The Nature and Kynde of a Lyon (2/6)
Backward. Forward.
Part Two.
Sam loved the sea.
Grey rock shoved up out of the ground at weird angles like someone had rumpled the bed sheets and turned them into stone; vicious grey-green grass with edges like blades clung everywhere like it was just daring the wind to uproot it; creamy-gold sand played at being so hot and soft underfoot during the day and went cold and hard as stone if you tried to sleep there all night; the wild clean smell of seaweed and salt and gulls and all the tiny shelled creatures that lived among the rocks wound into your nostrils; the sand worked its way deep into your feathers so you’d keep finding it for days; the great sleek seals humped their way up the sand and didn’t bother moving when the angels came close, just eyed them and harrumphed a bit; the piles and piles of sand dunes climbed back up behind him between the jutting promontories of rocks, dunes that looked barren and fruitless but were so full of fascinating things, from the weird-ass spiders and snakes that went sideways to the hidden birds’ eggs and the fleshy spiky plants that stored water and were good to eat.
And you had to be careful, of course. Sometimes humans sailed past, in their great ships with wings of cloth. And sometimes the humans landed, launched a little boat to swim all the way up to the shore and hunt the seals, especially when there were baby seals about. There were stories of what humans would do if they ever saw an angel; and even though part of Sam thought it might be exciting to see if they were true, he wasn’t about to risk everyone else’s safety to find out.
Sam didn’t really like hunting the seals. Their flesh was richer than most animals’, and their oil and skins were valuable for cooking and for wet winters; but they were heavy to carry home, and their carcases flopped all over the place. And Sam couldn’t help but feel that anything that looked at you with big brown eyes like that, and could identify the voice of its mother (or its child) out of all the cries in a colony of hundreds, would have to mourn its friends when you’d killed them.
Dean usually rolled his eyes when Sam suggested that, but Sam wasn’t stupid. He saw the way Dean just happened to not stoop down on the milky mothers or the pups, just happened to kill more of the hopeful young males hanging around on the edges of the colony with no chance of ever getting any closer to the girls.
Dean said it was just common sense: the big bulls were in the middle of the mothers and pups, guarding them, so why take the risk? Except Sam knew perfectly well that Dean would sometimes tease Castiel into games like landing on the back of an enraged stag or boar to aim a blade at the back of his neck from there, like an idiot who thought they were immortal, and bull seals weren’t that tricky to dodge, unless the wind was so completely against you that you couldn’t even get off the ground.
And when you were done for the day - when the last of the provisions you’d collected were stashed away, packed as neatly and efficiently as you could, or set to preserve or dry, and you could stretch out and take your time and do everything your own way - there was time for exploring and climbing, for making shapes in the sand and racing each other over the rocks and trying not to turn an ankle, and trying to work out just how long you could swim and still get your wings and hair properly dry before the sun went down.
Also, sometimes, they could trick Castiel into forgetting to be a grown-up for a while.
Castiel started to turn around and Sam, sneaking up behind him with a handful of slippery knobbly purple seaweed, froze where he was.
“Hey, Cas, man,” called Dean lazily, from where he was sprawled out mostly naked on the dry sand just above the high water mark. “How long d’you wanna stay?”
Castiel turned back to him, shoulders taking on their I Am Seriously Considering Your Serious Question Like A Responsible Serious Beta shape, because sometimes Castiel was really crap at noticing he was being played.
Sam grinned past Castiel’s wing at Dean and tiptoed closer, placing his feet carefully to avoid the slap of bare soles on wet sand. Just as Castiel was opening his mouth to deliver a carefully thought-out (and serious) answer, he got the whole slimy mass slithering down inside the collar of his tunic.
Sam laughed out loud at the noise he made and skipped backwards, away from the startled sweep of Castiel’s wings as he whipped around. Dean was pissing himself in the background, and Castiel was squirming and scowly and incredulous with one hand pawing at his back, and Sam snorted laughter and spread his hands innocently, half his weight on his toes and half on his wings, ready to dodge.
“What, man? Too many clothes for the beach!”
Castiel’s eyes went narrow. Then his belt hit the sand, followed by his tunic, Dean suddenly went very quiet for some reason, and Castiel lunged at Sam.
