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[ Return to Part One]
They hit one week and then one month and then two and three months without Sam noticing. They start travelling systematically farther out of town - farther than the public transportation would take them and sometimes far enough that they have to take a night at a motel so that Sam can sleep. Anyway, they start having to take Sam's car instead of walking, a fact for which Sam is extremely thankful. His legs may be fantastic now but there's no way he's gonna foot it ten miles just to reach his destination, no matter how nice it is to hold Cas' hand the whole way, and that means being trapped together for increasingly long periods of time - alone, with no distractions and no other people to talk to.
It's the kind of thing that tests relationships - not that having Castiel day in and day out isn't already a test as it is because he's only human and he doesn't have that thing that Castiel does, where being inside the mind of others and having them inside yours is natural and easy and expected. Even the most sociable of humans needs space now and then, which is why Sam's never thought of stopping Castiel from wandering to other people.
Point being that they're all the entertainment the other has now, seeing as Castiel's touched the car half a bazillion times already and the radio can only do so much before they have to start talking, and talking's great - talking is awesome and Sam is always on board for that, but Cas likes to hold hands while they talk because then he doesn't have to worry about missing any of the nuances and Sam doesn't have to worry about whether a slang word will be misunderstood, and well... Sam kind of needs both of those hands to drive even when he's not doing ten and two. Usually, Castiel's solution to this is easy because there's always the footsie thing that he does when hands aren't available, but now both of their feet are segregated into their own little footwells, which effectively rules out that option.
Castiel's solution to that is so simple that Sam really should've seen that coming. But no. One second, Sam's edging closer to the windshield because the rain has reduced his visibility to shit, and he unlaces his fingers from Castiel's to flick the wipers on to a higher setting. The next second, Castiel's fingers are pressing into his inseam, and Sam nearly veers off the road in shock.
"Sorry," Castiel says, having pulled his hand back into his lap. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Sam takes a moment to compose himself. The rain continues pounding and the air condenses under the windshield and the wipers squeak and thump, trying to clear the water away well enough for Sam to see the car in front of him, and the radio hisses on the AM emergency station, silent for now and poignantly so, and Castiel continues to keep his hands to himself, which is actually sort of distressing - more so than having fingers suddenly lying against the inside of his thigh - and Sam shakes himself. He needs to relax.
"No, it's fine," Sam says, but Castiel doesn't move toward him. "I'm alright, Cas. You can - you can touch me."
When Castiel's hand finally moves toward him again, the fingers are splayed slightly and it moves slowly, as if Castiel wishes to broadcast his motions on the chance that approaching too abruptly might make Sam change his mind. But Sam isn't a horse, he's not some frightened animal, and Castiel said once that he was grateful that Sam was never afraid to be open with him. So he touches Castiel's hand long before it actually lands on his leg, covers it with his own from wrist to fingertips, and presses it firmly against his jeans. It feels bizarrely as if he's guiding Castiel through it, like he's showing Cas how to touch him as if they were something more than friends, and that makes him feel both uncomfortable and guiltily good.
"I didn't realize that there were stages of acceptable touching with humans," says Castiel.
Sam feels Castiel's fingers stretch out under his palm before he - very deliberately - squeezes. He stretches his leg as much as he can without pressing on the accelerator and leans back into his seat with deep, steadying breath. He leaves Castiel's hand where it is and grabs the wheel at ten and two, concentrating on the road and the light traffic and how it's getting kind of late and the exit for the hotel should be any mile now and not about how he can hear Castiel breathing harshly in the passenger seat. He absolutely doesn't react when Castiel's hand slips higher by a fraction of an inch and squeezes again - as if he's trying to pry Sam's thoughts right out of his skin, right out of his heart. As if his fingers aren't side by side with the evidence of everything Sam is thinking right now.
He tries his damnedest to control his thoughts. It's a thing he's always kind of done with Cas - making sure that his thoughts remain on topic and organized so that they can be better absorbed, and he isn't even sure if that makes a difference, to be honest, but it means steering clear of things like this that are instinctive and reactionary. It's never been like this though - under duress, maybe (he thinks slightly hysterically) and without much preparation. Because Castiel can't have originally intended to make Sam think about the last time he was touched like this (which frankly, it's been entirely too long), but there's no doubt in Sam's mind that he certainly means it now.
Despite how awkwardly vulnerable he feels, every press of Castiel's fingers - along with every hitched breath and rub of his thumb over Sam's leg - elicits a memory that's visceral and indistinct. There are no facts to be told here, no precision. Every thought is there and then gone again, chaotic in a haze of uncertain arousal. Sam feels as if he's been reduced, absolutely and suddenly, to his base instincts - to the rapid beat of his heart and the flush of his skin, to his breath and his nerves. He's jittery now, aching for touch, and Castiel obliges him with another squeeze around his thigh and Sam's fingers tighten around the steering wheel as he grits out, "Cas."
Castiel just hums, low like he would if Sam had his hands on him right now instead of just his thoughts. There's a wet sound, and Sam peeks at him out of the corner of his eye - just in time to see Castiel's pink tongue catch at the corner of his mouth. Then Castiel sighs, shuddering, and his fingers curl around the seam of Sam's pants so hard that he's sure he feels the bite of nails through the denim.
Sam clears his throat. It feels dry, like he's been gasping and hasn't realized it, and he chews on his lip for a second before saying: "Cas?"
In his periphery, Castiel blinks heavily and replies: "Concentrate on the road, Sam."
*
The rain doesn't let up at all in the time it takes them to get to the hotel, and when they arrive, the parking lot is crowded with others that have stopped to let the storm pass. Sam grabs their overnight duffel bag and then Castiel's hand so that they can run through the rain together. When they get to the lobby, they're both drenched and shivering as they shake off the excess water, and when Sam turns to look at him - hair dripping and limp and dark like a thoroughly wet pup - a laugh burbles out of Castiel suddenly.
Sam stops just to look at him - at the way his face lights up and the way his mouth spreads open and his eyes wrinkle at the corners. Castiel is unabashed about his own delight, doesn't try to hide it or smother it back into silence. He laughs as if only Sam can hear him and squeezes Sam's hand as if he'd like to share the feeling - and in that moment, Sam wants nothing more than to kiss him, to feel that happiness against his lips.
Castiel's laughter quiets without dimming, and he sways toward Sam, still smiling and head cocked to the side - expectant.
"The room," Sam blurts, all nerves as he pushes his wet hair back from his face. "I'll just - I'll get our room and then-"
Then what? Sam doesn't even entertain specific plans in his thoughts, but the want simmers under his skin regardless and plain as day to Castiel. Checking into the hotel is practically a blur. He knows everything that he does - giving over his credit card and getting the room keys and making small talk with the clerk - but his thoughts are on Castiel. Sam keeps glancing back at him over his shoulder, finding him in the thin crowd and holding on to their luggage.
