The one thing Sam hated was not knowing. Not knowing what would come next, what disaster was around the corner, or what would happen to him and his brother next. The emotional toll of seeing the people he loved most die, then return as if it were all a dream, was especially taxing. He hated not knowing if he could handle it one more time.
It seemed to be a never-ending cycle. His quest for knowledge hadn't lessened since he was a child, seeking out information wherever he could find it. He knew, at least, why he had this need for information and understanding.
It had come to him in Psyche 101, freshman year of university. His need to know everything was born out of a need for control over the future. Growing up, life had been one unknown after the other. Where would they be next, what would happen next, would dad be coming back? In order for him to survive, Sam had grasped at anything to help him answer those questions. He had no control, so he created it.
Then, he lost it. Years and years of hunting, and saving the world, he'd tried to maintain his control. It wasn't until he met Chuck, that he understood what true control was.
There were no unknowns for Chuck, but he never shared with Sam what he knew. Those damned books were one thing, chronicling his and Dean's life as it happened, but there was never a sneak preview at what would happen next.
Still, there was comfort in having someone who knew everything around. Sam just wished it was him.
"What're you brooding about, Cowboy?" Chuck strode into the room where Sam was leafing through King James' Daemonologie as a bit of light reading.
"Don't call me that." Sam replied, not deigning to look up. The overwhelming presence the other man had bothered him. How could someone walk into a room and suddenly become the main fixture?
"Aw, come on. Winchester, gun, cowboy. It makes sense!" Chuck fell gracefully into the opposite chair. Sam could tell he was grinning without even looking up. Just as well he didn't look up; when Chuck smiled, Sam's heart would skip and his face would heat, just like it did all those years ago when he looked at Jessica.
"It's stupid, and I don't like it." Sam turned the page, even though he hadn't read a single word on it. From his periphery, he could see Chuck roll his eyes and smile wider, deep lines appearing in his cheeks.
Then something occurred to Sam.
"How did you find me?" Chuck's presence was so normalized to Sam, that he'd nearly forgotten his weekend retreat. No one was supposed to know where he was. Dean called it "Sam Time," and that wasn't entirely inaccurate.
He looked up to ask the question, facing Chuck to see Chuck cock an eye brow and sort of laugh at him.
Oh. "Right. Stupid question for Mr. All-Knowing." Sam watched Chuck frown at that.
"Don't call me that."
"We're even." And Sam returned to his book.
After a few minutes of being ignored, and trying to garner attention through picking his nails and sighing heavily, Chuck spoke again.
"Don't you want to know why I'm here?"
"Because you take pleasure in causing other people discomfort?"
"Don't answer a question with a question." Not looking at him again didn't matter. Sam could practically hear Chuck's playful pout.
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to." Sam said. "You're going to tell me anyway." Sam often wondered why exactly Chuck chose to be so vague, all the time, and each time came to the conclusion that he did it to get under Sam's skin, as if the God-character didn't enough already.
"Maybe, maybe I won't tell you now." There was the sound of shifting fabric and Sam guessed that Chuck had crossed his arms in continuance of his pretend-pout.
"Doesn't matter to me." Sam tried for nonchalance. It was hard to maintain, because Chuck was right. Sam wanted to know. He always had to know.
"You're cute when you're anxious," Chuck remarked, after more minutes of silence. At that, Sam looked up abruptly, face a delicate mixture of shock, confusion, and embarrassment. He felt the heat in his face, his green eyes wide.
"So—" he stopped himself. He'd almost told Chuck that he was cute too. Heaven help him.
Heaven was sitting right there in front of him.
Chuck's easy grin was back, almost a smirk, staring intensely at Sam.
"Knock it off, Chuck." Sam said. "Tell me why you're here or get out." If there other man was teasing him, Sam was having none of it. It figured that Chuck knew about his crush, but if he was going to be an ass about it, Sam would be an ass too.
"If I just wanted to see you, is that so bad?" The faintest of creases appeared in Chuck brow. The book slipped, forgotten in Sam's lap, to the floor.
Sam was often speechless. Whether is was anger, sadness, or just confusion, there were many times in his life where he just couldn't find the words. He'd felt like a deer in headlights before, but this was somehow worse. Now, he felt trapped and free at the same time. It was impossible.
So he stared at Chuck, watching carefully as he rose from the opposite chair and took a simple two steps over, closing the distance between them. Chuck stood over Sam only because Sam was seated. He wanted to stand up, to gain some sort of control over the situation. His height had always been an advantage in that regard.
He stayed seated, head inclined and chin up, watching Chuck carefully.
"No." Sam told him. "It's not." How long had passed between Chuck asking the question, and Sam answering? It felt like hours. It was probably mere seconds.
How long had they been staring at one another? How long?
There was nothing else for Sam to say or do. If he continued to sit there, the ball was in Chuck's court. The lack of control was making Sam anxious, not knowing what would happen immediately next, not knowing what Chuck was thinking.
He could guess. The look on Chuck's face, the depth of his eyes, was one Sam had endless familiarity with. It was danger, it was desire. It was a look that should never grace the visage of a Heavenly Being, and yet it was staring Sam in the face.
"I'll admit," Chuck said with a soft breath, leaning so that the two were eye level. "I'm not quite sure what to do next."
Sam moved tentatively forward, so that the two were closer, a hand's breadth from touching. There were too many mysteries in life for Sam to ever be truly comfortable with it. When something felt right, however, it was no longer an unknown.
So closing the space between them, pressing his lips soft as a raindrop, to Chuck's, was right. It answered every question Sam had in the world, and created millions of new ones.
It wasn't a kiss, but a brush of lips. A given permission to whatever Chuck would do next. It was Chuck letting Sam have control, while at the same time never relinquishing his own. It was equalizing.
Chuck lifted a hand and brushed over Sam's cheek.
"Your face was carved by God himself," he whispered.
"That's weird, dude." Sam laughed. They smiled at each other, all confident arrogance and sullen confusion vanished.
"I was trying to be romantic," Chuck said.
"I know."