Sam yelped and scrambled out of the way, and it turned into a rough-and-tumble chase through tide pools and ankle-deep waves and sand and little banks of seaweed squelching underfoot in the shallows. Sam counted himself as the winner from the moment Castiel scooped up his own handful of seaweed (the shadow of a grin tugging slyly at the corners of his mouth) and hurled it in Sam’s direction. He still counted it as a win even when Castiel tripped him up a few seconds later and pinned him down in the sand, coarse wet fabric pressing heavy across the bare skin of Sam’s thighs and clever fingers dancing mercilessly over his ribs as Sam squawked and writhed and giggled helplessly and got sand in his mouth.
“Cas! No! Tickling’s not - uh! Dean! Not fair! Get off, Cas! Dean, help!”
Sand crunched somewhere, and Dean’s voice drifted over, all lazy amusement. “No way, dude. You drop crap down his neck, you take the fall.”
This time, though, Castiel must have heard the sneaky innocence under the grin. His fingers paused for a moment, eight little points of wariness on Sam’s waist, and Sam twisted around just in time for both him and Castiel to get a bucket of warm seawater to the face.
“Dean!”
Dean’s face appeared upside-down over Sam’s, the shit-eating grin framed by the deep reds and browns of his wings. “Hey, no need to thank me. Just looking out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother. ‘S my job, right?”
“Jerk.” Sam tried to blink sandy water out of his eyes. Castiel shifted his weight a little, just enough for Sam to wriggle around under him and flop down on his back, scowling up at Dean - definitely scowling, not smiling at all, it was just that he was still laughing a bit from being tickled. “Now I’ve got sand and bait-bucket water all over my face.”
“Shouldn’t’a turned around, then,” replied Dean blithely.
“Cas.”
Castiel, who’d been regarding Dean with a peculiar expression and tapping his fingers absent-mindedly on Sam’s stomach, made a thoughtful noise and looked down. “Sam,” he stated, forgetting how to make questions again.
“Cas. We’re both covered in bait-bucket water.”
Castiel’s eyes went sharper as he caught the hint in Sam’s voice, sharp with that kind of twinkle in them behind a too-earnest mouth that meant he was pretending not to laugh, pretending not to be evil and sneaky. “That’s very true, Sam.”
“Uh,” said Dean, and began to back away prudently.
Sam grinned at Castiel. “Hey, Cas. Truce?”
“I think that would be best,” agreed Castiel solemnly.
Dean ran.
He didn’t run fast enough.
---
Sam knew he shouldn’t really think it, but the other thing about the sea was, well… it was shamefully nice to get away from home for a while, and from normal things, and from everyone else. Just him and Dean and Castiel, almost, because Jody and Victor were both pretty laid-back and easy to be around. Just five angels with this whole stretch of wild coast to forage in, and it was so very quiet without the background chatter of sixty other people all around you.
And okay, Sam knew he should care about everyone in the flock, be really concerned when they were hurt or unwell or sad or whatever. Everyone else seemed to be able to feel all that without effort: they’d miss someone when they were away, sweep them up in a hug when they came back, know all the right things to say and expressions to wear if someone was having a bad day.
(Gabriel made caring for everyone look so easy. Even when he was being all sardonic about it, it was still obvious that he cared, and everyone knew that.)
It wasn’t that Sam didn’t care. He thought it was sad that Anna still couldn’t walk all around the hill without stopping to sit down and wheeze, and he understood when Jo got all quiet and steely-eyed remembering her father. Bill had died trying to defend Sam’s own father, after all, because even if he hadn’t been technically John’s beta on account of not being close enough in blood to trigger the change, everyone said they’d acted like brothers, and Bill had always been there at his side to help. So Sam got that, and he knew how Jo felt, and wished she felt better.
It wasn’t that he felt nothing, just that it never seemed to be the right thing. Sam just wasn’t really sure how to do that, how to make himself care as much as apparently he was meant to. He worked so damn hard at it too, but he couldn’t fix that broken bit in himself.
Except for Dean and Castiel, of course - Sam felt plenty for them. But they were his. That probably didn’t count.