He looks small and still among all those people, hair all spiked up from where he's rubbed away the rain and his coat hanging heavy and damp around his shoulders. Once, it might have seemed like an unnatural peace that threw the truth of Castiel's alienness into sharp relief, but now Sam sees the things that make Castiel seem more human - the shift of his feet to keep comfortable as he waits, the fidget of his fingers around the duffel bag's handle, the way that his eyes follow everyone that passes him and still return to Sam. It makes him nervous to be watched like that, like Castiel is picking him apart and examining him from across the room, and it's no help to remember that they've been each other's company for months now and that Castiel's probably learned body language well enough that he can read Sam just as well at a distance as he can when they're touching.
Sam's earlier want had been unfocused. For all that it was Castiel's hand crawling up his thigh with a purpose, it hadn't mattered that it was Castiel at all, but now-
God, he just can't stop thinking about how he only ever gets one bed because he's the only one that still sleeps between them and how it felt to have Castiel touching him on the drive here and how he didn't run from Sam's thoughts even when they became more personal and how he can still feel the shiver in his nerves from the scrape of Castiel's nails and how he may not have said so explicitly - may not have even thought so - but there had been a promise in his words.
They hold hands again on the way to the hotel room - with Sam carrying the duffel bag over one shoulder and Castiel sliding so close that they bump up against each other with every other step - and Sam fights down the rising sense of anticipation and fear tightening around his throat. Castiel covers Sam's hand with both of his and squeezes - which just serves as a reminder, really - and then rubs over Sam's wrist soothingly.
"Don't be afraid," he says. "I'm the one exploring the unknown, not you."
Yet when they're in their room and the door is shut behind them, it's Castiel who has to make Sam set their luggage aside, and it's Castiel who steps close and tucks his cold hands into the crooks of Sam's elbows as he rises onto his toes. And while the world around them roars with the storm, it's Sam who trembles, afraid and uncertain, as their lips press together in a way that is not quite matching, not quite what Sam had envisioned. It's a kiss without heat, without passion, without either of them fighting for it through their rain-soaked chill. Castiel does not push for more than that gentle touch though, and Sam feels him exhale - softly frustrated - before he begins to ease away.
The imperfection of the moment loosens the tension around Sam's chest. It twines out of Sam in a gossamer thread of longing, and Castiel has barely put his feet back under him before Sam is bending toward him, cupping his face and tilting him up for a kiss as it should have been - as it is now that Sam is showing him, teaching him, pouring into Castiel's mouth all the affection and still-blossoming desire that's been hoarded away inside him for god knows how long, if maybe it's just been these last few weeks or this whole time, from the moment he saw Castiel following Michael out of a backdrop of blue light.
It's all revealed now and there's no taking it back, and it's as if a dam has broken, letting everything spill out and rush forward. Castiel makes a noise against Sam's mouth - sharp, shocked. Then one of his hands is at Sam's shoulders, slipping easily over the back of his neck, and an instinctive burst of adrenaline spikes through Sam's gut, reminding him of how easily Castiel had taken him down months ago and how easily Castiel could do the same now. It makes Sam kiss harder - makes him scoop Castiel closer as heat and desire hum dizzyingly through his whole body - and gone is the crisp chill from before. In its place is heat and heat and more heat, and when Sam gasps and digs his fingers into the high arches of Castiel's hips, Castiel knots his fingers in his wet hair and makes no indication that he intends to let go any time soon.
It feels - It's different. Sam, he- He knows he's being read. He knows that every flickering observation he notes is being picked up - whether it's the dryness of Castiel's lips or the sweaty heat of his palms or the wet sounds of their mouths meeting and parting and meeting again, whether it's the hot rush of blood in his throat or the very primal urge to duck under Castiel's jaw and taste and bite and suck the lingering rain right off his skin or the slightly darker wants that he so rarely entertains-
Fuck, Sam doesn't care that Castiel can see it all. He wants Cas to see. He wants him to know. He wants Castiel to delve inside him and take - just take it, take everything.
Castiel shivers and his nails scratch encouragingly against Sam's scalp. He pulls. He gasps. He whimpers Sam's name for no other reason, it seems, than to indicate that he wants the same things, and it is the most human and most wonderful sound Sam has ever heard.
Then Sam's phone rings so shrilly that they both jerk away from each other.
"Sorry," Sam murmurs, fumbling through his pockets and then checking the caller ID before he answers. "Hey, Dean," he says and reaches for Castiel's hand.
Dean's just calling to check up on him because of the weather and knowing that Sam and Castiel are supposed to be out in this direction - wants to make sure they're okay. It's sweet. Sam appreciates it and tells Dean so as he watches Castiel lean against the nearest wall. Sam follows - can't not follow even with his brother's voice in his ear - and kisses his brow, his cheek, his mouth again between reassurances that yes, Dean, they got to the hotel safely and they've checked in for the night and they'll be back by tomorrow afternoon.
Castiel turns into every touch like he's seeking it out and it's adorable, honestly - all sleepy eyed and soft, as if he hadn't been clawing at Sam three minutes ago. Already reminiscing about long moments lost to passion, Sam thumbs at the swell of Castiel's lower lip and follows it with his mouth, nosing close and then withdrawing to make his goodbyes to Dean and guides his phone next to the television across the room.
"Is this how it always is?" Castiel asks when Sam turns back to him. He comes willingly, too, when Sam opens his arms for an embrace. He breathes deep and seems to sink closer on the exhale - snuggling in, soaking up the comfort.
Sam hums, and though his hair is dripping cold against the back of his neck, he feels warm where it counts. "Is this how what is?"
"Passion. Affection. And what was it you thought... ah, more than friends," Castiel says. He lifts one of Sam's hands from his waist and splays out the fingers against his own. "Connecting more deeply with others. Is it always done in this manner? So physically - without thought or logic and full of just feeling and emotion?"
Sighing as he thinks, Sam speaks, though he knows that Castiel will find the details in his thoughts anyway. "No," is his answer. "Becoming more than friends isn't always like this. It depends on the people involved and their preferences."
"Hmm, varied sexualities." Castiel laces his fingers with Sam's. "That does make it more complicated - more individual. Should we have spoken beforehand?" Sam shrugs, but then wiggles their joined hands. Castiel huffs a laugh. "Point taken."
So with that, Castiel nuzzles up under Sam's chin and lets go of his hand so that he can turn Sam toward him, and they kiss like that - differently from the first time and softer than the second, but just as wonderful and somehow, romantic enough to make Sam's heart flutter. Castiel's knuckles smooth against his jaw as they part, and his lashes dip low as he licks his lips. Sam imagines that he's tasting something - not just the salt of skin but also Sam's thoughts, his emotions - and suddenly he wants to kiss Cas again and again and again, forever perhaps or as long as he can.
