Sam hears a loud crash in the kitchen and groans deeply, rolling over and pressing his face into the pillow. Another thumping sound, and Sam's ears catch the sharp crash of a glass smashing to the ground.
Conceding defeat, he wrenches himself out of bed.
"Dammit, Dean. Could you at least stay sober enough not to brain yourself on the coffeemaker when you let yourself in?" he mutters, stomping down the stairs of Bobby's house.
He thought that living and working at Bobby's with his family would be a good way to save some money before grad school and maybe relax in the interim; ha. With all the ruckus Dean makes after nights at the Roadhouse and the uncomfortable silences at Bobby and John's breakfast table, Sam wonders if it's worth the trouble. He thought moving back in with his family might save him some grey hair, but oh well.
He enters the kitchen fully prepared to fish Dean out of whatever liquid he'd spilled when he broke the glass, but the Winchester freezes in the doorway, breathless.
There's a naked man in the kitchen.
A naked man with enormous raven wings twitching very realistically on his back.
A naked man bathed in a blue glow that is certainly not coming from the moon or the open refrigerator.
A naked, blue-glowing, winged man eating pickled beets right out of a broken jar in Sam's parents' kitchen at 4 in the morning.
"What the fuck?" Sam blurts, startling both himself and the man.
The winged man crushes a beet in his hand and whirls to glare at Sam. His wings stretch up and out, while the blue glow turns almost white with intensity.
Sam hears a horrible ringing sound, and then the man growls something Sam can't make out over the noise.
The Winchester sinks to the ground, covering his ears against the roar, and suddenly Sam blacks out. His last sight is the man hovering above him, the white halo around him forcing Sam to question whether or not this might be a dream after all.
Castiel sighs, staring down at the human slumped against the wooden panels of the floor. Humans often presented themselves as the most fragile beings, but even this seemed more like Castiel's own carelessness than the human's lack of durability.
This scouting mission had gone wildly out of hand, and now he's been spotted. Cas sighs again and looks wistfully out the window into the silent scrapyard. When his ship had taken unexpected damage in a rogue asteroid belt and ended up pointed towards the small blue planet, this had seemed like the most inconspicuous and suitable base to repair his ship. The metal would give him ample material to work with, and the yard itself was isolated for miles.
It had seemed so simple to break into the house and procure a few inconsequential containers of sustenance, but the sight of what looked like candied aurelian mollusks had taken him by surprise. He'd found himself compelled to eat them that instant, starving and unbalanced from the crash, and Castiel had been unable to stop his hand from breaking the jar in half to get to his prize.
If he'd only been more careful, he would not have wakened the only human in the house and be facing this dilemma.
If only he'd been paying more attention, he could have modulated his voice and better cloaked his form before the human could've seen him.
But now, how to proceed?
Should he rouse the human, or should he simply cut his losses and retreat? Could he trust that the human would not look for him when it awoke?
He hesitates. Castiel can't bring himself to trust in his fortune at the moment.
As if in answer to his thought, the human stirs on its place on the floor. The human's eyes blink furtively open, and Castiel is inexplicably drawn in to unravel the undeterminable colors in its eyes.
Sam flinches back from the man(?), before gritting his teeth.
"What is this? Who are you? And why are you naked in my house?!" Sam demands, building to a shout.
Bobby's dog- Rumsfeld- barks outside, but Sam ignores her; figures the old girl wouldn't wake up for an actual intruder, but would bark at Sam, who'd only been the dog's near constant companion since she was a puppy.
Castiel cocks his head to the side, and for a moment Sam worries that whoever wandered into the kitchen doesn't speak English. He just begins to mentally run through his Spanish, when Castiel responds.
"I am… not from around here," he responds haltingly. The words are perfectly accented, but Sam gets the sinking suspicion that whoever this is has never used that phrase or anything like it before.
Sam shakes his head, trying to focus on the words and not the cadence.
"Who are you?" he repeats, before locking his stare at the wings on the man's back.
At first Sam had thought that they were a part of an elaborate costume, but they move.
They twitch like nervous hands at Sam's questions, then puff up to brush against the ceiling when Castiel notices Sam noticing his wings.
"I am something beyond your comprehension, human," his voice resonates through Sam's skull for a moment.
The realization hits Sam like a freight train.
"You're not- holy sh- are you a- I don't even- what?" Sam stutters. Not human, threads through his thoughts, but he can't bear to say it out loud. He's barely grappling with the concept, the very likely suspicion that something other than a human being has broken into their home.
Castiel watches Sam wearily, wondering what this scared and possibly unstable human might do. The room is echoes with the staccato rhythm of Sam's sputters and Rumsfeld's increasingly frantic barks. Sam struggles to right his breathing and briefly wonders if he's completely off the mark, but another look at those wings drives it home. They're huge, filling the room from floor to ceiling, completely blocking Sam's view of the refrigerator now that their owner has faced him directly. The feathers look… shinier than any feather he's ever seen, sturdier, thicker; they look absolutely ready to wreck Sam, everything about them and this being in front of him sharp, hard, and awe-inspiring.
Those wings are not of this world, and they certainly weren't made for this guy's Victoria's Secret audition in Sam's kitchen.
"What are you?" Sam asks, surprising Castiel.
There's awe and reverence that wasn't there before, and that Castiel doesn't think is all that deserved in this instance; something about it interests him- no one has ever been in awe of him before.
Maybe that's why he answers, "I'm Castiel. Of Superli." Sam's answer is a smile.
Before Sam can question him further, the screened-in front door swings open. Rumsfeld's happy boofs fill the front hall along with Dean's off-key rendition of "Jessie's Girl." Sam freezes.
He and Castiel share a wild look. Sam just knows that if he doesn't help Castiel blend in right now, the alien will disappear without a word or trace. The mystery of his existence will slip through Sam's hands just as fast as it appeared, and Sam finds that he's absolutely unwilling to give it up.
"Oh God, oh no, no no! Dean can't see you, he might do something crazy, like try to shoot you!" Sam whispers frantically, herding the alien towards the back door, as thumps from Dean shoving off his boots and dropping his coat by the door drift down the hall.
Castiel's wings, which had been relaxing somewhat with their conversation, abruptly flare up once more, much to Sam's horror. Panicked, Sam attempts to shoo them down with impotent little patting gestures.
"The intruder is armed?" Castiel demands, wonder randomly how the human could possibly know this.
"No, not at the moment! And he's not an intruder: he's my brother, but he's not gonna react well to a- a- whatever you are standing in the kitchen!"
Sam's hands tamp the air around the wings desperately, more than a little afraid to touch something so otherworldly; the motion pick up speed as he hears Dean bumping against the walls on his way to the get a glass of water.
"Can't you hide these or something?" Sam no sooner finishes the word "hide" than the wings and the glow around Castiel suddenly vanish, leaving Sam's hands hovering over nothing mid-air.
Sam gapes a little and wonderingly cards his fingers through the air, searching blindly for the wings. He doesn't feel anything, but Castiel evidently does. The alien stiffens at the infinitely soft sensation of Sam's fingers smoothing down his feathers unexpectedly. The pleasure of the unthinking touch catches Castiel off guard, a startled trill escaping his mouth.
Sam finds himself captivated by that small sound, inching closer still and gripping the alien on his still bare shoulder. The random fascination is immediately shaken by the sound of Dean rounding the corner into the room, and Sam is struck by the realization that he, in his boxers, is standing in front of a completely naked man in the family kitchen with absolutely no explanation.
Then it hits him, and he can only force out a quick, "Sorry," as he fits his lips against Castiel's and presses him against the counter.
Sure enough, it works.
Before Castiel can even process the surprise sensation of a human body pressed entirely against his form, Dean swears in the doorway and shields his eyes. Sam pulls away and spins around, trying to block Castiel from view as best he can- he's terrified the wings are going to re-materialize at any minute.
"Jesus, Sammy! I know I told you not to wait up, but I didn't mean it was cool for you to think everywhere in the house was free range!" Dean shouts, unintentionally loud thanks to his inebriation, "We eat in here."
Any other time, Sam would roll his eyes, remembering all the times he's walked in on Dean and co. in compromising positions, but he's so anxious to get his brother out of the room that he can't come up with anything more effective to say than, "Get out of here, jerk!"
One hand still over his eyes, Dean waves the other dismissively.
"WHERE WE EAT!" he hollers, wobbling around and bumping into the bannister on his way to the stairs.
Sam waits for the tell-tale stomps of an angry Dean heading up the stairs and the fumbling closure of his bedroom door, then lets out a long breath. He goes nearly boneless with relief and spins back around to face Castiel, forgetting how close he was to the alien. Castiel squints up at him curiously.
"Ha, that was… close…" Sam offers, trailing off shyly under Castiel's scrutiny.
"You put your mouth on mine… as a diversion," Castiel concludes, taking in Sam's wide and frazzled eyes in response to his deduction.
"Oh, geez, I'm so sorry. I just- panicked, because you're naked, and I didn't have anything to cover you up with, and there's really only one reason two mostly naked guys could be standing this close together in the kitchen- so I just- yeah, a diversion." Sam nods, hoping that Castiel got more out of that string of babble than Sam got saying it.
Castiel mimics the motion.
"I see," he doesn't, but the matter isn't quite interesting enough for him to pursue, especially in light of what Sam's explanation reveals about his own lack of preparation. "I will need… something to cover myself, then? To… avoid questions?" Castiel ventures. Sam nods vigorously, eyeing the door lest Dean make a reappearance.
"I did not realize covering was essential in my cursory research on the planet, just the basic form of the dominant sentient lifeform."
Sam nods harder, panicky at the thought of getting caught talking about "lifeforms" like this.
"I can get you some clothes, let's just not talk about this down here. I don't know if he'll come back down."
He heads towards the doorway, then turns back hesitantly; the human looks as though he expects him to disappear at any moment. Castiel half expects that too.
"Do you… want to come upstairs with me? I can get you some clothes, and maybe you could… tell me something about what you're doing?" Sam ventures, raising his hands in surrender at Castiel's suspicious squint.
"I'm just curious," he insists quietly, wondering how difficult this must be for the alien, "I just… want to know a little about the universe." And you, Sam admits to himself, hoping desperately for this ethereal being to at least answer a few questions.
Castiel softens a little at the human's earnestness, recognizing that same curiosity in himself and the purpose of his mission.
"Only if you too, share a little of what you know," Castiel accepts; a little warmth sparks up within him like static at the sight of Sam's quiet smile.
Getting to know Sam and the planet Earth through Sam's eyes is purely practical knowledge gathering, Castiel tells himself a few days later.
The repairs on his ship have stalled a little with all the time he's spent questioning Sam, and the creeping reminder of his duties tightens the cords of muscle on the back of his neck tighter with each passing day. Though he is only a few clicks off of his scheduled movements, he knows it is only a matter of time before he is contacted by his home world.
He'd been sent on a very simple data recovery mission, as he'd told Sam. His goal lay far beyond Earth, but the damage to his craft had left his transport vessel in need of physical repairs- Earth had happened to be the closest planet with the correct available resources. He hopes that by collecting some updated data while here would help justify the stay once he returns home.
What he has not told Sam is that he could have finished the repairs and resupplies the second day of his stay. He has not told Sam that his ruse of pretending to be Sam's "mythical" college boyfriend spending a guilty weekend away from his TA assignments has been… enjoyable. He has not told Sam that Sam himself quickly became the most interesting aspect of Castiel's observations, so complex and unexpectedly wonderful that Castiel wonders if a lifetime spent on this planet would be long enough to unravel Sam.
He has said nothing of any of this, because the situation is perfectly under control. He knows exactly what he is doing. Absolutely.
Sunday breakfast is, as usual, a quiet affair for the Winchester siblings, when Bobby and John aren't around to provoke. The loud chatter and roughhousing are fun with the added bonus of irritating their parents, but Sam likes the quiet mornings with just the two of them. Mornings like these are spent in content silence with some scattered observations here and there.
Dean's abnormally quiet this morning, and Sam can't help but think that Dean's going to start asking the big questions. Yesterday, the older brother had given Castiel a good mini-interrogation while Sam had been too busy cooking breakfast to intervene too much on Castiel's behalf; despite Dean's alternating tactics of cajoling and posturing, