Castiel usually dislikes days like these – when the sun is a little too hot and the breeze a little too spare - but as the long, solid body next to his own shifts and slings an arm over his chest, Castiel can't help but close his eyes and smile up at the cerulean sky.
Long grass tickles bare arms and intertwined feet, trying to inch underneath where his shirt rides up his back, and the smell of fresh ground and sunlight fill his senses. Birds sing sporadically, with little or no pattern, but he imagines they are all singing to each other.
The road can't be heard from here; deep in this meadow that Castiel likes to think is their own little secret. The near silence makes him feel as if he's in a different time and a different place; where nothing like cars or computers or airplanes exist, and he absentmindedly pretends the denim of his jeans are cotton, worn in and faded from working with his hands all day.
Inhaling deeply brings another rush of fresh summer air and a sense of peace, and Castiel feels as if he is floating. The warm body next to his, bigger, and taller, and so much stronger than his own, moves when he does and soon the long arm shifts so that a large warm palm can slide up his chest to cup his jaw. Eyes still shut and small smile still in place, Castiel turns his head to the side. He can feel warm breath on his lips and a callused thumb rubbing behind his ear, and the resulting shiver is deliciously familiar along with the warmth that is unfurling in his chest. They are both still, breathing each other in for a long moment. There is no need to rush this – they have all the time in the world to look at each other, to leave lingering caresses and fleeting kisses. Graduation was yesterday, and they are young and infallible substances of seventeen, and time is on their side. They have so long to revel in this feeling.
Castiel breathes in deeply again before opening his eyes lazily to meet with smiling, hooded bright blue, not unlike the sky. His next breath catches in his chest and his smile is met equally, lazily, teeth white and gleaming against the green grass. The young man next to him moves closer, eyes still smiling softly, uncaring of the dirt he smudges into his faded gray T-shirt, and proceeds to rub his nose against Castiel's who can't help the laugh that huffs from his chest as he leans into the touch.
Lips press against the bridge of his nose, and his smile broadens. "Love this nose," a deep, smooth voice murmurs, lips ghosting against the cupid's bow of his lips. "Love the way it wrinkles when you smile..." The words aren't nearly as important as the cadence – the adoration in his voice settles deep into Castiel's bones, fuses itself to his DNA, and his heart gives a violent little thump that only seems to repeat over and over again when the voice laughs quietly. Soft lips, gentle and intimate, press against the bridge of his nose, skim up to his forehead and skates smoothly down over his cheeks, his jaw. Castiel's hand grips the sun heated skin of the forearm still resting on his chest, needing something to keep him grounded. But it seems like an impossible task, especially when those lips finally find his own.
That warmth in his chest curls, and coils, and erupts into butterflies and fireworks at the taste and sensation. He never gets tired of this feeling – of having his whole body tense and relax at the same time, igniting from the inside out. A gentle tongue slips sweetly into his mouth and slides against his own, slick, and soft, and warm, dipping, tasting. Loving. Castiel feels invincible.
The summer sun beats down, hot on their skin, wind ruffling their hair, and they're young, and in love, and never wants this moment to end.
o o o
Tiny hands come up to frame Castiel's face. They hover slightly, then smack, they land on his five o clock shadow and press down and up so that his cheeks are threatening to block out his eyesight completely. He can feel the green paint, still wet in some places, leaving stains.
"Gabriel," he says as sternly as he can through puckered lips. "What did you do?"
Gabriel only grins and presses harder and Castiel sighs. The question is superfluous at this point. He can see exactly what Gabriel has done, the evidence all over the small classroom's floor, walls, and desks. Not to mention all over the teacher who is positively covered in paint. The short, brown haired man, Mr. Chuck, strains a smile at Castiel, but he can tell the teacher just wants to sink down onto the floor and bury his face in his paint splattered hands.
"He got a little… excited during arts and crafts," he explains needlessly.
Gabriel, still pressing his hands to Castiel's face, cuts his eyes at his preschool teacher, both mischievous and resentful, but doesn't say anything.
"I'm very sorry," Castiel begins to say, but he's not finished yet.
"He started a riot?" Mr. Chuck's voice is brittle; about to break from the stress from what Castiel imagines was a very long and very horrible day. He seems in awe of the fact that Gabriel, only three years old with a face sweet as can be, could actually start a paint revolution among his fellow peers. "As you can see by the other dozens of handprints," and Castiel can see. He also sees the small twitch of Mr. Chuck's hands as he twists them briefly in the hem of his sullied T-shirt.
Castiel tugs his face gently away from Gabriel's grasp and the little boy immediately curls into Castiel's body, head tucked under the scruffy, now green, chin. Automatically, Castiel raises his hand to smooth along the tiny back and Gabriel relaxes under the familiar touch.
"I…" Castiel sighs again. He doesn't know what to say. Apologizing won't get florescent pink and electric blue out of this man's hair. "He's… been acting out more lately. I'm not really sure what it is." But Castiel has a clue.
It started last week, during a play date in the park. Castiel had watched as Uriel and Gabriel built poorly constructed sand castles in the sandbox for an hour or two, occasionally lending a hand, before Uriel's mother came over to take her son home. After they'd left, Uriel swinging from his mother's neck gibbering about mac and cheese for dinner, Gabriel had leaned his little body back into Castiel's chest, head tilted up so all Castiel could see were eyes, all big, and blue and, long lashes. His tiny hands gripped the sand tightly before relaxing, spilling it onto Castiel's worn jeans. The boy's expression was already too defeated for a boy of his age, and the words were heavy and void of hope when he sighed, "My mommy?"
Castiel's heart clenches now like it did that day when he had to explain, again, that Mommy was gone, in heaven now with God. Gabriel hadn't said anything; just stared up at Castiel a few more moments before nodding and looking away, squinting up at the sun. He'd pat at the sand for a few more minutes, but it was plain to see he was done playing for the day. Castiel tried to cheer him up, proposed they go to the candy store and go nuts, but Gabriel had only stared out the window, watching the trees flit past.
He was sullen for two days after that before deciding that destroying everything was the way to go.
Chuck nods dazedly, clearly done listening and talking, and gives into the temptation to sink down into one of the mini chairs, thrown haphazardly against a wall. Castiel shuffles his feet, Gabriel snuffles into his neck, and the clock ticks. "So… we'll see you next week?" The words feel uncomfortable in his mouth and he fully expects Chuck to say
'no way in hell,' but all he does is stare at his hands where they rest on top of an upturned desk. Probably reevaluating his career choice, Castiel thinks as he darts out of the room and hurries down the hallway.
"Why did you have to do that, Gabriel?" Castiel murmurs against the baby's soft, curly hair. "Mr. Chuck is always so nice to you." Gabriel pulls his head out from under Castiel's chin, only to rest it on his shoulder. "He always gives you candy, and lets you draw pictures to hang in the house, and takes you guys on fun trips. You've made him very sad."
Gabriel doesn't say anything for a while and it's when they get to the parking lot that he mumbles "I sorry," into Castiel's neck.
"You have to tell him that," he says quietly, but stops when he feels wet warmth on his skin. He pulls back his head only to have Gabriel turns his own face away, digging his nose further into Castiel's shirt. But Castiel gently takes his shoulder away and angles so he can see Gabriel's face. His blue eyes are leaking tears and his nose is red.
"What's wrong, buddy?"
Gabriel shrugs, and Castiel hates when he gets like this; he won't talk, won't explain what's wrong. Just lets the tears fall silently while he becomes listless and despondent. "Come on, Gabie," Castiel urges quietly, smoothing his hand through crazy, brown curls, but Gabriel bites his lip, slips his eyes away, and says nothing. "Talk to me, please." A few minutes pass and finally Gabriel opens his mouth, wiping away his tears with tiny fists.
"Tired," is all he mumbles and buries his face in Castiel's neck. Castiel sighs, hand massaging the tiny back again and walking towards the car. He's not getting anything else from Gabriel right now, probably won't for the rest of the night.
o o o
When Anna died Castiel didn't have time to mourn.
He was too busy adopting his newborn nephew, and learning how to be a father. Instead of sitting down and grieving, he paced his then apartment to soothe the tears of a fussy infant. He was too busy learning how to properly mix and heat up baby formula, and singing in the perfect pitch for a lullaby, and buying the right sized clothes, and changing diapers, and giving his all to this baby to shed a tear.
Three years later, as Gabriel lays beside him, slack hands gripping loosely at Anna's old childhood teddy bear and the buttons of Castiel's shirt, breathing deeply in slumber, Castiel rubs his fist into his own burning eyes.