---
By the time Dean had cried uncle five times, and Castiel three, and Sam none because he always had an ally, the sun was melting across the waves on the horizon and they were all aching pleasantly and out of breath and coated with sand.
Dean flopped down onto his back, shamelessly draping his wings over Sam and Castiel’s laps like more sand was going to make a difference to them at this point. Castiel shoved half-heartedly at the one across his thighs.
“Dean,” he grumbled resignedly. “I’m going to be combing sand out of these for days, aren’t I.”
“Suck it, princess,” said Dean around a yawn, and reached for Castiel to drag him down into an affectionate headlock, the way he often did in the aftermath of a wrestling match, like he had to get one last word in.
Only this time he pulled Castiel’s face down to his, opened his mouth lazily against Castiel’s and then let him go, leaving Castiel blinking down at him as he settled contentedly back down into the sand.
“Man, you guys really do smell like fish. Sorry about that. Guess I thought I’d cleaned that bucket better after we used it for the crabs and limpets and shit.”
Castiel blinked at Sam.
Sam made an awkward little “I got no idea” grimace at him.
It wasn’t like Dean and Castiel never kissed each other. All three of them were used to hugs, and sleeping curled up together, and mouths pressed against cheeks and hair and necks just to say “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere,” just to breathe in the smell of each other and home and safety. And sometimes, when feelings had been running high or things were bad, Sam had seen Castiel and Dean kiss on the mouth: not sexual, because Dean couldn’t even feel that stuff yet, but something stronger than just brotherly. Though it wasn’t something they’d ever let anyone but Sam see, because, well, it wasn’t a good idea to let anyone think Castiel might be doing anything bad with someone who hadn’t primed yet. And Sam saw the looks Castiel gave Dean sometimes, Castiel who could feel that kind of passion because he was a grown-up, and maybe Sam wouldn’t be surprised if Castiel slipped up and forgot just for a moment and kissed Dean in the middle of something casual and simple and nice like this afternoon, but…
Dean didn’t even seem to realise he’d done anything out of the ordinary.
And Sam hadn’t thought the water from the bait bucket had smelt much at all, actually.
Castiel’s face went carefully blank. Then he leaned down, and brushed a soft kiss against Dean’s cheek.
“We should wash. And head back to the camp.”
It was his beta voice again.
---
Sam woke up in the early hours of the morning, just that grey pre-dawn light hanging around aimlessly amongst the scrubby dune bushes, and knew immediately that something was wrong.
Dean was draped heavily over Castiel, face buried in his neck, breathing in just a little too deeply; and the air was thick with the smell of rising heat.
Castiel was awake. His eyes, when they met Sam’s over the dark curve of Dean’s head, were dark with his body’s response and shuttered, almost hiding behind his lashes.
Shit. Shit. Dean was…
That did explain yesterday, and being all over-sensitive to smells, and the way he’d kept his eyes on Castiel pretty much the whole day, even more than usual, and all those little casual touches Sam had just put down to Dean being in an extra-good mood, relaxed and happy and wanting to share it.
Sam scrambled to his knees, quiet as he could, and beamed wildly down at Castiel. Is he, he mouthed, and oh wow is he really, reaching out to not quite touch Dean’s shoulder.
Castiel’s hand curled possessive and gentle over the back of Dean’s neck, drew to one side to cover the light scattering of reddish feathers where shoulderblade became wing. He didn’t contradict it, and his expression didn’t change.
Oh wow, Sam mouthed again, around a broadening grin. This is great, you two can finally, and then, struck by another thought, craned his neck around to look over the shoulder of the hill, into the sheltered little hollow where Jody and Victor would be sleeping. Do you want me to wake them up? Should I get them?
Castiel flinched, just a bit, shoulders tightening like he was defensive, and he shook his head minutely against Dean’s forehead. Dean mumbled something, a soft slur of a noise, and nuzzled deeper in under Castiel’s chin. Sam could see the bolt of his jaw working, as if Dean were mouthing at the skin there.
Which was - really weird, actually, seeing Dean doing that sort of thing, and he wasn’t even awake, and wow, Dean was going to be so pissed if he woke up and found himself doing that, only maybe he wasn’t because how awake was he going to be? Would he be like he was when he was drunk, or feverish, or something? Everyone said first heats were more confusing, more disorienting, with all the unfamiliar feelings and urges, and smells that you’d never even noticed before suddenly too strong, and all the other senses too sharp, and everyone you’d thought you knew suddenly looking different because of what you wanted, and…
Castiel groaned, just slightly, more of an exhale than anything else, and his eyes slid shut for a moment.
He didn’t look - Sam would have expected him to look happier about this. Instead he looked kind of… tight around the edges. Maybe even scared.
But that made no sense. And why wouldn’t he want Sam to wake the other two, so they could get back home as soon as possible and get Dean into the chambers with Gabriel? And then Castiel could go in, after the first couple of days, and they could… well, Castiel would want that, right?
“Cas,” he hissed. “Cas, what’s the problem?”
Castiel just hauled Dean closer and buried his nose in Dean’s hair, wearing his stubborn and uncommunicative eyebrows and wrapping Dean around in silver and black and deep blue feathers.
Sam exhaled. “Okay. Okay. We need to get home, don’t we? I mean, yes, obviously we need to get home, I’ll just…” Only Castiel had forbidden him from fetching the others, which meant Sam couldn’t really go and start packing up the camp, so what could he do? “I’ll just tidy up, and, um…”
“Mmmrrrnnnng,” Dean drawled out, more of a grunt than a word, and Sam froze.
Dean shifted his head a bit against Castiel, like there was no rush in the world, and raised his head to look at him, all groggy and befuddled. Then his eyes went a little wider, a little more focussed, and wow, they were glowing. That was the gold of a gamma in heat right there in Dean’s eyes, and huh, Dean was a gamma now, not a delta. This was going to take a hell of a lot of getting used to.
“Hey there,” Dean slurred, all low and dark, and nuzzled in against Castiel’s chin again, and shit, Sam was suddenly feeling like he should be somewhere else right now.
“You’re in heat, Dean,” said Castiel, with all his usual tact and delicacy and beating around the bush.
Dean made this weird long interrogative noise, lazy and hungry, a rumble in his chest halfway to a purr, like he hadn’t really heard. He was staring at Castiel like he was seeing him new, fingers tracing wonderingly down the side of his face.
“Priming, Dean,” Castiel bit out, voice caught awkwardly between curt and soft. “You’re priming.”
Dean blinked, slow, and tilted his head sideways like a fox listening to a mouse under the snow, trying to work out where to pounce.
Then something clicked, and his eyes snapped open, alert-wide.
“Fuck.” Dean scrambled backwards a bit, until he was crouched over Castiel instead of blanketing him, wings ruffling up and sending another wave of that sweet hot not-normal-Dean smell over Sam. “Cas. Fuck.”
Sam’s blood picked up to panic in response, because it was Dean, and that expression never meant anything good, even if he didn’t know why Dean was making it now.
“How bad is it, Dean? Are you - disoriented and all that? Can you see well enough to fly? Wow, can you even fly that far before - Cas, how bad is that whole sense disorientation thing?”
Castiel flicked a dark look in Sam’s direction. “I wouldn’t know, Sam,” he almost growled, clipping the words off hard. “My first heat was not exactly typical.”
“Oh, shit, sorry.” Sam had almost - well, not forgotten, obviously, you didn’t forget something like that, but he was so used to being able to ask Castiel anything, especially about… “I just meant. Can we get him back? Can we do that, or do we need to do something else like bring Gabriel out here, or…”
Dean’s eyes were getting wider, the gold in them brighter and deeper, lips wrinkling back from his teeth so he looked almost savage. “What?” he snapped. “No!”
The hell?
“Your brother is right, Dean.” Castiel’s tone was cool and implacable, like he was actually going to give Dean an order. “We need to get you back, to Gabriel and the chambers.”
Dean backed away, the snarl curling at his mouth. “No. No way. I’m not going back.”
Nerves. People sometimes got nervous their first heat, right? But Dean would be fine, he and Gabriel got on well, and Gabriel would be - tactful, or careful, or whatever, and as soon as Gabriel was there Dean’s instincts would kick in and do what those instincts did, and it’d all be good. Wouldn’t it?
