On a day like today Castiel would be holding a creamy white-streaked arm in front of Sam's nose to make sure the taller man was absolutely positive he saw it. He would chuckle and push Cas's arm out of his face, teasing him with a "Congratulations, you won't turn into a lobster today," in which Cas would innocently reply "The sun's rays can't transform me into a crustacean." Dean would sigh, the sunglasses he wore more than likely obscuring his rolling eyes.
This wasn't at all imaginary, a cute little scenario he'd run through his head when he was feeling homesick. It had happened many times before. Sam had to know he properly applied the sunblock. He was an angel, not a child, and he would not "turn into a lobster."
Cas tried to rub away some of the sandy grit sticking to his arms and legs as he hoped the heat would dry away the stickiness of the sunblock. Maybe if he ceased scrubbing his already sandy hands against his limbs, therefore nullifying the attempt, he'd be better off. But it was itchy. It never stopped being itchy.
It was warm, a comfortable warm, not that it made any difference to him. The sky as blue as a tropical ocean, with dots of wispy snow white clouds scattered about. Just hanging about. No reason to them. Behind him, just by sound alone he could tell the beach was full. He couldn't blame them for coming today. Perhaps not in a place as public as this, but maybe they would have liked it too...
Not too far away and to his right, two young dark-haired children built sandcastles. They must have been siblings. The boy -the oldest of the two- was explaining how to construct one, tossing wet sand into a bright blue plastic pail. The sister, on the other hand, seemed more interested in the deconstructive side of sandcastle building. Patience was slipping away from the boy, but Cas had to commend him for withstanding as long as he did. To his left were two men of college age tossing a football and, as he learned they liked to do, heckling about how badly the other man throws. They seemed to be doing just fine. As hard as he tried, Cas never understood the importance or competitive nature of the sport. A small group of women sun bathing on towels not very far of them - girlfriends and their friends. Decades may pass and fads may die but one thing will remain constant: women travel in packs.
And there he was. An immortal, an angel with clipped wings, sitting amongst humans that are none the wiser, enjoying the day as they would: a day of relaxation in the sun, listening to the waves and screaming children. Speaking of which, that boy looks like he's about to shove his sister's face in the sand.
How are his brothers and sisters? How are...
A bittersweet smile tugs on his lips. They're fine. He has no doubt about that.
The splash of someone entering the water, the heat, them... it brings him back.
It was pointless. Absolutely, positively, undeniably pointless. Unnecessary. He was going to kill Dean for bringing it up and then smack around Sam for going along with it. What use did he have for such a skill. He was an angel! In what possible situation could an angel drown? It could have been because they wanted someone else to horse around with. It could have been because they didn't want Cas to feel left out, sitting on the outside while his humans did what humans do. They wanted him to be with them, not just in bed but in all aspects of their life, hunting and otherwise.
Castiel said yes because Dean temporarily did not comprehend the definition of "no" or "wait." In fact, "yes" was said for him and for Sam. We're gonna go, we're gonna have a nice, quiet day, eat some sandwiches, drink beer, and neither of you two are gonna complain about it. Before either of them could protest, Dean, carrying two plastic bags which he later found out held towels and food Dean had made along with more bags of potato chips than they could possibly eat, shooed them into the garage and into the Chevy. Sam called Dean a "mother hen" when he was like that.
It was explained to him later by Sam that, while looking through local maps, Dean found the lake. Sam was reading across for Dean (a book Cas recalled being on the topic of Joan of Arc and both the angelic and demonic forces which eventually lead to her death... supposedly) when his older brother slapped a modern looking map in front of him and said with all seriousness, We're going. Otherwise they never would have known the out-of-the-way lake existed. Sam interpreted that as "We're going eventually," not the same day. An hour and a half later they found themselves driving the seven miles it took for the little fun in the sun adventure. Cas didn't enjoy sitting so close to the food, specifically the tuna fish sandwiches. Dean ignored him because there was supposed to be no bitching.
As the path they took appeared less and less used every foot the tire tread, Sam asked whether or not they should be be here.
A No Trespassing sign never stopped us from trespassing before, Dean said confidently. Which was true, but someone had to say it.
The woods became more and more dense the closer they got to the clearing where the lake stood, so they left the car behind to travel the last couple of yards on foot. Dean cleared his throat as Cas walked off empty handed.
I'm not going to eat anything. Why should I have...