Castiel leans in again for a peck, humming happily, and says, "You should sleep. It's a long drive back."
*
Sam wakes up late and Castiel is gone.
His first thought is panic and then wonder and he looks around him sleepily, thinking that perhaps the nearly-silent fear that last night was the clincher - that Sam would open his eyes to an empty room and an empty life and an Angel that left him behind as easily as he'd arrived. But then there's a soft noise from the bathroom and a knock at the hotel door all at the same time, and Sam has only managed to sit up before Castiel swings out to open the door for - of all things - room service.
"What's this?" Sam asks.
"Breakfast in bed," Castiel says, and he lifts the tray from the cart and gingerly sets it across Sam's lap before climbing onto the opposite side.
Sam lifts the cover off of one plate and finds an omelette, still steaming and filled with vegetables, and then lifts the cover off the other and finds a bowl of cut fruit and thick cream. "I don't remember you learning about this, Cas."
"You were asleep," says Cas as he picks a piece of orange out of the bowl with a fork and dips it in the cream. "The television here plays movies."
Nodding, Sam starts in on the omelette. "I thought we talked about how movies aren't always accurate portrayals of human life."
Castiel smiles. "We did, but that doesn't mean that they must be wholly inaccurate."
Sam doesn't have to search through his memories of the half dozen morning-afters that he's had to know that this one is the easiest. He doesn't feel the need to explain anything and when he feels the urge to kiss Castiel again, he doesn't have to say it. Cas just slips close, warm and sweet and tasting of cream and fruit, and does so. There's no pressure. There's no second guessing. Castiel understands everything.
So he's basically worry-free from that point on - through the drive home on still-slick roads that takes them by a completely different route and through the next few days even, when Castiel starts greeting him with a kiss first before reaching for Sam's hand. He tries not to let the way Cas kisses get to his head, even when each kiss is lingering and delightful - especially when he starts to think that Castiel might actually like kissing an awful lot and not just because it's an openly intimate way to slip into his mind.
Though Castiel never says one way or the other if he's right, Sam is sure that he wouldn't keep kissing if Sam was wrong because Cas doesn't have that human need to please others - doesn't have that sense for peer pressure. He's only got curiosity and the drive to satisfy it. So Sam goes on not worrying and goes on with their life-plus-kissing-which-is-awesome and he goes back to his own apartment to sleep.
Sam's pretty sure that Castiel still wanders at night while Sam's gone. Pretty sure anyway, though he wonders if Castiel bothers now that the immediate cityscape has been thoroughly explored or if he figures that, since he's seen it all once, there's no reason to go through a second or third time. Cas probably bothers, whether he thinks it's worth it or not. He's a kind of scientist at heart - exploratory, of course, but considering the task of understanding the human condition, Cas would probably try to meet as many humans as he could, touching each of them and seeing what similarities and differences lay between them all.
He's in the middle of this train of thought while he's locking up his apartment before heading over to Cas' place. It's only a few doors down. Sam just has to skip a bit down the hall - which he has totally, never ever, done by the way - and so he's in prime position to notice when Castiel's door opens and someone comes out. A girl someone that is not Castiel. A girl someone with her hair twisted up in a clip and a shirt that's knotted under her breasts and a short skirt that leads straight into goddamn fishnet stockings and heels that could kill a person.
She couldn't-
Sam shakes his head.
No way, she couldn't possibly be - and yet, he sees how shabby her clothes are, like they're washed and worn frequently. There's tears on the outsides of her stockings and the shoes have scuff marks all around the sole and her nail polish and lipstick - which Sam only notices because she cups Castiel's face and kisses him deeply - are cherry candy red. When she pulls back from Cas, she's got his lower lip between her teeth, and she says her goodbye with a strong hint of suggestiveness and Jesus Christ, she's caught him staring, but doesn't seem to mind.
She smiles at Sam too. Says: "Mornin', sugar," and sweeps past him with a rich and attractive laugh and a pinch to his ass that makes him drop his keys, and he stammers out, "M-morning," like he totally hasn't just seen a hooker walk out of Castiel's apartment and like he totally isn't continuing to watch her as she swaggers happily toward the stairs.
Castiel is leaning on the door frame when Sam finally gets the presence of mind to whirl around and get a good look at him, and Sam is walking toward him before he remembers to call his keys from the ground. They hit his palm with a ringing slap that hurts and he snaps out, "What the hell was that?" even as Castiel's reaching to kiss him as if it were any other morning - as if he hasn't just finished probably spending the whole night touching someone else, kissing someone else, doing things that Sam hasn't dared hope for yet.
When Castiel kisses him, he smells like cherries and his lips are slickly wet from the woman's lip gloss and Sam can't help the sharp dislike that snarls out of his gut. And he knows - he knows that he probably doesn't have a right to complain or make demands. Castiel never made any promises, and it's not they've ever talked about how relationships work at this level, let alone how it might work for them, and Sam's just now realizing that might've been a mistake, considering the way he's pulling away from Castiel's plying fingers instead of giving into them like he normally would be.
"I've upset you," Castiel says and he's straining toward Sam, covering the hand Sam's braced against his chest with his own and feeling his way through the emotion that Sam's never had to display before. "You feel betrayed. Because of the woman."
Sam doesn't bother explaining his feelings. Castiel will read them more truly than his words could ever convey, and God help him, Sam is vibrating with an impotent kind of emotion - wanting to be angry but feeling as if it's unjustified. So, he says, "Who was she?" like he doesn't know, and also: "Why did you-?" though he can't finish that question quite.
"Her name is Yasmine and she solicits individuals for sex," Castiel answers - doesn't seem to care that he's saying these things out in the open, but Sam is suddenly massively aware of it, made uncomfortable by it - and Castiel carefully pulls him into the apartment, closes the door behind them and locks it just as Sam taught him that first day. "As for why, I was curious, and you did not seem to be interested in progressing beyond kissing."
"So you just-" Sam slumps against the bar that partitions the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, out of Castiel's reach, and absolutely does not look toward the very open door to Castiel's bedroom or the rumpled sheets. Instead he points in the general direction that Yasmine had left in. "You picked up a woman off the street and walked her back here and just-"
God, he can't even say it, so he skips right over it.
"-all night?"
And maybe his voice gets a little tight around the last two words, but he's feeling a little hysterical because Castiel keeps trying to touch him and he doesn't want Castiel to know that he can feel this dark, ugly thing. This jealousy that is thousands of times worse than the casual rivalry he felt toward anyone that Castiel touched who wasn't Sam.
"Yes," Castiel tells him, brows furrowed tightly as Sam evades him. "Sam, I don't understand-"
Sam puts the sofa between him and Castiel, waving a dismissive hand. "No, I mean. It's fine. You have a right to do whatever you like, Cas," he says, but he doesn't mean it honestly - he doesn't want Cas to go off and do whatever, when whatever seems to include women named Yasmine.