Castiel sat up, eyes almost entirely black now and voice a low growl of command. “You are, Dean.”
Only Dean wasn’t ever one to be impressed by orders, even from an alpha. Definitely not from Castiel. “No. He’ll know, he’ll - I’m not doing that to you, Cas. No, Cas, you hear me? Shit, I knew we should have come up with a plan for this.”
“Dean, I have a plan. We take you back to Gabriel and he will do what is best for you now.”
“Well, that’s a crap plan!” Dean snapped, and there was fight in every line of his body but his hands were clutching tight around one of Castiel’s ankles and his eyes were too wide for anger. “Make a better one!”
“Dean.”
“Okay, you know what? I’ve got a plan.” Dean scrambled sideways abruptly, swaying, grabbing for random things as clumsy as if he were blind drunk: the cold pot from last night, the tinders, his discarded blanket, a comb. “You, me, somewhere else, alone. Just us. We can say I just couldn’t get far enough and I… whatever. That way he never has to know.”
Sam found his voice, and found it high and panicky. “That makes no sense!”
“Stay out of this, Sammy,” Dean shot back, which was just like Dean, deciding that he got to make all the decisions without telling Sam jack squat, so Sam lunged for him and tugged his own bag thankyouverymuch out of Dean’s grasp. It came too easily, like Dean hadn’t even seen him coming or didn’t remember how to close his fingers tight.
“Never has to know what, Dean? What the hell’s going on?”
“Dean.” Castiel was on his feet now, wide-eyed and agitated and still trying to be stern. “Gabriel will not act… rashly. And I doubt he would instigate… disciplinary action… until after your heat has run its course. For your sake.”
“Screw that, Cas,” snapped Dean, surging to his feet and getting right up in Castiel’s face, staggering, knocking last night’s dinner to scatter all over the sand and apparently not even noticing. “And you know what? Screw you. It wasn’t your fault. I’m not letting him do anything to you, you hear me?”
Disciplinary action? Gabriel, Gabriel of all people hurting Castiel?
The panic rose higher in Sam’s chest, clawing at his throat, and Dean didn’t look or smell like Dean and Castiel just looked so lost, and all stubborn at the same time, and the world didn’t make sense.
“Guys…” he tried to break in, all reasonable and not like he was begging them to stop at all.
Castiel overrode him, probably didn’t even hear. “And I’m not risking what might happen to you if you only imprint on a beta in your first heat.”
“I’ll be fi-”
“You don’t know that, Dean,” Castiel growled, pushing right forward and hackling up his wings like he never did, actually pulling rank, and Dean’s mouth went slack and wide. “I’m not letting you sabotage your first heat for my sake.”
“Yeah?” Dean breathed, almost into Castiel’s mouth, eyes locked and noses almost brushing, so very close that even Sam could almost feel the tug of blood to blood thrumming in the air between them.
Then Dean took one step back, heavy and staggering like his whole body was fighting it, and spread his wings. “Try and stop me,” he growled, and took off, lurching badly.
Castiel grabbed for him as he rose, barely missed, made a sound halfway between a growl and a howl and leaped into the air after him. Dean was too fast, even in his state, and by the time Castiel had got properly airborne and wheeled around to follow him, Dean had caught an updraft off the cliffs and was picking up speed, climbing higher and higher to give himself good height for distance.
Sam leaped up too, belatedly, but he was no match for either of them in a chase, not yet, and all he could do was yell, “Castiel! Cas! What should I do?” Don’t leave me. “Should I tell Gabriel?” because he could think of nothing else.
Castiel just threw a look his way, one of his meaningful stares with lots in them to unpack which probably meant Sam should definitely do something, something very important, some complicated and clever and many-staged plan like the ones Castiel always came up with, only Sam couldn’t read it, didn’t know what it meant, and then it was gone, and Castiel was off in Dean’s wake with long, skimming wingbeats, out over the scrub and the hills, not in the direction of home at all.
“Cas!”
Shit. Sam didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he could do, this wasn’t his business, he wasn’t meant to know how to deal with this sort of thing, but it was Dean, and apparently it was Castiel too, Castiel was in danger, maybe even from Gabriel but that made no sense, because why would Gabriel, and why would Castiel do anything that would make Gabriel - disciplinary action, shit, and Sam was dizzy, couldn’t breathe properly, and Castiel and Dean were vanishing in the distance. Leaving him alone.