Dean nodded his head to the back door, face stern and still not wanting to hear any complaints. Even as Sam walked ahead not carrying anything, Cas said not a word and instead mumbled to himself. There wasn't enough for three people to carry, but still.
The waves were beginning to graze his toes now. The gentle lapping stirs his heart for a moment.. Such fond memories, aren't they? He digs his toes into the wet clay-like sand. Yes. The poof of a tiny foot kicking sand sky high sends the older brother stomping off to what must be his mother further up the sea of hot sand. Cas wondered if that was how Dean and Sam would play at that age. But their father would have never taken them to the ocean, would he? Learning how to swim not for fun but for survival.
But they're free of their father now, free of him forever. Free to be joyful. To have what they could have never gotten out of life.
He pulls his knees a little closer to his chest and shuts his eyes.
A break in the trees leads to a level patch of healthy green grass, small but enough to have some distance between themselves, before making a vertical drop, perhaps 3 feet, into the water. The angle of the sun at this hour rendered the surrounding foliage ineffective. Shade wasn't completely necessary on that day anyway.
After taking in the sights, Sam turned to Dean, hand on his hip. You didn't give us enough time to grab our trunks. Dean, who was already swiping a dark bottle of beer from the cooler he had been carrying, replied with a simple Yeah. Sam watched his brother twist off the cap and wiggle his eyebrows before putting the glass to his lips.
This was all just an excuse to get us naked, wasn't it?
What? cried Dean, sounding so close to genuinely offended. I would... Why would you think of such a thing? His eyes passed from Sam to Cas and back to Sam. 'kay, now both of you get naked. He took a seat on the spot where he stood on the grass and raised his hand as if to say "whenever you two are ready."
Sam rolled his eyes and strode to Dean, mumbling that he was a "perverted geezer" as he bent down to retrieve a beer of his own, in which Dean slapped his brother's hand away and held the cooler close to his side, protecting what he called his bounty and that he said nothing about sharing. A seed of unease was planted in Cas then. He knew what was to come and maybe... maybe he could talk his way out of it?
The bottle previously opened by Dean was wrestled out of his hand with a movement somewhere on his body that Cas could not see due to Sam blocking his view, but it made Dean yelp out and subsequently release his hold. He sat down with a huff next to his brother, a little annoyed but wholly satisfied. Cas came to Sam's side when he was beckoned and offered the bottle, which he accepted. A whine of My precious bounty was heard on the other side of him, to which Sam replied with a nudge of his shoulder. More of a shoulder tackle as Dean was nearly knocked over.
The playful pushing lasted for a couple of minutes, back and forth, back and forth, as Dean continued to pester them about their unwillingness to strip and hop in the water. At times like these, Cas would quietly watch the brothers act like brothers. A smile would threaten his face, completely caught in their love, but he would repress it. If he did, that moment would become about him: the boys would notice and their attention would be diverted. Just as Cas needed time alone with Dean or Sam, they too needed moments to be brothers.
Sam eventually replied with Until we feel like it, jerk.
All right, all right, Dean bemoaned, losing some patience with his recalcitrant lovers. If I go in right now, will you guys too?
Don't see why not. Sam looked his way and shrugged his shoulder, seeing if Cas agreed or not. Internally Cas chanted no, but... It was a weakness. A very foolish weakness, but one that burned bright all the same. He had seen atrocious and devastating acts of cruelty and violence in his existence, and regrettably some were done by his own hand. This memory, though, was simply too much. Maybe because it was an accumulation of preventable events; regret was an emotion he had never felt until he became guardian of the Winchesters. It was a reminder of a dark time he'd to anything to take back, even if Sam and Dean said they forgave him for it.
They were right to. How many times had the Winchester brothers betrayed their own friends and blood doing what they thought justified their actions? Castiel had loved them all the same. History is made clearer due to hindsight, but back then it would have been impossible to convince him that he wasn't Heaven's premier screw up. Obliterated garrisons of his own kind could attest to that.
Sam would... he would be disappointed if he knew Cas was thinking like this again. In his head he could hear Dean's rather ostentatious monologues about how everyone fucks up. The shame was no longer there: he had made amends with his troubled past long ago. But remembering that shame, that truly never went away.
The water's not that cold, Cas, Sam encouraged Cas from the water, which went to his navel.