Castiel frowns and says, "Clearly not," as his eyes dip toward the furniture that separates them and then he reaches out again, not to Sam this time, but to the corner of the sofa. He grabs it and pulls and the sofa moves - more than a couple inches, more than a foot, moves all the way across the room so that Castiel can stride straight toward Sam and touch him. "Oh." Castiel sighs, eyes closing.
"Don't," Sam whispers, trying to squirm free of Castiel's grasp, but he can't - he's pinned again, back to the wall with Castiel's hand splayed across his chest.
"I must or I will not understand," Castiel says.
It's the frank, open way of speaking that Sam hasn't heard in months - the way Castiel spoke back in the earliest days when he was the most alien, the most Angelic. Somehow, Sam had forgotten he'd ever spoken like that. Castiel's thumb rubs at him through his shirt, and his face is tucked in and focused as he digs through the maelstrom of Sam's thoughts and Sam feels something akin to shame crawl through his skin.
Castiel whispers, "Don't be afraid," in a tone that is gentle, soothing. "Fear is what closes us off from experiences. Whatever you're trying to hide from me, do not think that I will judge you for it or turn you away. I'm here to learn and you are here to teach insofar as you are willing."
"I can't," Sam confesses. It's so hard to get rid of feelings once they've been felt - so difficult to accept that they're even there, more so when they're things like anger and jealousy.
And Castiel nods and slips one hand behind Sam's neck, lays his palm heavy and flat against the nape. "Just breathe," he instructs, "and that will make it easier for you to let me in."
So Sam breathes and he closes his eyes and he feels his knees buckle and together, he and Cas slide to to the floor and Castiel makes a sound like he's relieved about something that's been worrying him but Sam can't focus, can't think of anything now that might've worried him because even the jealousy, even the anger and guilt and sadness that's been clouding his mind seems distant and beyond Sam's concern and that's okay, that's good, that's-
"Speak," Castiel commands.
"I just-" Sam swallows. He knows that without Castiel's hand on the back of his neck, he wouldn't even know how to say this so plainly, but it's like his emotions have just swept up to the front of his mind in text that's easy for him to give voice, as if every desire to hide away has been removed. "I wanted it to be us. I wanted it to be special."
Castiel hums. "And you feel as if Yasmine's presence has disrupted that." His fingers squeeze slightly under Sam's skull. "Tell me what you mean by special."
"Special like good," Sam says, waving his hands a bit as he searches for words.
"Yasmine was good," Castiel tells him, but Sam shakes his head.
There aren't words, really, that can be used to accurately convey the full feeling of what it's like to experience something physical like sex with someone you have an emotional connection with - how it's more than just the feel and smell and taste or the shake of your limbs or that trembling climb to completion, how it's also about how all those things have meaning or memory. Because sex is good all on its own, true, but sex with someone you love and care for - which wow, Sam is just now realizing that might actually be a real possibility here - can be transcendent.
And when Sam reaches that word in his mind - gets the glow in his chest that comes from intimate knowledge of what that feeling is exactly like - Castiel sucks in an audible breath and lets Sam go. For a long moment, Sam stays where Castiel leaves him, resigned to whatever decision gets made now and also relieved that everything he's thought and felt and wanted to deny is out there in the open.
"I didn't realize," Castiel says.
Sam pushes himself up, gets his legs out from under him so that he can rest against the wall and look up at Castiel's softening expression. He scoffs, not wanting to be pitied. "It's stupid, so don't - don't worry about it. You didn't have to realize."
Castiel covers Sam's hand and pets it, almost. "But I do. It's the reason I'm here - to understand wholly what it means to be human, and that includes all the good things and the bad things, the physical and the emotional. Everything. To leave anything out would be a disservice, especially when you've given such a valuable lesson today."
Squinting at Castiel doubtfully, Sam shrugs. "Not really following here."
"Strong emotional attachment and physical intimacy," Castiel explains. "For Angels, we do not require one to achieve the other. You are already aware of how easily that we touch - with much greater ease than humans. But love and sex and connection, these things are for humans as communion is for Angels. When we gather for worship. Like sex, it can be an act done alone, but it is better when we are together - when we have turned our minds toward a single purpose. It's..."
He pauses thoughtfully, then sighs.
"It's more?" Sam suggests.
"More, yes," agrees Castiel, smiling with the simple pleasure of being understood. "More in every way. But my taking communion with one set of Angels does not lessen the meaning of the communion I might take with others. Just as my being with Yasmine would not lessen the meaning of any physical intimacy I might have with you or anyone else I so choose."
"And if I didn't want you to be intimate with anyone else?" Sam asks.
Castiel is quiet again as he thinks. "From the beginning, I have shared everything that I am with all of my brothers and sisters. If you want me to be with you at the exclusion of all else, it might be best if we don't progress any further than we have already. However, you should know that, were we to enter a physical relationship, every time I am with you, I will be with you. You cannot read my thoughts, but in those moments, I would only be thinking of you."
"Okay," says Sam, thinking of how he trusted Castiel early on - how the Angel might talk with and touch others, but would always circle back to Sam eventually. It was easier then, but it could be that simple still if Sam would just let it. "Okay, I think I can do that."
Smiling, Castiel leans in. "Can you?"
Sam nods - perhaps a bit frantically. "Yeah. Yeah, I can-"
Castiel kisses him then, and Sam is quick to hold fast to him, to openly feel the unfettered joy of getting everything that Castiel has to offer and giving all of himself in return. Even this is more than the kisses they had exchanged the first time or have exchanged since, and knowing that - feeling that - makes Sam shake so hard that when they part, his breath comes out with a tremble.
"I can do that."
*
Epilogue:
"Is it appropriate for me to say, 'happy anniversary'?" Sam asks. "It's been a year since you got here. Would you say you've made progress on the human condition?"
On the computer, Castiel has the weather report up for the next week in a city in the neighboring state. He's standing by his suitcase, with different sets of clothes in each hand, and he ends up shoving both sets into the suitcase before he decides to answer Sam's question with a shrug.
"Your species is young and chaotic," he says. "My hypothesis this week may not be true next week. Your kind will not settle into a common purpose for many generations, I think. Often I think that I will never be able to understand what it means to be human."
Sam leans in the doorway, watching him. "You okay with that?"
Castiel zips up his suitcase and looks up at Sam with a smile. "That is the point, isn't it? The not knowing and the wonder. Beneath your belief structures and your hypotheses, the unknown remains the common denominator."
Ducking his head, Sam smiles to himself but nonetheless reaches out to hook his index finger around Castiel's pinkie. "So you're staying then? For a while?" he asks and does not bother trying to tamp down his hopes for a positive reply.
"Yes, Sam," Castiel says. "I'm staying."
