be careful because people may be watching us.
“Yeah?” Dean spears a piece of bacon more forcefully with his fork, but plays along. And whose fault is that, huh? He drags you into this mess, and now all he can do is hide us and tell us to watch our backs?
Well, he did keep the other angel from killing me yesterday. “Yeah, just a class thing.” In reply, he types, ‘Got it. What will you do?’
Yes, and that wins him all the points in the world. Dean grunts noncommittally and keeps eating. “Just what’s got you so hung up on him anyway?”
“I’m n-” Well, okay. Maybe he is. Just a little.
Maybe it’s the angel thing, a bit of hero worship, some leftover sense of wonder. Before, when he prayed, he imagined angels as beautiful and shining, merciful and just, and the stories he heard of the Grigori crushed his hopes and dreams. But Castiel listened, gave him a chance instead of writing him off as unclean like he’d heard the angels do, like Zachariah had. He’d even chosen to save Sam instead of siding with his angelic superior. Whether out of justice or affection, he gives Sam hope, hope that salvation may await, that his childhood beliefs and ideals are not all lies.
And God, but he tastes and smells Heavenly.
He’s also attractive, knowledgeable and endearingly awkward.
Yes, all right, Sam concedes, he’s smitten. He’ll admit it. And if Castiel has seen into his tainted soul and called him beautiful, then maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for them yet.
“Some kind of Stockholm Syndrome?”
Okay, fine. That’s a legitimate possibility too.
“I don’t know,” he says at last because explaining is too difficult.
Dean wipes both hands over his face. “Why’d’you always gotta go for the dangerous types, huh?”
Sam’s message tone goes off again, and he silently reads, ‘We must find out what everyone is after if we hope to see an end to all this. I will try to decipher the book.’
We, says Castiel, and Sam rather likes the sound of it now. Christ, he’s a goner. ‘Do you need any help?’ he asks before returning his attention to Dean. “Jess wasn’t dangerous,” he points out.
“We don’t know that,” his brother counters.
They never figured out why or how the fire happened, whether it was accident or arson, whether Jess or Sam had been the intended target. Probably Jess, since if they’d been after Sam, they would have tried again. But it’s too much like how Sam’s mother died, and after John never came back, Dean and Bobby wouldn’t let Sam search for answers either. He’d like to know, of course, but risking his life to find an answer wouldn’t bring his first mate back, and he’d listened to good sense in the end. Later, he’d tried to move on, hoping time and new love would heal the gaping wound burnt into him by the severed bond, but then…
“Becky wasn’t dangerous.”
Dean only raises an eyebrow.
Fine. Fine. He sighs. “Look, I don’t pick them because they’re dangerous, Dean.”
“No!” the blond agrees, lifting his hands in surrender. “That’s the problem, Sammy! It comes quite naturally to you!”
“Well, at least this one tries to keep me alive,” he retorts, and Dean shakes his head, taking their empty plates to the kitchen instead.
‘Do you read Sumerian?’ comes the next message.
‘No,’ he replies. ‘Sorry. I wish I did.’
‘Then stay safe.’
That probably means stay away, but he’s glad for the choice of phrasing. ‘You too,’ he sends just as Dean comes back out, running a hand through his hair.
“Look. Just… Stay safe, all right? Let me protect you. It’s always been my job, you know? Ain’t nobody had to tell me. I can’t take another round of last night, man. There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.”
“I know, and I will.” He lets his brother pull him out of the chair and help him back to their room with a slight chuckle. “I don’t think I can take another round of last night either.”
“Not funny.” Dean smacks him before bodily pushing him into bed in dog form.
He ruffles his dog’s fluffy golden coat. “No chick flick moments, right?”
Dean swats him, and he laughs. Don’t make me lick your face.
With work starting up again and college getting back into full swing, Sam finds himself too busy for much else. At least the professors seem to be warming up to him after the first assignments, so he hopes it’s a sign that they’ve come to terms with him being here on an academic rather than athletic scholarship. Still, this is no time to be losing steam.
Sometimes though, he finds himself thinking of Castiel, wondering how the angel is doing. They’ve exchanged a few messages, and it seems the going is slow. He supposes, if the book hides something worth killing and dying for, then it probably wouldn’t be so easy to decrypt.