Dean said from behind Sam, He's right. Your balls retreating into you body isn't that uncomfortable. His brother twisted his torso around to splash Dean who saw it coming before he even finished speaking, dodging out of the way and disappearing under the water.
Don't listen to him. You know he's a jackass. Sam seemed to scan his face from the reluctance covering it. I've never even seen you swim. Is that the problem?
No. It's...
His consciousness during his "possession" as it were was very dim, the flame of a match the only light to be seen on a planet. It was enough. It was more than enough. Not enough to fight off the forces controlling not only his vessel but his essence, his angelic presence. The pain felt like what exploding in slow motion would have been if Lucifer had the time to exact the damage he truly wanted to. Physical pain, the loss of himself and having it be replaced with lava, and letting down Dean. Working with Crowley and abusing his friendship. His only family. It happened all at once and it was truly an act of the divine he didn't succumb to the Leviathan presence within him much sooner.
His light dimmed, but he still saw everything. They wanted him to see. They allowed him to see. To observe bound and gagged within his body as he hurt the people he cared for, taking an almost erotic joy in it. They taunted him with his own demise and those he would bring with him. See how easily we can bring an angel to its knees. Your humans will follow you very soon.
The truth was that he could swim. At least that's the information he processed from Jimmy. He had never had the opportunity to try, not that he wanted or needed to. Why ever would an angel need to make an aquatic getaway? As the Leviathans within him urged him to the murk of the reservoir, he frantically commanded his body to move away, paddle, kick, go, just go. But they never extinguished his flame. They let him watch as they killed him.
Much like a hairworm parasite that infects a cricket, they forced him to water to drown and begin their cycle anew. Possession, death. Parasites that -at the time- he thought should have finally ended him. Such a vain and arrogant creature, this is a death befitting him. Used and tossed aside. Yes. He was deserving of it.
He looked aside, his hands fidgeted in his lap. The sharp blades of grass itched at the parts of his legs not covered by his boxers, but that was insignificant. Cas had deceived the brothers before, so of all things to conceal, why was this the most difficult? Being frightened was not the problem because this was undoubtedly not fear. Shame. It must be. Knowing they would remember and...
Sam had called out a few more times and Cas continued to avoid answering. He wanted to say stop or let it be. No matter what he did or didn't say, they would pry. It was their nature. And they were right to. It must be pretty heavy if it causes dryly honest Cas to clam up.
Somewhere of to Sam's side Cas heard what sounded like an expectant hum come from Dean and the mild splashing of water. From the corner of his eye he saw his figure come to the edge of the water. Cas, I... I think I know what this is about.
Of course Cas couldn't look away. Dean speaks and you can't help but be drawn in. He sounds both concerned and tested, as if saying "we have to go over this again?"
Yes, Dean, Cas responds to his memory. You two had to repeat yourselves. I would have never believed you otherwise. I never would have learned.
Dean tries to draw him closer to the water, beckoning with his finger. When Cas doggedly refused to move, he tried to be more aggressive. Get over here. I'm not gonna drag you under like a shark. Cas wanted to reply "Why can't you speak to me from where you are?" but realized Dean really would have dragged him under if he did. So he timidly crawled in front of him and rested on his legs. He said quietly enough so Sam could not overhear them, It's the water, isn't it?
I...Cas just couldn't continue.
That whole Leviathan thing. He sighed. I get it. You have memories of it.
Not just of being taken control of, he nearly snapped back, the desperation in his voice surprising him. He swallowed. The pain I endured during that brief period doesn't compare to what came before and after. The two of you ask me to join you in something that represents repugnance and failure and, and weakness to me. How badly I've made a mess out of not only my life but yours and Sam's.
The look on Dean's face said to him that he was trying to think of a response that didn't include the word "idiot." To be fair, it was a rightly earned title and would take years until he earned a promotion. Let me put it to you this way, Cas. You see Sammy there? Sam perked at the mention of his name but otherwise did not move; their conversation still seemed to be more personal so he waited until a more befitting time. Whenever I look at him, I see my mom. I see dad... Dad handing him to me and yelling Take your brother and go. I remember him dying in my arms, withdrawing from demon blood, Lucifer possessing his body, killing Bobby, killing you.