They hit one week and then one month and then two and three months without Sam noticing. They start travelling systematically farther out of town - farther than the public transportation would take them and sometimes far enough that they have to take a night at a motel so that Sam can sleep. Anyway, they start having to take Sam's car instead of walking, a fact for which Sam is extremely thankful. His legs may be fantastic now but there's no way he's gonna foot it ten miles just to reach his destination, no matter how nice it is to hold Cas' hand the whole way, and that means being trapped together for increasingly long periods of time - alone, with no distractions and no other people to talk to.
It's the kind of thing that tests relationships - not that having Castiel day in and day out isn't already a test as it is because he's only human and he doesn't have that thing that Castiel does, where being inside the mind of others and having them inside yours is natural and easy and expected. Even the most sociable of humans needs space now and then, which is why Sam's never thought of stopping Castiel from wandering to other people.
Point being that they're all the entertainment the other has now, seeing as Castiel's touched the car half a bazillion times already and the radio can only do so much before they have to start talking, and talking's great - talking is awesome and Sam is always on board for that, but Cas likes to hold hands while they talk because then he doesn't have to worry about missing any of the nuances and Sam doesn't have to worry about whether a slang word will be misunderstood, and well... Sam kind of needs both of those hands to drive even when he's not doing ten and two. Usually, Castiel's solution to this is easy because there's always the footsie thing that he does when hands aren't available, but now both of their feet are segregated into their own little footwells, which effectively rules out that option.
Castiel's solution to that is so simple that Sam really should've seen that coming. But no. One second, Sam's edging closer to the windshield because the rain has reduced his visibility to shit, and he unlaces his fingers from Castiel's to flick the wipers on to a higher setting. The next second, Castiel's fingers are pressing into his inseam, and Sam nearly veers off the road in shock.
"Sorry," Castiel says, having pulled his hand back into his lap. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Sam takes a moment to compose himself. The rain continues pounding and the air condenses under the windshield and the wipers squeak and thump, trying to clear the water away well enough for Sam to see the car in front of him, and the radio hisses on the AM emergency station, silent for now and poignantly so, and Castiel continues to keep his hands to himself, which is actually sort of distressing - more so than having fingers suddenly lying against the inside of his thigh - and Sam shakes himself. He needs to relax.
"No, it's fine," Sam says, but Castiel doesn't move toward him. "I'm alright, Cas. You can - you can touch me."
When Castiel's hand finally moves toward him again, the fingers are splayed slightly and it moves slowly, as if Castiel wishes to broadcast his motions on the chance that approaching too abruptly might make Sam change his mind. But Sam isn't a horse, he's not some frightened animal, and Castiel said once that he was grateful that Sam was never afraid to be open with him. So he touches Castiel's hand long before it actually lands on his leg, covers it with his own from wrist to fingertips, and presses it firmly against his jeans. It feels bizarrely as if he's guiding Castiel through it, like he's showing Cas how to touch him as if they were something more than friends, and that makes him feel both uncomfortable and guiltily good.
"I didn't realize that there were stages of acceptable touching with humans," says Castiel.
Sam feels Castiel's fingers stretch out under his palm before he - very deliberately - squeezes. He stretches his leg as much as he can without pressing on the accelerator and leans back into his seat with deep, steadying breath. He leaves Castiel's hand where it is and grabs the wheel at ten and two, concentrating on the road and the light traffic and how it's getting kind of late and the exit for the hotel should be any mile now and not about how he can hear Castiel breathing harshly in the passenger seat. He absolutely doesn't react when Castiel's hand slips higher by a fraction of an inch and squeezes again - as if he's trying to pry Sam's thoughts right out of his skin, right out of his heart. As if his fingers aren't side by side with the evidence of everything Sam is thinking right now.
He tries his damnedest to control his thoughts. It's a thing he's always kind of done with Cas - making sure that his thoughts remain on topic and organized so that they can be better absorbed, and he isn't even sure if that makes a difference, to be honest, but it means steering clear of things like this that are instinctive and reactionary. It's never been like this though - under duress, maybe (he thinks slightly hysterically) and without much preparation. Because Castiel can't have originally intended to make Sam think about the last time he was touched like this (which frankly, it's been entirely too long), but there's no doubt in Sam's mind that he certainly means it now.
Despite how awkwardly vulnerable he feels, every press of Castiel's fingers - along with every hitched breath and rub of his thumb over Sam's leg - elicits a memory that's visceral and indistinct. There are no facts to be told here, no precision. Every thought is there and then gone again, chaotic in a haze of uncertain arousal. Sam feels as if he's been reduced, absolutely and suddenly, to his base instincts - to the rapid beat of his heart and the flush of his skin, to his breath and his nerves. He's jittery now, aching for touch, and Castiel obliges him with another squeeze around his thigh and Sam's fingers tighten around the steering wheel as he grits out, "Cas."
Castiel just hums, low like he would if Sam had his hands on him right now instead of just his thoughts. There's a wet sound, and Sam peeks at him out of the corner of his eye - just in time to see Castiel's pink tongue catch at the corner of his mouth. Then Castiel sighs, shuddering, and his fingers curl around the seam of Sam's pants so hard that he's sure he feels the bite of nails through the denim.
Sam clears his throat. It feels dry, like he's been gasping and hasn't realized it, and he chews on his lip for a second before saying: "Cas?"
In his periphery, Castiel blinks heavily and replies: "Concentrate on the road, Sam."
*
The rain doesn't let up at all in the time it takes them to get to the hotel, and when they arrive, the parking lot is crowded with others that have stopped to let the storm pass. Sam grabs their overnight duffel bag and then Castiel's hand so that they can run through the rain together. When they get to the lobby, they're both drenched and shivering as they shake off the excess water, and when Sam turns to look at him - hair dripping and limp and dark like a thoroughly wet pup - a laugh burbles out of Castiel suddenly.
Sam stops just to look at him - at the way his face lights up and the way his mouth spreads open and his eyes wrinkle at the corners. Castiel is unabashed about his own delight, doesn't try to hide it or smother it back into silence. He laughs as if only Sam can hear him and squeezes Sam's hand as if he'd like to share the feeling - and in that moment, Sam wants nothing more than to kiss him, to feel that happiness against his lips.
Castiel's laughter quiets without dimming, and he sways toward Sam, still smiling and head cocked to the side - expectant.
"The room," Sam blurts, all nerves as he pushes his wet hair back from his face. "I'll just - I'll get our room and then-"
Then what? Sam doesn't even entertain specific plans in his thoughts, but the want simmers under his skin regardless and plain as day to Castiel. Checking into the hotel is practically a blur. He knows everything that he does - giving over his credit card and getting the room keys and making small talk with the clerk - but his thoughts are on Castiel. Sam keeps glancing back at him over his shoulder, finding him in the thin crowd and holding on to their luggage.