It’s Sunday today though, and he’s just finished the assignments due next week. He supposes he could start on the next batch of reading and assignments, but instead, he’s standing in the park in front of that white house. All trace of the altercation with Ruby is gone, the house looks otherwise just as he remembered, and nothing seems out of the ordinary in nondescript suburbia. It’s a little further away than he expected, but still a manageable walk.
He hopes he’s right as he walks up to the door and knocks. For a long time, there is nothing, and he’s about to leave when the door opens, and a hand darts out to snag his hand and pull him inside.
“Cas!” he manages just as the angel quickly closes the door behind him.
“Why have you come here?”
He’s glad Castiel doesn’t ask him how he knows, that the angel counts him intelligent enough to have figured it out, but he doesn’t have an answer to this either. It’s not like he has an excuse this time.
“I um…” He scratches his head, nervous. “I just wanted to know how you were doing. I mean, you know, in person.”
To his relief, Castiel smiles instead of telling him not to be silly. “I’m fine, Sam. But you shouldn’t have come. It is safer for you.”
Still, the angel doesn’t ask him to leave, just heads back towards the living room. The house is sparsely furnished, the wooden fixtures and fittings a little dusty. It smells musty and a bit smoky, of red oak and vellum - and of Castiel, but he’s going to try to ignore that. There’s a staircase leading upstairs and an arch separates the dining area from the kitchen, but the undisturbed layer of dust on the floor indicates neither of those areas have been visited. Used candles line the coffee table by the black couch, and the book lies open on it beside a messy stack of papers. The papers look to be filled with calligraphy, and the uncapped pen indicates that they’re Castiel’s handwritten notes.
“Your handwriting is beautiful,” he remarks without thinking as he moves closer for a better look, and Castiel sits down on the couch.
“Once,” the angel says softly, “everyone who could write wrote like this.”
“You mean in Antiquity?”
“Yes. You have walked a long way. Will you not sit?”
Sam sits down beside him and stares at the book, feeling small. Castiel is ancient, ageless. What is he, but a blip in the angel’s eternal time? Indicating the papers, he asks, “What does the book say?”
Castiel shakes his head. “I am fluent in Sumerian from my time in Mesopotamia, but I’m afraid the text makes very little sense.”
Sam considers the book for a moment, then says, “Perhaps that is the problem.”
Blue eyes give him a quizzical look.
“I mean, this book was probably written in, at the very earliest, the Middle Ages, right? Would anyone in that time have as good a command of Sumerian as you do? Perhaps…” He searches for an example. “Perhaps, for instance, it is Akkadian written in the Sumerian system.”
His words are greeted by contemplative silence, and he hopes they didn’t sound foolish. To distract himself, he fishes out the PB&J he packed for lunch but never got around to eating.
“That… is not possible,” comes the reply at length, and his heart sinks. “Sumerian and Akkadian are very different structurally. However, you may have the correct idea. I will read it again later to see if some mistakes could have impaired the meaning. What is that?” The angel is looking at his sandwich.
“Oh. Oh um… It’s a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich.” He looks down at it, then holds out the other half. “It’s quite good. Would you like to try it?”
For a moment, Castiel looks like he will decline, then he hesitantly reaches for it and gazes at it in his hand, seeming at once curious and apprehensive. At length, he gingerly takes a bite and chews, and his expression morphs into some mix of relief and disappointment.
“It’s… overwhelming,” he offers in the face of Sam’s expectant look. “I can taste every molecule.”
“Oh.” That doesn’t sound very tasty.
“And yet…” The angel looks wistful now, a little worried. “The day may soon come when I can taste it as you do.”
Sam doesn’t know what that means or how to respond, so he merely continues eating his PB&J quietly. Castiel, too, says nothing, gazing pensively at the book on the table, but the silence doesn’t feel awkward, and for that, Sam is glad.
Finally, Castiel glances at the half a sandwich he is holding again, then turns to Sam. “I seem to have wasted half your lunch.” He reaches into his pocket. “Here.” He presses… over a thousand dollars into Sam’s hand. “You should take this.”
“Wh-what?” Wide-eyed, Sam pulls his hand away. “But a PB&J only costs a few bucks!”