“Sam!”
Jody. That was Jody, his rational mind told him, Jody down there waving to him and sounding concerned and Victor scratching at his morning beard and scowling perplexedly at the sky. Only Sam’s rational mind had left the building right now, wasn’t doing him any good anyway, and he couldn’t tell them (Castiel had said not to) and they weren’t Sam’s, weren’t safe, not like Dean and Castiel, and his gut rebelled at the thought of going down and trusting them with this, letting them decide what to do.
But who? Sam was useless. He had to do something. Someone had to know, right? Someone would know what to do. Only Dad was gone, and Ellen was busy and couldn’t fly, and Bobby… Bobby had tried to stand up for them after Dad had died, and he’d been hurt, and then Azazel had hurt Sam and Dean all the same and, hell, done that to Castiel and would have done it to Dean too if they hadn’t decided to flee, just them, just them and a few other kids because anything was better than that. None of the adults had saved them, in the end. Sam couldn’t trust anyone. It was that old panic, back again, the nowhere safe to turn, no warm bed at night curled up against someone’s side smelling of home, nowhere that you can sleep properly and trust that you’d be safe. No Dad. No one safe. Just them, hiding from the world.
Someone was too close, a shuff of wings in the wind against the air that held up his own, and a hand was reaching out, a voice was there, an adult voice. Sam shied away, dodged, and fled, fast as he could, dodging out over the waves until the other angel gave up and fell away behind him.
Except, except.
That was the old panic. It wasn’t true anymore. The wind in his face and the speed were clearing his head, the plain simple burn of muscles and the rhythm of working the wind as hard as he could. There was safety now, at the heart of it all. Sam did have someone to trust.
They hadn’t hidden. They’d run. They’d run for help, and they’d found it. Gabriel had saved them.
---
It was a five-hour flight back to where home was. Sam did it in just under four. Four hours of Dean being in heat in the middle of nowhere, with only Castiel, all worked up over whatever that was that Sam didn’t understand.
He keened as he came in, the alarm-sound ringing from the depths of his chest, and maybe it was a bit dramatic but he needed to find Gabriel right now, and that was the quickest way to be sure he was out in the open and there. Heads were tilting up, voices suddenly loud and sharp drifting up to him, and there, there on the steps of the amphitheatre, feathers of red and copper and gold and three pairs of wings and a face turning up towards Sam.
Sam hurtled down towards him.
He almost crashed, too eager and suddenly too exhausted to check his speed, like his wings had been hung with weights for the last hour and he’d only just noticed. But there were arms there, and six wings far larger than his wrapping around him and dragging him in, and a familiar safe voice safesafesafe sharp with alarm and still warm saying something to him, and Sam buried his face in Gabriel’s chest and breathed him in, clinging like some kind of a child because no one could see him like this.
There was a hand on the back of his head and another running up and down his back, careful and soothing. Gabriel was muttering something, something repetitive with a rhythm, a poem Sam knew but couldn’t quite catch at the name of right now. There were other voices too, somewhere outside the circle of Gabriel’s wings, raised and concerned, but they didn’t really matter. The hand on Sam’s head vanished for a moment, then came back, and the voices hushed anyway.
“You with me, kiddo?” Gabriel murmured, breath puffing hot against Sam’s hair. “Need you to take a deep breath for me. Nice and slow. Don’t rush it.”
Sam took one, then another. It felt like something he hadn’t done for a while.
“That’s it. That’ll do, there. Now, can you look at me? Take your time if you have to. You’re okay, Sam. I got you.”
Time. Time. Hours, and Dean was out there.
He looked up, grabbing for words. Gabriel’s eyes weren’t soft like his voice: they were tight with worry.
Like Castiel’s. So like Castiel’s, when he’d been determined to go back and face Gabriel.
“Is anyone hurt, Sam?” Gabriel prompted, carefully gentle.