He looks small and still among all those people, hair all spiked up from where he's rubbed away the rain and his coat hanging heavy and damp around his shoulders. Once, it might have seemed like an unnatural peace that threw the truth of Castiel's alienness into sharp relief, but now Sam sees the things that make Castiel seem more human - the shift of his feet to keep comfortable as he waits, the fidget of his fingers around the duffel bag's handle, the way that his eyes follow everyone that passes him and still return to Sam. It makes him nervous to be watched like that, like Castiel is picking him apart and examining him from across the room, and it's no help to remember that they've been each other's company for months now and that Castiel's probably learned body language well enough that he can read Sam just as well at a distance as he can when they're touching.
Sam's earlier want had been unfocused. For all that it was Castiel's hand crawling up his thigh with a purpose, it hadn't mattered that it was Castiel at all, but now-
God, he just can't stop thinking about how he only ever gets one bed because he's the only one that still sleeps between them and how it felt to have Castiel touching him on the drive here and how he didn't run from Sam's thoughts even when they became more personal and how he can still feel the shiver in his nerves from the scrape of Castiel's nails and how he may not have said so explicitly - may not have even thought so - but there had been a promise in his words.
They hold hands again on the way to the hotel room - with Sam carrying the duffel bag over one shoulder and Castiel sliding so close that they bump up against each other with every other step - and Sam fights down the rising sense of anticipation and fear tightening around his throat. Castiel covers Sam's hand with both of his and squeezes - which just serves as a reminder, really - and then rubs over Sam's wrist soothingly.
"Don't be afraid," he says. "I'm the one exploring the unknown, not you."
Yet when they're in their room and the door is shut behind them, it's Castiel who has to make Sam set their luggage aside, and it's Castiel who steps close and tucks his cold hands into the crooks of Sam's elbows as he rises onto his toes. And while the world around them roars with the storm, it's Sam who trembles, afraid and uncertain, as their lips press together in a way that is not quite matching, not quite what Sam had envisioned. It's a kiss without heat, without passion, without either of them fighting for it through their rain-soaked chill. Castiel does not push for more than that gentle touch though, and Sam feels him exhale - softly frustrated - before he begins to ease away.
The imperfection of the moment loosens the tension around Sam's chest. It twines out of Sam in a gossamer thread of longing, and Castiel has barely put his feet back under him before Sam is bending toward him, cupping his face and tilting him up for a kiss as it should have been - as it is now that Sam is showing him, teaching him, pouring into Castiel's mouth all the affection and still-blossoming desire that's been hoarded away inside him for god knows how long, if maybe it's just been these last few weeks or this whole time, from the moment he saw Castiel following Michael out of a backdrop of blue light.
It's all revealed now and there's no taking it back, and it's as if a dam has broken, letting everything spill out and rush forward. Castiel makes a noise against Sam's mouth - sharp, shocked. Then one of his hands is at Sam's shoulders, slipping easily over the back of his neck, and an instinctive burst of adrenaline spikes through Sam's gut, reminding him of how easily Castiel had taken him down months ago and how easily Castiel could do the same now. It makes Sam kiss harder - makes him scoop Castiel closer as heat and desire hum dizzyingly through his whole body - and gone is the crisp chill from before. In its place is heat and heat and more heat, and when Sam gasps and digs his fingers into the high arches of Castiel's hips, Castiel knots his fingers in his wet hair and makes no indication that he intends to let go any time soon.
It feels - It's different. Sam, he- He knows he's being read. He knows that every flickering observation he notes is being picked up - whether it's the dryness of Castiel's lips or the sweaty heat of his palms or the wet sounds of their mouths meeting and parting and meeting again, whether it's the hot rush of blood in his throat or the very primal urge to duck under Castiel's jaw and taste and bite and suck the lingering rain right off his skin or the slightly darker wants that he so rarely entertains-
Fuck, Sam doesn't care that Castiel can see it all. He wants Cas to see. He wants him to know. He wants Castiel to delve inside him and take - just take it, take everything.
Castiel shivers and his nails scratch encouragingly against Sam's scalp. He pulls. He gasps. He whimpers Sam's name for no other reason, it seems, than to indicate that he wants the same things, and it is the most human and most wonderful sound Sam has ever heard.
Then Sam's phone rings so shrilly that they both jerk away from each other.
"Sorry," Sam murmurs, fumbling through his pockets and then checking the caller ID before he answers. "Hey, Dean," he says and reaches for Castiel's hand.
Dean's just calling to check up on him because of the weather and knowing that Sam and Castiel are supposed to be out in this direction - wants to make sure they're okay. It's sweet. Sam appreciates it and tells Dean so as he watches Castiel lean against the nearest wall. Sam follows - can't not follow even with his brother's voice in his ear - and kisses his brow, his cheek, his mouth again between reassurances that yes, Dean, they got to the hotel safely and they've checked in for the night and they'll be back by tomorrow afternoon.
Castiel turns into every touch like he's seeking it out and it's adorable, honestly - all sleepy eyed and soft, as if he hadn't been clawing at Sam three minutes ago. Already reminiscing about long moments lost to passion, Sam thumbs at the swell of Castiel's lower lip and follows it with his mouth, nosing close and then withdrawing to make his goodbyes to Dean and guides his phone next to the television across the room.
"Is this how it always is?" Castiel asks when Sam turns back to him. He comes willingly, too, when Sam opens his arms for an embrace. He breathes deep and seems to sink closer on the exhale - snuggling in, soaking up the comfort.
Sam hums, and though his hair is dripping cold against the back of his neck, he feels warm where it counts. "Is this how what is?"
"Passion. Affection. And what was it you thought... ah, more than friends," Castiel says. He lifts one of Sam's hands from his waist and splays out the fingers against his own. "Connecting more deeply with others. Is it always done in this manner? So physically - without thought or logic and full of just feeling and emotion?"
Sighing as he thinks, Sam speaks, though he knows that Castiel will find the details in his thoughts anyway. "No," is his answer. "Becoming more than friends isn't always like this. It depends on the people involved and their preferences."
"Hmm, varied sexualities." Castiel laces his fingers with Sam's. "That does make it more complicated - more individual. Should we have spoken beforehand?" Sam shrugs, but then wiggles their joined hands. Castiel huffs a laugh. "Point taken."
So with that, Castiel nuzzles up under Sam's chin and lets go of his hand so that he can turn Sam toward him, and they kiss like that - differently from the first time and softer than the second, but just as wonderful and somehow, romantic enough to make Sam's heart flutter. Castiel's knuckles smooth against his jaw as they part, and his lashes dip low as he licks his lips. Sam imagines that he's tasting something - not just the salt of skin but also Sam's thoughts, his emotions - and suddenly he wants to kiss Cas again and again and again, forever perhaps or as long as he can.