“No.” The angel catches his hand and insistently folds his fingers around the bills. “Allies of the Grigori are paid well for their services. You deserve to be compensated for your assistance.”
He shakes his head. “I-I didn’t do it for money.”
Castiel inclines his. “And for all the trouble caused by your being wrongly accused.”
Still shaking his head, Sam continues to try to pull away. “No, no, this is… I can’t take this. Where did you get all this money anyway?”
“I withdrew my entire mission allowance before they froze the accounts.”
“Then you’ll need it, won’t you? Now that you can’t go back?”
The angel smiles. “I have yet to find any use for it, and this isn’t all I have.”
“Cas, I- This is too much. I haven’t even thanked you for saving my life several times and- and for believing in me when you had no reason to.”
Castiel’s smile turns wry. “You forget Zachariah would have gotten the jump on me had you not nearly died trying to stop him.” He lets go of Sam’s hands, allows the witch to return the wad of cash. “It is… uplifting to be with you, Sam.” Blue eyes meet olive. “Most of our Allies, they care not what we do. They care only that we pay well and quickly, and of course we do, for Father taught us that it is poor character to remain indebted unnecessarily, and yet…” He sighs, looking away. “So many say they worship God or some other deity, when in truth, the only thing they worship are these… green pieces of paper.” He scatters the money on the couch between them with disdain. “Naturally, it is fair to remunerate people for their services. However, I wish more people had the correct intentions.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam wishes things were different too - Castiel’s disappointment makes him sad.
“No, I should apologize. I have troubled you with my trifling complaints long enough.” The angel rises. “It is growing late. Will your brother not… start a riot?”
Sam laughs, standing as well. “I should be going, yes.” He walks to the door, Castiel following close behind. “Thank you for letting me in.”
The other shakes his head, smiling wistfully. “It is safer for you to stay away from me, and yet, I should like to talk with you again. Perhaps we can use this?”
He holds out Brady’s old cellphone, and the thought of Brady - Sam resolutely pushes it away. This is no time to dwell on bygones. “Sure, I’ll call you.”
“The voice said I’m almost out of minutes though.” He looks at the phone ruefully, and Sam chuckles.
“Well, I guess you’ve found a use for that money now. You can buy more minutes.”
“How?”
“Well, you go to a store, and- you know what? Never mind. I’ll take care of it this time and explain it all to you the next time I swing by?”
Castiel nods. “I’ll just wait here then. Take care that you are not followed.”
“I will, I promise.”
Sam lets himself out, closes the door behind him while Castiel hangs back, out of sight. It’s hard to walk normally, to hide the spring in his step. It feels like a date. He hasn’t felt so giddily happy in a while. He almost manages not to skip all the way home, barely succeeds at schooling his face out of the cheery grin it seems to have frozen into before he walks in the door.
“Hey, S- I guess you don’t need dinner anymore, huh? You are so stuffed with pink hearts and glitter, dude, it makes me puke in my mouth a little.” You just went to see that detective again. Not a question - it doesn’t fool Dean.
He drops his backpack into the armchair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s for dinner?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Stew. Enough cayenne pepper in there to burn your lips off, just like you love it.”
“You know, Dean, I wish you’d make a salad every once in a while.”
The blond grimaces as he walks out with two bowls of stew, and Sam fishes his wallet out to set it on the coffee table.
Eleven crumpled greenbacks fall out with it to the floor.
“What the-”
“Hey! Where’d you get all this moolah?” Dean darts over to pick the bills up.
Sam groans as it hits him. Detective Castiel…
“Huh.” His brother counts them with a wide grin. “Now this is a boyfriend worth having, Sammy. Atta boy!” Guess he’s as decent as his feathery ass.
“Dean!!” Sam gives him his strongest disapproving glare.
“What?” Don’t worry, Sammy. Your ass is still the finest. “This is over two months’ rent, dude. This means I can afford to get the latest Casa Erotica!”
This time, Sam just throws his spoon at the blond’s back, takes his dinner with the other spoon into the room, and slams the door.
Sam bought Castiel minutes, and they talk on the phone every few days. No progress has been made with the book, but sometimes the angel tells him stories from far away or long ago, and he explains some aspect of human life to the other. He looks forward to these phone calls and especially to his weekly visits. He’s been careful, using magic to make sure he isn’t followed, and even Dean has given up reminding him of the danger in the face of the constant cloud of elation about him as Castiel and he grow closer.