“No!” blurted Sam, and, “no, I don’t think so, I. Shit. Gabriel. I just left Jody and Victor, they don’t even know -”
“Sam,” Gabriel cut in, hands firm and warm on his shoulders and a warning in his voice, just enough of a lash of it to bring Sam up sharp. “Sam, is that important? What’s important right now?”
“Dean.” Because that was always true. “Dean, Gabriel, he’s priming.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows went up, a quizzical double arch, and his face relaxed into something softer. “Yeah? Good on him. Where’s the wildfire in that, kiddo?”
The hands on Sam’s shoulders were strong and calm, and Sam was so very tired, which was ridiculous because it wasn’t even midday yet. “I mean, that’s good, right? It’s meant to be good, isn’t it, Gabriel? But he ran. He ran away. Castiel tried to stop him,” because Gabriel needed to know that he shouldn’t hurt Castiel, that this wasn’t Castiel’s fault, “but he wouldn’t come back, he just flew off and Castiel went after him.”
Gabriel grimaced, lightly enough, but Sam could feel the sudden tension snap into place in the body he was still maybe sort of leaning on, and his own heartbeat picked up again. “Hells. Wouldn’t have pegged Dean for a runner, but that would be our luck.”
“Other people do this too? Sometimes?” Sam was grasping at straws, he knew it, but a straw was better than nothing.
Gabriel dropped a kiss on his cheek, a hurried brush of warmth and stubble, and whistled for Balthazar. “It happens. Too many new smells, feelings, thoughts, some folks just can’t take it calmly and they panic. Just means it takes me longer to calm them back down and persuade them to enjoy it, but hey, that’s my job, right? It’s okay, Sam, he’ll be fine. I promise. Trust me, yeah?”
Then Balthazar was there, a silent questioning presence beside them, and Gabriel’s wings were folding away and he was turning to Balthazar with one arm around Sam’s shoulders but Sam wasn’t hidden anymore, and hell, he’d just hurtled into camp keening an alarm and panicking like a kid over a heat, over nothing that couldn’t be solved. His cheeks flamed and he stumbled a bit, knees stupidly weak, and he missed half of what Gabriel was saying to Balthazar, quick and curt.
“… done a runner… chambers… smells dehydrated and probably hasn’t eaten this morning, get Ellen to… Jo and Bobby, with me, you’ll need to help Jody and Victor strike camp and get the provisions back, Sam, where were you camped?”
“Uhm.” That was him, he was meant to respond to that. “Two coves south of the seal colony. And,” before Gabriel could ask, “Dean and Castiel flew east-sou’-east from there, straight as far as I saw.”
There was the rush of wings about him, Jo and Bobby taking off, and Balthazar’s lean strong hand on his arm, and Ellen right behind him resting hers on his shoulder. Gabriel was stepping back, out of reach, taking a bundle of provisions from someone and fastening it to his belt, but Sam wasn’t going to grab for him because he was safe, he told himself stubbornly, even if his legs were still shaking, it was just that he hadn’t eaten this morning like Gabriel had said, and Gabriel needed to go find Dean and fix this, whatever this was.
“Hey. Sam.” Gabriel was just out of reach, wings open and ready, and he was grinning at Sam - a bit of a strain around the edges, but still, a grin, warm and proud. “You’re awesome. Thanks.”
Sam blushed, because he was stupidly inarticulate today. Then, just as Gabriel gathered his muscles for take-off, he blurted, “Gabriel? Don’t - don’t hurt Castiel, please?”
Gabriel went very still, and Sam felt more than heard Balthazar’s soft hiss beside him, the tension in the hand on his arm. But maybe he’d said too much, that was the secret Dean didn’t want him finding out, and -
“Now, why would I do that, Sam?” Gabriel asked, soft and low and with something thrumming underneath that made Sam’s instincts scream danger.
He swallowed, tamped them fiercely down, and stood up straighter. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t say. Just. Dean’s scared you’ll be mad at Castiel for something. Be careful, please.”
Gabriel held his gaze for a long minute, his eyes dark and deep and absolutely unavoidable, like they could reach into Sam and just hold him there, from the inside out. Then he reached out, and tapped one finger gently against Sam’s cheek.
“I promise, kitten. You go get warm and fed, you hear?”
Then he was gone, and there was absolutely nothing else Sam could do.
Backward. Forward.