Castiel leans in again for a peck, humming happily, and says, "You should sleep. It's a long drive back."
*
Sam wakes up late and Castiel is gone.
His first thought is panic and then wonder and he looks around him sleepily, thinking that perhaps the nearly-silent fear that last night was the clincher - that Sam would open his eyes to an empty room and an empty life and an Angel that left him behind as easily as he'd arrived. But then there's a soft noise from the bathroom and a knock at the hotel door all at the same time, and Sam has only managed to sit up before Castiel swings out to open the door for - of all things - room service.
"What's this?" Sam asks.
"Breakfast in bed," Castiel says, and he lifts the tray from the cart and gingerly sets it across Sam's lap before climbing onto the opposite side.
Sam lifts the cover off of one plate and finds an omelette, still steaming and filled with vegetables, and then lifts the cover off the other and finds a bowl of cut fruit and thick cream. "I don't remember you learning about this, Cas."
"You were asleep," says Cas as he picks a piece of orange out of the bowl with a fork and dips it in the cream. "The television here plays movies."
Nodding, Sam starts in on the omelette. "I thought we talked about how movies aren't always accurate portrayals of human life."
Castiel smiles. "We did, but that doesn't mean that they must be wholly inaccurate."
Sam doesn't have to search through his memories of the half dozen morning-afters that he's had to know that this one is the easiest. He doesn't feel the need to explain anything and when he feels the urge to kiss Castiel again, he doesn't have to say it. Cas just slips close, warm and sweet and tasting of cream and fruit, and does so. There's no pressure. There's no second guessing. Castiel understands everything.
So he's basically worry-free from that point on - through the drive home on still-slick roads that takes them by a completely different route and through the next few days even, when Castiel starts greeting him with a kiss first before reaching for Sam's hand. He tries not to let the way Cas kisses get to his head, even when each kiss is lingering and delightful - especially when he starts to think that Castiel might actually like kissing an awful lot and not just because it's an openly intimate way to slip into his mind.
Though Castiel never says one way or the other if he's right, Sam is sure that he wouldn't keep kissing if Sam was wrong because Cas doesn't have that human need to please others - doesn't have that sense for peer pressure. He's only got curiosity and the drive to satisfy it. So Sam goes on not worrying and goes on with their life-plus-kissing-which-is-awesome and he goes back to his own apartment to sleep.
Sam's pretty sure that Castiel still wanders at night while Sam's gone. Pretty sure anyway, though he wonders if Castiel bothers now that the immediate cityscape has been thoroughly explored or if he figures that, since he's seen it all once, there's no reason to go through a second or third time. Cas probably bothers, whether he thinks it's worth it or not. He's a kind of scientist at heart - exploratory, of course, but considering the task of understanding the human condition, Cas would probably try to meet as many humans as he could, touching each of them and seeing what similarities and differences lay between them all.
He's in the middle of this train of thought while he's locking up his apartment before heading over to Cas' place. It's only a few doors down. Sam just has to skip a bit down the hall - which he has totally, never ever, done by the way - and so he's in prime position to notice when Castiel's door opens and someone comes out. A girl someone that is not Castiel. A girl someone with her hair twisted up in a clip and a shirt that's knotted under her breasts and a short skirt that leads straight into goddamn fishnet stockings and heels that could kill a person.
She couldn't-
Sam shakes his head.
No way, she couldn't possibly be - and yet, he sees how shabby her clothes are, like they're washed and worn frequently. There's tears on the outsides of her stockings and the shoes have scuff marks all around the sole and her nail polish and lipstick - which Sam only notices because she cups Castiel's face and kisses him deeply - are cherry candy red. When she pulls back from Cas, she's got his lower lip between her teeth, and she says her goodbye with a strong hint of suggestiveness and Jesus Christ, she's caught him staring, but doesn't seem to mind.
She smiles at Sam too. Says: "Mornin', sugar," and sweeps past him with a rich and attractive laugh and a pinch to his ass that makes him drop his keys, and he stammers out, "M-morning," like he totally hasn't just seen a hooker walk out of Castiel's apartment and like he totally isn't continuing to watch her as she swaggers happily toward the stairs.
Castiel is leaning on the door frame when Sam finally gets the presence of mind to whirl around and get a good look at him, and Sam is walking toward him before he remembers to call his keys from the ground. They hit his palm with a ringing slap that hurts and he snaps out, "What the hell was that?" even as Castiel's reaching to kiss him as if it were any other morning - as if he hasn't just finished probably spending the whole night touching someone else, kissing someone else, doing things that Sam hasn't dared hope for yet.
When Castiel kisses him, he smells like cherries and his lips are slickly wet from the woman's lip gloss and Sam can't help the sharp dislike that snarls out of his gut. And he knows - he knows that he probably doesn't have a right to complain or make demands. Castiel never made any promises, and it's not they've ever talked about how relationships work at this level, let alone how it might work for them, and Sam's just now realizing that might've been a mistake, considering the way he's pulling away from Castiel's plying fingers instead of giving into them like he normally would be.
"I've upset you," Castiel says and he's straining toward Sam, covering the hand Sam's braced against his chest with his own and feeling his way through the emotion that Sam's never had to display before. "You feel betrayed. Because of the woman."
Sam doesn't bother explaining his feelings. Castiel will read them more truly than his words could ever convey, and God help him, Sam is vibrating with an impotent kind of emotion - wanting to be angry but feeling as if it's unjustified. So, he says, "Who was she?" like he doesn't know, and also: "Why did you-?" though he can't finish that question quite.
"Her name is Yasmine and she solicits individuals for sex," Castiel answers - doesn't seem to care that he's saying these things out in the open, but Sam is suddenly massively aware of it, made uncomfortable by it - and Castiel carefully pulls him into the apartment, closes the door behind them and locks it just as Sam taught him that first day. "As for why, I was curious, and you did not seem to be interested in progressing beyond kissing."
"So you just-" Sam slumps against the bar that partitions the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, out of Castiel's reach, and absolutely does not look toward the very open door to Castiel's bedroom or the rumpled sheets. Instead he points in the general direction that Yasmine had left in. "You picked up a woman off the street and walked her back here and just-"
God, he can't even say it, so he skips right over it.
"-all night?"
And maybe his voice gets a little tight around the last two words, but he's feeling a little hysterical because Castiel keeps trying to touch him and he doesn't want Castiel to know that he can feel this dark, ugly thing. This jealousy that is thousands of times worse than the casual rivalry he felt toward anyone that Castiel touched who wasn't Sam.
"Yes," Castiel tells him, brows furrowed tightly as Sam evades him. "Sam, I don't understand-"
Sam puts the sofa between him and Castiel, waving a dismissive hand. "No, I mean. It's fine. You have a right to do whatever you like, Cas," he says, but he doesn't mean it honestly - he doesn't want Cas to go off and do whatever, when whatever seems to include women named Yasmine.
Castiel frowns and says, "Clearly not," as his eyes dip toward the furniture that separates them and then he reaches out again, not to Sam this time, but to the corner of the sofa. He grabs it and pulls and the sofa moves - more than a couple inches, more than a foot, moves all the way across the room so that Castiel can stride straight toward Sam and touch him. "Oh." Castiel sighs, eyes closing.
"Don't," Sam whispers, trying to squirm free of Castiel's grasp, but he can't - he's pinned again, back to the wall with Castiel's hand splayed across his chest.
"I must or I will not understand," Castiel says.
It's the frank, open way of speaking that Sam hasn't heard in months - the way Castiel spoke back in the earliest days when he was the most alien, the most Angelic. Somehow, Sam had forgotten he'd ever spoken like that. Castiel's thumb rubs at him through his shirt, and his face is tucked in and focused as he digs through the maelstrom of Sam's thoughts and Sam feels something akin to shame crawl through his skin.
Castiel whispers, "Don't be afraid," in a tone that is gentle, soothing. "Fear is what closes us off from experiences. Whatever you're trying to hide from me, do not think that I will judge you for it or turn you away. I'm here to learn and you are here to teach insofar as you are willing."
"I can't," Sam confesses. It's so hard to get rid of feelings once they've been felt - so difficult to accept that they're even there, more so when they're things like anger and jealousy.
And Castiel nods and slips one hand behind Sam's neck, lays his palm heavy and flat against the nape. "Just breathe," he instructs, "and that will make it easier for you to let me in."
So Sam breathes and he closes his eyes and he feels his knees buckle and together, he and Cas slide to to the floor and Castiel makes a sound like he's relieved about something that's been worrying him but Sam can't focus, can't think of anything now that might've worried him because even the jealousy, even the anger and guilt and sadness that's been clouding his mind seems distant and beyond Sam's concern and that's okay, that's good, that's-
"Speak," Castiel commands.
"I just-" Sam swallows. He knows that without Castiel's hand on the back of his neck, he wouldn't even know how to say this so plainly, but it's like his emotions have just swept up to the front of his mind in text that's easy for him to give voice, as if every desire to hide away has been removed. "I wanted it to be us. I wanted it to be special."
Castiel hums. "And you feel as if Yasmine's presence has disrupted that." His fingers squeeze slightly under Sam's skull. "Tell me what you mean by special."
"Special like good," Sam says, waving his hands a bit as he searches for words.
"Yasmine was good," Castiel tells him, but Sam shakes his head.
There aren't words, really, that can be used to accurately convey the full feeling of what it's like to experience something physical like sex with someone you have an emotional connection with - how it's more than just the feel and smell and taste or the shake of your limbs or that trembling climb to completion, how it's also about how all those things have meaning or memory. Because sex is good all on its own, true, but sex with someone you love and care for - which wow, Sam is just now realizing that might actually be a real possibility here - can be transcendent.
And when Sam reaches that word in his mind - gets the glow in his chest that comes from intimate knowledge of what that feeling is exactly like - Castiel sucks in an audible breath and lets Sam go. For a long moment, Sam stays where Castiel leaves him, resigned to whatever decision gets made now and also relieved that everything he's thought and felt and wanted to deny is out there in the open.
"I didn't realize," Castiel says.
Sam pushes himself up, gets his legs out from under him so that he can rest against the wall and look up at Castiel's softening expression. He scoffs, not wanting to be pitied. "It's stupid, so don't - don't worry about it. You didn't have to realize."
Castiel covers Sam's hand and pets it, almost. "But I do. It's the reason I'm here - to understand wholly what it means to be human, and that includes all the good things and the bad things, the physical and the emotional. Everything. To leave anything out would be a disservice, especially when you've given such a valuable lesson today."
Squinting at Castiel doubtfully, Sam shrugs. "Not really following here."
"Strong emotional attachment and physical intimacy," Castiel explains. "For Angels, we do not require one to achieve the other. You are already aware of how easily that we touch - with much greater ease than humans. But love and sex and connection, these things are for humans as communion is for Angels. When we gather for worship. Like sex, it can be an act done alone, but it is better when we are together - when we have turned our minds toward a single purpose. It's..."
He pauses thoughtfully, then sighs.
"It's more?" Sam suggests.
"More, yes," agrees Castiel, smiling with the simple pleasure of being understood. "More in every way. But my taking communion with one set of Angels does not lessen the meaning of the communion I might take with others. Just as my being with Yasmine would not lessen the meaning of any physical intimacy I might have with you or anyone else I so choose."
"And if I didn't want you to be intimate with anyone else?" Sam asks.
Castiel is quiet again as he thinks. "From the beginning, I have shared everything that I am with all of my brothers and sisters. If you want me to be with you at the exclusion of all else, it might be best if we don't progress any further than we have already. However, you should know that, were we to enter a physical relationship, every time I am with you, I will be with you. You cannot read my thoughts, but in those moments, I would only be thinking of you."
"Okay," says Sam, thinking of how he trusted Castiel early on - how the Angel might talk with and touch others, but would always circle back to Sam eventually. It was easier then, but it could be that simple still if Sam would just let it. "Okay, I think I can do that."
Smiling, Castiel leans in. "Can you?"
Sam nods - perhaps a bit frantically. "Yeah. Yeah, I can-"
Castiel kisses him then, and Sam is quick to hold fast to him, to openly feel the unfettered joy of getting everything that Castiel has to offer and giving all of himself in return. Even this is more than the kisses they had exchanged the first time or have exchanged since, and knowing that - feeling that - makes Sam shake so hard that when they part, his breath comes out with a tremble.
"I can do that."
*
Epilogue:
"Is it appropriate for me to say, 'happy anniversary'?" Sam asks. "It's been a year since you got here. Would you say you've made progress on the human condition?"
On the computer, Castiel has the weather report up for the next week in a city in the neighboring state. He's standing by his suitcase, with different sets of clothes in each hand, and he ends up shoving both sets into the suitcase before he decides to answer Sam's question with a shrug.
"Your species is young and chaotic," he says. "My hypothesis this week may not be true next week. Your kind will not settle into a common purpose for many generations, I think. Often I think that I will never be able to understand what it means to be human."
Sam leans in the doorway, watching him. "You okay with that?"
Castiel zips up his suitcase and looks up at Sam with a smile. "That is the point, isn't it? The not knowing and the wonder. Beneath your belief structures and your hypotheses, the unknown remains the common denominator."
Ducking his head, Sam smiles to himself but nonetheless reaches out to hook his index finger around Castiel's pinkie. "So you're staying then? For a while?" he asks and does not bother trying to tamp down his hopes for a positive reply.
"Yes, Sam," Castiel says. "I'm staying."