This week, though, Castiel hasn’t called on the usual Tuesday, and he worries. When he doesn’t get a call by the end of classes on Thursday, he’s so anxious, he hails a cab instead of walking. Even the few minutes’ drive seems like forever, and he prays nothing bad has happened even as every worst case scenario runs through his mind. There is no way he can wait till Sunday, even if he doesn’t know what help he can be if anyone has found Castiel. He hopes it isn’t his fault, that some small moment of carelessness hasn’t caused some disaster, and he’s terrified of what he’ll find even as the cab drives away, and he walks briskly past two houses to turn onto the correct street before running the rest of the way. His heart thumping, a part of him wants to kick the door in when he reaches it, but he stops.
It could be nothing. Maybe Castiel just got busy, reached some breakthrough with the book.
He knocks.
And waits.
His anxiety grows as the seconds pass.
He knocks again.
Castiel usually opens the door before he even knocks. Could something have-
“Whoa!”
The door opens, and Sam nearly falls over backwards to get away.
The overwhelming scent of heat assails him, and God, he wants, he wants. But maybe Castiel doesn’t. If the angel were interested in that, he would have called him before this. No. No, he can control himself. He just… he just needs to get further away.
Castiel is disheveled, trench coat and suit jacket missing, tie loosened around his unbuttoned collar, blue eyes disoriented. “Sam?” His voice is hoarse.
“You…” He swallows to moisten his parched mouth, clears his throat. “You need to close the door. Please. I-I’ll call you. Get to your phone. Can you do that?”
The angel looks confused, but nods and closes the door. Sam shudders, staggers to the other side of the yard to sit with his back to the wall. Even the lingering scent of Castiel fills him with need, and it’s been way, way too long. He presses the heel of his hand against his aching cock as he grabs his phone and bites back a whimper. God, he's this close just from the smell of it. He takes a few deep breaths, whispers a spell to cool the air around him. It takes maybe a minute, probably too long to keep Castiel waiting, clueless, but he finally manages to pull himself together enough to dial.
“You’re still outside.”
“Yes. Um… Sorry for my reaction. Uh… How are you feeling?”
“Feverish. Restless. Nauseous. Wet. I hurt all over.”
Sam tries very hard to block out the mental image. Focus, he tells himself, focus. “How long have you uh…”
“Since Monday.”
Oh. Oh my God.
“I’m probably ill. You should go in case it’s contagious.”
“What? No, no, you’re not ill. You’re um… You’re in heat.”
“Oh.” There’s a long pause on the other end. “I always saw, but never knew the feeling.”
“I didn’t even know angels had heat cycles.”
“We don’t in our true forms, and our Grace suppresses our bodies’ physical needs. However, cut off from Heaven, Grace fades and with it my powers. Eventually, I will be as an ordinary human.” The angel makes a sound of discomfort. “This is… agonizing. Is it always like this?”
“Uh… Well, I’ve never experienced it personally, but I’m told it gets worse over time if you don’t do something about it. There are drugs that alleviate the uh… symptoms, for the lack of a better word, that you are experiencing. I-If you want, I can go buy some for you.”
Again, Castiel falls silent, and when no response is forthcoming after some time, he tries again, “Hello?” wondering if the line has gone dead.
“I’m here.”
“So do y-”
“No. It’s better and more expedient to let nature serve its intended purpose,” the other says matter-of-factly. “So let’s procreate.”
“Wh-What?!” He clamps a hand over his mouth. Fuck, he feels faint. This- This isn’t real. “But I- You- D-don’t you want to do that with someone special?” He wants Castiel, of course he does, but… not if it’s some biological necessity, if-if it doesn’t mean something more.
A moment’s pause, then, “If you mean to ask if any passing Alpha would do, then the answer is no.”
That mollifies him somewhat, but still, he can’t live with this being a one-time satisfaction. Dean will be the first to say that’s why he never gets laid.
In his silence, the angel continues, “Sam Winchester. Will you come in, or will you make me go outside to fetch you?”
