A/N: This is the next story in a mild AU/canon divergence series called The Other Guardian 'verse. There's a detailed note about it on my profile page, but in brief: after Dean is raised from Hell by Castiel, an entire year passes before the Lilith rises and the seals start to break. During that time, Castiel is assigned to watch over the Winchesters, and finds himself growing closer and closer to Sam.

This story follows "What the Heart Wants," but it's not totally necessary to read that story first.

Notes: This is a two-shot from rotating perspectives; pre-slash, Cas/Sam centric.

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Sam propped himself up on his elbows, listening to Bobby and Dean bicker over the ancient walkie-talkie that crackled next to his hand. He was stretched out on his back, feeling through his thin shirt the cold, flat stone roof of a smallish building set into the side of a sloping hill. It was some sort of research station, empty for the summer. They hadn't broken into the building itself; they were just borrowing the roof. Sam sighed, feeling the warm breeze tugging at his hair. They were a few miles from the ocean on a deserted stretch of coast between several small cities, and his view of the sea was blocked by a mass of cliffs and redwood trees, but he could feel the salt in the air.

Dean's loud voice had taken on a whiny tone that put Sam's teeth on edge as he espoused his opinion of Bobby's long, boring—did he mention long!—ritual that didn't have the good grace to end on time. And Bobby was griping back that he owned both Winchesters and could spend their blood and sweat however he saw fit until Mr. Remington's hotel bill was paid off.

Sam winced a little. He was certain that ninety percent of Bobby's ire was directed at his brother, but the tall hunter also had the sneaking suspicion that was only because he had almost died recently, which was granting him a brief reprieve from all blame. He also planned to capitalize on the opportunity to tell Dean about the rip in upholstery of the back seat from a box cutter he probably shouldn't have been using to cut a hanging thread from the sleeve of his jacket.

Dean's voice screeched against the old radio system, sounding more like feedback than an actual argument, and Sam decided he wasn't really needed for the rest of this conversation, sliding his hand down the volume dial until it clicked off. Antiquated or not, Bobby's equipment still worked, and the tall hunter was left in complete silence, meaning that both his brother and the older hunter could still be a mile away. That was the range of Dean's whining, Sam theorized; once his brother was in range, he would feel the tingling on the back of his neck long before the actual complaints. With any luck, though, he had a few minutes. It sounded like Dean was still up to his elbows in salt.

Bobby hadn't just driven all the way across the country to California to collect his pound of flesh; he had brought a job with him. And Dean had been thrilled with the prospect, right up until he found out there would be no actual hunting, tracking, or killing. Bobby mostly just needed a couple extra hands for painting, waiting, walking, and stargazing.

Sam had never heard of a Celestial Ritual before. Bobby had just given him that look that said the things you don't know could probably fill an entire state. And then Dean had pulled the tarp off of the back of Bobby's truck, revealing a polished wooden box that looked suspiciously the size and shape of a coffin. Bobby had cuffed the back of his head, said it shouldn't be exposed to sunlight, and then set Sam to painting a huge symbol across the grass and rocks of the wide open space by the small stone building where they had met up.

The huge symbol had to be precise, and it was intricate like a devil's trap, so Sam had spent most of the day using various ropes, bungee cords, jackets, and odds and ends from the cars to mark out the fifty-foot area mathematically. Oval, oblongular, and other non-symmetrical devil's traps didn't work, Sam had learned from experience, which was why Dean was banned from working on them while drinking. Painting the symbol had taken him nearly five hours of intense concentration on his hands and knees, but he'd gotten the cushy job for tonight.

Sam scooted slightly away from the telescope set up next to him on the roof, stretching his arms over his head and then lying back on his hands. A smile ghosted across his face, and he tipped his head backward, imagining Dean grousing with the forehead light strapped around his head as he tried to cover the entirety of the symbol Sam had painted with salt in the dark, while Bobby anointed the box in the middle with some kind of oil. At some point he was going to have to get a straight answer from the older hunter about what was in there.

Sam's job had been looking through the telescope and reporting via the walkie-talkie the moment Jupiter was at its zenith in the sky. The hardest part had been keeping Dean off of the line long enough to let Bobby know it was time. The only danger had been the possibility of missing the initial moment of the sealing, but Sam felt comfortable enough now to relax, tipping his head back and letting his eyes drift over the breadth of dark sky stretching out in all directions.

He had been to numerous planetariums when he was younger—enough to pick out most of the constellations in the sky above him, to know something about the composition of cold balls of gas packed together in the vacuum of space and held together by the push and pull of the gravity of a thousand other stars. But he had always liked the stories better.

Some of folklore Sam had studied by necessity, some out of boredom and a lack of other reading material at Bobby's house, some under the strict orders of his fathers, and some because Sam was fond of the way people had been explaining things with their hearts long before science came in with the answers. Because before they were lifeless rocks that might have winked out long before their light was visible on the Earth, the stars were the princes that fell from the sky, the heroes immortalized with everlasting life, the dancing will-o'-the-wisps, the souls of loved ones looking down from Heaven. And wishes. Even Sam had grown up on Starlight, starbright…

Hundreds of lights twinkled above Sam—thousands, and the tall hunter traced the patterns of light against the dark, finding the North Star and from there the big dipper—the Egyptian Imperishable Ones,since they never sunk below the horizon. Unsurprisingly Dean didn't know many constellations, but Sam picked out his brother's favorite anyway: Orion, the Hunter. Sam imagined the cussing and grumbling, and let his thumb slide fondly over the plastic speaker. He didn't need to turn it on, though—Dean's crabbiness was something Sam needed no reminder of to call up in excruciating detail.

He let his eyes close for one moment as another gust of wind with the smell of the sea teased the edges of his coat, making his bangs slide into his face, along with a familiar flutter of wings that sounded somehow softer tonight. Sam pushed himself up on his elbows, slowly shaking the bangs out of his face with a smile.

"Cas," he said.

The angel had appeared just a few feet from him, and Sam watched as his trench coat swished slightly in the wind before settling around the angel's form. A strange, warm feeling was blooming in Sam's chest at the sight of the angel framed against the twinkling lights in the sky.

"Hello, Sam." Castiel glanced around slowly in that careful way that he did when he was assessing the area around him, maybe figuring out the exact latitude and longitude of where Sam and his brother were on Earth. Maybe the angels navigated by the stars the way the sailors of old did. It was a silly notion, and one Sam recognized as whimsical and untrue.

Sometimes Castiel asked what they were doing; sometimes Sam volunteered the information as soon as the angel arrived—but tonight Sam found he didn't want to say anything at all, because he didn't want this to be just a check-up. Didn't want Cas to nod at whatever explanation he gave and then turn away. This was somehow related to the sensation squeezing his chest, Sam knew, but he didn't want to analyze it tonight.

"The stars are beautiful out here, away from the city." Sam wasn't even sure what he was saying—just that Castiel's blue eyes were sparkling with the same light of faraway places that Sam couldn't touch, but he wanted to look just a little while longer. Wish, maybe.

Starlight, starbright...

Castiel tipped his head up awkwardly, craning his neck backward to scan the sky with the same appraising expression he'd used to study the bare stone rooftop. "There is…something impressive about the illumination of celestial bodies in the absence of artificial light," he agreed.

Sam felt a chuckle rise up through his throat. He smiled at the angel as he leaned back, letting the back of his head rest against the cool roof. "That's no way to look at stars," Sam told the angel softly. He looked up from his sprawl on the ground when Castiel turned to him, and then patted the space next to him, the beat of his fingers hollow on the stone shingles. "They look best from right here."

The way the angel frowned slightly studying the spot made a tide of warmth surge through Sam, a fondness that threatened to bring another laugh bubbling to the surface. Instead he let his hazel eyes fix on piercing blue.

"Do you trust me, Cas?" he asked. Castiel nodded reluctantly, and then stepped toward Sam, lowering himself to the ground slowly and awkwardly, as if he wasn't completely sure what he was doing. The angel's legs were straight and stiff against the rooftop, his knees no doubt locked, and his hands were folded against his chest like a corpse, but he looked obediently up, his black hair falling softly against the stone. Sam couldn't help scooting a few inches closer.

"Sam…" Cas began uncertainly.

"Shh." Sam let his eyes drift back up to the infinite sky with its infinite stars. He lifted a hand to point at the space above them. "You see that really bright star, Cas? The North Star? It's the guide for lost souls on Earth."

Sam snuck a glance over at the angel, seeing the puzzled look on his face. He lowered his hand into the space between them—the space of one telescope. Castiel's face tipped away from the sky to look at him. And Sam knew that he should look back up, but he was suddenly breathless, staring into the bluest eyes that carried more light than any star Sam had ever seen. He wondered if that was because he was an angel or just because he was Castiel. The soft breeze played with the ends of his hair as he lay there with his head turned, inches from the other man.

"They're wishes, Cas," he whispered. "A hundred thousand tiny wishes lighting up the sky." And maybe Sam's wish was up there somewhere too, or maybe it was right here on Earth. Castiel didn't look back up at the stars, and Sam just continued to stare, his heart fluttering in his chest.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there—long enough to imagine the angel's soft fingers twined through his on the beach again, long enough to count the lights reflecting in deep blue eyes, long enough for each heartbeat to feel like it was tingling through his entire soul. Sam thought maybe he would just lie there forever.

"Sam! Saaaaaaaaaam!"

Dean's holler was like the angry bellow of a vengeful spirit, making Sam jerk up on his elbows as his pulse shot up like a bottle rocket.

"Sam—you turned your fucking walkie-talkie off, didn't you? You lazy worm! You better not be sleeping up there!"

Sam's heart was racing for an entirely different reason now as he scrambled to sit up, watching from the corner of his eye as Castiel rose at a much more sedate pace. His hands were shaking slightly as he fiddled with the end of the telescope, struggling to take it apart and stow it as quickly as possible.

"Sam!" The tall hunter couldn't help but flinch again at the sharp, demanding tone, and he cleared his throat, trying to find his voice.

"I…ah…I'll be right down, Dean!" he called over his shoulder. He sent an apologetic look to Castiel, who was standing at his elbow watching him collapse the metal contraption. And now Sam felt heat climbing into his cheeks.

Sam wasn't sure what he had been doing, lying there with his brother's guardian angel, but he was certain he probably hadn't been totally thinking straight at the time. Because Sam had come to terms with the fact that he loved Castiel, but that was supposed to be where it stopped.

A soft hand touched his arm, and Sam jumped nearly a foot.

"Do you need any help?" the angel asked, and the questioning look on the other man's face probably wasn't just because he didn't know what a telescope was. Sam's cheeks were burning hotter now, or maybe that was his heart, or maybe…

"Sammy!" his brother screeched. "People are hungry! Chop chop!"

Sam clutched at the mostly folded telescope, Dean's tirage making him fumble the stand in his hurry. Cas caught the piece of metal before it clattered back to the roof and Sam looked up at him gratefully.

"Maybe, could you just…get me to the ground?" Sam asked, with a half-smile, half-grimace. "As you can tell, Dean's a little…" He didn't finish the sentence, but Castiel nodded, reaching his free hand toward Sam's temple. Sam felt a surge of sudden anticipation as the angel's fingers brushed his forehead, even though it was something they had done many times before.

The familiar rush of wind enveloped him, just as Sam heard his brother screaming for him, and felt Bobby's telescope slipping slightly in his grip—but mostly it was his heart again, reacting to the slight touch from the angel. And Sam realized with sudden clarity that loving Castiel was going to be impossibly easy, but being in love with the angel was going to be very, very hard.