He pointed to the Impala, righteousness creeping into his voice. That car? It was dad's. By taking that damn thing I took on a part of him, too. A reminder that I spent my adult life as a John Winchester clone, with only revenge and a bottle of whiskey to keep him going. Not just him, either, but me and Sam growing up in it. That should not be home for a kid. It was the only life we had, the only life we knew, so we made it a home. So behind all that chrome and black paint? I built that som of a bitch from the ground up. It should be mine, but it never will be. Not completely.
Leaning forward, Dean grasped the back of Cas's neck. The water had cooled his skin considerably. But I've accepted it. All that baggage I just... let it go. Fuck dad. Fuck Lucifer. Fuck the deals I've made and the people I couldn't save. The weight was too damn much and I was tired of suffocating in guilt.
I think what Dean is trying to say, because I know how much he loves his little pep talks, Sam nudged into his brother and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, is that we can't change what's already happened. Though Dean did not look happy Sam had interrupted him, he crossed his arms over his chest, snarled, and said nothing. Everyone fucks up, Cas. Hell, even a perfect god proved to be imperfect. It took us too long to realize that. Our apocalyptic screw-ups could fill an entire library, and we effectively burned it all.
Once we started having sex with you, Dean chimed in resolutely.
With an ungraceful flopping, Dean was pushed into the water. Perverted old man is partially correct.
No, no – perverted old man is absolutely correct. Only Dean's head remained above the water as he half-grinned. It was a little too mischievous. If Sam had been wearing shorts, they would have been ripped from his body and given to Cas to hide. Somewhere in the Arctic.
Sam rolled his eyes. We know what you did, Cas, better than anyone else. We've forgiven you, the same way you've forgiven us. So when you say something like this, how ashamed you are... it means you think we're still judging you. That will never be the case.
It was then Cas saw how unfair something like that would be to the boys. They, the same as him, coming to terms with their past and accepting the faults and misgivings of himself, while he had the wherewithal to pity himself and believe that every "we love you," "we forgive you," had been false. That they still doubted him and resented him when it was so damn far from the truth. Cas had been the one to bring the three of them together. Years of begrudging denial and hesitation swiftly erased with a silvery resound of "what you feel has never been wrong." And even then, he was blind to the love they equally shared for him, so set on joining the brothers.
Together, they were happy, for the first time since any of them could recall. So strong he would forget to speak, his vessel's muscles would seize. Could it be real?
The water rolls further and further up the shore. There is sand in places sand should not be and where it refuses to come out of, but that's part of the charm. Maybe. Too messy to be charming.
Puppy dog eyes, Dean would call them. Sam's eyes would become faintly glassy and his lips would pout, and whatever unfortunate soul it was directed towards had no power to resist its deadly aim. Cas had seen it in action while on hunts to the more mundane like getting his way with Dean and him while evading an argument. This power of persuasion had to be demonic in nature. Truly it was a force of evil. Sam wanted him to try, to face his anxiety and self-doubt, and join them in the lake. That, of course, would be the result of dirty tactics.
He resisted, oh Father did he resist. It didn't matter. Cas was a snake and he was charmed by a tall man with absurd hair. Sam tapped his thigh so Cas would sit completely on the ground. At this point, Cas would follow Sam to Hell. Again. Twice his eyes broke contact with Sam's kaleidoscopic hazel, his mind forcing him to remember every minute detail of his death in the reservoir, and both time he was called silently back. Weak, so damn weak, but the human would not allow him to be.
That is what love is. He had never experienced reciprocal love before, not until the Winchesters. To feel so strongly, to go against every instinct inherent in your being and give yourself away and to have it returned to you just as strongly... "Overwhelmed" was an understatement. It would be an arduous process to properly reciprocate without tensing or being at a loss for words. But he learned, just as he had learned their language, their habits, cultural disparities, and why it was necessary for the hamburger with a donut for the bun to be something that existed.
Sam's large hands slid up to shimmy off Castiel's shorts. Just like the previous night. Cas was glad his legs partially obscured a wicked little grin forming on his face. His fellow beachgoers did not need to see the lonely fellow smiling to himself. He had learned doing that frightens people. Dangling his legs into the water he reflected how light it felt not to have cold water soak into his clothing, weighing him down, sticking to his skin so uncomfortably.
He squeezed his eyes closed. I'm acting like a child, Sam. I'm sorry.
You never have to be sorry for the way you were created.
You put up with us, so it's only fair we do the same for you when it's convenient, said Dean, always the smartass. He hovered close enough to watch, but not enough to interfere. Dean told him several years later the reason he would do that, leaving Cas and Sam alone to help each other or to confer, was because Sam became the big brother, watching over Cas and guiding him along. It made his cockles all warm and tingly, or something to that effect, which was worrying so he suggested Dean see a doctor immediately.
And Castiel would be lying if he said that he did not enjoy the attention.
Cas eventually pushed himself in and his hands clenched at his side. His body registered the water as cool although that was not the problem. Too familiar. It felt wrong; he felt ill. "I don't like this," his mind wavered toward Sam, who must have assumed as much from the tensing in Cas's muscles.
Many year have passed and he was still not positive of what Sam had said to him. What he does recall is strong arms wrapping softly around him and pulling him flush again soft damp skin. The internal voices scraped like metal against metal in his head, forcing him to remember what he had done, while Sam spoke on the outside, his mouth hovering above Cas's ear, and it sounded like the prayers of bygone eras. Lyrical and praising, they never truly needed translation. Maybe what Sam had said did not need to be, either. It sounded like a song and forced him to return to the present.
All the while Sam pulled him further and further out, completely unnoticed. Too enraptured by his own thoughts, of Sam's encouragement and murky memories. Eventually he ceased speaking and Cas became aware of the water once again, now chest high. The waves of nausea still lapped against him, but he managed to groan out. That's what it must have been like.
Hmm?
Sam's breath was warm against his ear and... He sighed contentedly. When Dean would sing to you as a child.
Yeah, I guess so. I was too young then to remember any of it. You'd have to ask Dean about something like that.
The urge struck him as quickly as lightning. Something that he wanted to do, was allowed to do; spontaneity was still a work in progress. Tilting his head up, he laid his lips firmly on Sam's. He didn't appear to be surprised by the affection as he smiled into it. Feeling a little victorious, maybe, for slowly decoding his angel.
A tongue against his own, an unsteady hand wrapped in long brown hair. The queasy feeling became secondary to being with Sam. But he had a feeling, any moment now, precious and innocent Dean would say something idiotic.
Noisily swimming behind Cas and wrapping his arms around his waist, as if he knew he was being thought of, Dean swung Cas side to side breaking the kiss, and quietly sang in Cas's ear excruciatingly off-key. And anytime you feel the pain, hey Cas, refrain.
Sam went from annoyed to horrified in less than a second. Oh, God, Dean. Please don't.
Which only made him sing louder. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders!
You never share Cas with me, asshole, he laughed, pulling Cas closer to himself.
Dean continued the rest of the song, stressing the several minutes of "na na na" while insisting Cas join along. He didn't, of course, but Dean's persistence is always inspiring. Sam would sneak in kisses when his brother became too wrapped up in his performance while Dean, not one to be outdone, placed wet kisses along his neck in between lyrics.
While his head was too wrapped up in external stimulation, he realized later that they did this on purpose. Simple psychology, replacing a negative with a positive. Leviathans controlling him was something he could never forget, try as he might, but the bombardment of unease and remorse could be somewhat undone.
As the salt water laps against his body, all he feels is Dean and Sam enveloping him, hands running through his hair; hearing Dean's atrocious singing and Sam's voice in his ear; their laughter as they both downplayed the experience back on land, the older human coveting more potato chips than he could possibly eat.
Submerging became a non-issue. While under the Leviathans control, their voices -millions upon millions- screeched cacophonous in his head. Below the water, in such an enclosed space, in silence, it was all multiplied ten times over. It was brief, but it was maddening. He hesitated naturally. Once Dean coaxed him into it, it was... quiet. A human's association with the water was something he did not share: the sound and movement resembled their time in the womb, the embryonic fluid specifically. Soothing and relaxing it was not. But the silence, different than that on the surface, was enjoyable. Not that an angel's ever truly deaf. Angel radio cannot be switched off.
Even now. It's much quieter these days.
He had many more good days with the Winchesters, more than he could have ever hoped for. All three knew that their unification was a ticking clock and even so, they said yes. A fleeting happiness was happiness all the same They all lived several lives worth of regret and loathing, of austerity and heartbreak. Being together now, find joy no matter how temporary, made life worth continuing.
Immortality is a blessing until you find someone worth dying for.
It still struck Cas as amusing as to what the brothers said respectively before they passed.
I never thought I'd live this long.
To which Cas replied, Only because I was here to save your incompetent asses.
That wasn't true, but they were amused all the same.
Dean's rough early adult life caught up to him in the end, the drugs and alcohol doing irreversible damage to his liver and kidneys. Castiel's healing could only recover so much damage, which Dean knew and accepted with no argument. Dampen the pain, though, that he could do. He'd rather die now than lay completely worthless in a hospital bed with tubes covering his body and "unattractive nurses" tending to him. That offended him most of all. None of them would be good-looking.
So Cas dressed in a nurse costume one day – tight in the stomach and using "skirt" to describe the bottom half was a misnomer. Sam wondered where exactly Cas bought the outfit, and Dean demanded that all nurses from that point on look like Cas. Or look like Cas with breasts.
Under all the kidding, as was Dean's nature, his soul radiated pain. Hurt could not begin to describe it. He knew he had no way of hiding such a thing from Cas, so he did for Sam's sake. Cas went along, tears in his eyes. He understood there was nothing he could do, for the pain and to prevent Dean from leaving. Telling yourself that does not alleviate anything.
Dean left his body on an early Monday morning at 71. Sam lay sleeping in another room; Cas stayed bedside, his grace easing the last bit of pain.
Cas?
…
We'll find a way.
Five years later, Sam followed. Their dog (both Sam, Cas, and Dean's), a German Shepherd, had died two months earlier, which Sam said was ominous for one reason or another. As weeks progressed Cas could see he was right. Physically he looked fine, the same as always, but his soul dimmed as the days went on. He couldn't say anything to Sam, he wouldn't. Not yet. As long as he was not ill, why burden him with the knowledge of his own impending death. But Sam, ever intuitive, could sense it – three days before it happened.
A body that had lived several lifetimes, and a soul deserving of rest.
You still don't mind I'm all old and wrinkly?
No.
That I've lost so much mass?
No.
That my flowing mane is no longer flowing, or much of a mane?
That I especially do not mind.
Sam asked questions like this for years, him and his brother, really. As time aged them, they seemed to find some new fault and ache. Every week it felt like they fretfully came to him asking if he was still attracted to them, and every time he would reply their bodies merely outlined their souls, so he never really saw their outer appearance as clearly. Dean thought of it as a grossly indirect way of saying they resembled decomposing roadkill and Cas didn't want to sleep with them or look at them anymore. Sex corrected this disturbance.
They laid in bed that night, arms around each other and Cas's head buried in Sam's chest. This was it. Sam was... The last Winchester would leave tonight. Cas was warm and it was not due to Sam's body heat and the blankets covering them, their guard against the January chill.
We mean it, you know.
Cas wanted Sam to talk forever, but chastised himself for such selfishness.
Dean and I, we'll... He sighed through his nose. We won't forget you. So you better not forget about us.
How could he?
A promised fortified years ago. To find each other. To never stop looking. Death and the boundaries of Heaven would not keep them apart. The brothers would have no trouble reuniting, this neither of them had any doubt. It happened once before. But angels, especially troublemakers like Castiel, well, they did not know how they would be able to sneak him by the bouncers. Finding the boys once he bypassed the forces keeping him out would be simple enough. But getting him there, and keeping him there after that... For the rest of their mortal lives, Sam and Dean researched into it: books, interrogating friends and enemies like, even angels who naturally wanted Cas to have his wings torn off and settle into the timeshare Lucifer and Micheal had in Hell. The oceanfront property has a spectacular view.
Cas continued to scour the planet for any hints it could offer. How many tomes were there left to read? He had to have read them all by now. Such a book may have disintegrated from age, burned to ash in a blaze. Who is there left to ask? Demons were as helpful as the angels, and any angel who may have been cooperative was assuredly dead by now.
They must have reunited by now. No, not must. He knew. Even if the passage of time moves slower in Heaven, they'd find a fatal flaw in the barrier and knock it off of its foundation. And in looking, they would be trying to discover another crack, one just for Cas. Then, finally, he could meet their mother.
Some days when loneliness got the better of him, Cas would wonder if there were searching for him, that the boys were happy with just of the two of them; perhaps they thought he was a lost cause. No. Never. Cas had always been more than a lover – family. He had earned their devotion and once they had their claws in you, they had you for life. Eternity. His presence was desired as much as their other deceased friends and family.
So, in a way, they were his friends and family, too. All waiting for him.
Cas's sunblock has soaked in, probably had been for awhile. Good. A swim sounds heavenly right now.