Oh my God, no. He hangs up, scrambles to his feet, scampers around the corner to practically tumble through the door and back it shut. “No, no, please don’t.” In here, it smells of Castiel, of sweet slick and perspiration, even the scent of ozone faint beneath the heady desire, and a closer look shows Castiel’s shirt and pants are drenched where he stands by the couch. Oh God. It’s all he can do not to jump Castiel immediately - he’s so hard, he’s not sure he’ll even be able to knot the angel this round.
It’s Castiel who approaches, step unsteady, an answering erection clear in the bulge of his pants. He takes Sam’s face in his hands to look up into olive eyes. “Don’t ever think you aren’t special, Sam.”
Before he knows it, Sam’s lifted Castiel to kiss him, pressing him to the wall. The other’s lips move awkwardly, but the kiss is desperate, just like that day outside the library, almost battle-like this time in its fierceness and the occasional clash of teeth. Castiel moans as their erections brush even through four layers of fabric, and he only presses closer, slides his hands under soaked clothes.
"Is there a bed here?"
"Yes. Upstairs."
He leads Castiel up the stairs, removing pieces of clothing as they go. The angel clings to Sam, like he can’t bear to be apart, and Sam wishes this were more than just hormones. Blue eyes are guilelessly innocent, and Castiel’s skin is flushed, feverish to the touch and clammy with sweat. He’s also a lot more muscular than Sam expected, hidden under all those layers.
The bed is a mess when they reach it (Castiel has probably been lying here since Monday), but the angel just waves his hand, and it looks as good as new. Sam pushes the covers aside, lowers them onto the bed and quickly shifts to slide in all the way. Castiel makes a sound, at once immense relief and pleasure, and Sam puts every ounce of willpower into holding back, holding still for the other to adjust - even in heat, this is Castiel’s first time, and the angel is so, so tight.
“Nngh… Oh-oh wow. I- This isn’t at all like how I imagined.”
The angel’s fingers tangle in his hair. “How did you imagine this?”
“Uh…” He ducks his head, suddenly and inexplicably shy - ironic now that they’re joined. “Slow. More candles and roses.” He chuckles sheepishly. “Somewhere nice. I um… I wanted this to be some amazing and unforgettable romantic experience, but… well, you wouldn’t appreciate that right now.”
“I won’t forget,” Castiel promises solemnly. “But we can try it your way next time.”
Next time. Oh God.
Sam groans and moves, kissing the angel to muffle all the noise they are making. Castiel seems to have learned - this kiss is less awkward. His arms and legs wrap around Sam to draw the Alpha closer, deeper, and his cries suddenly seem to take on an anguished edge.
“S-Sam,” he gasps, punctuated by a keen. “Wh-what-”
Oh. “Cas.” Sam presses their foreheads together. Their gazes lock. “Do you trust me?”
Without hesitation, “Yes.”
Sam smiles, giddy with elation. “Then relax. Let go. I’ve got you.”
It takes a moment for Cas to make sense of it, but then he does. Completely. And slaps a hand over Sam’s eyes as he arches off the bed with a shout, clenching tight.
Orgasm hits, sharp and sudden, almost painful in its intensity, and Sam shudders as he sags atop the other. The hand covering his eyes falls away, and he opens them to catch the dying rays of a brilliant radiance. As if by instinct, Cas bares his neck, and it is through sheer force of will that he doesn’t bite, that he only kisses the spot lightly. Even so, Cas tightens around him, makes the neediest sound, and he buries his face in the pillow to whimper as he spills more inside.
“C-Cas…” Oh, he wants; he wants so much. But this isn’t- shouldn’t be an impulse decision.
“I love you,” the other whispers simply, and he cries out as he sees stars again.
Fuck, he’s so far gone. He can already hear Dean calling him a total girl. And yet-
Once, he thought this impossible. He never knew angels mated, and even if they did, how could he ever be worthy?
He lifts his head to answer, to ask, but the limbs around him slip loose, and Castiel’s breathing evens out. Sam shakes his head fondly and kisses the angel’s temple. The exhaustion must have caught up. Pulling the covers over them both, he rolls them into a more comfortable position to ride out the aftershocks - they can talk later.
He falls asleep with Castiel cradled in his arms, warm and perfect around him.
Navigation:
Prologue
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Epilogue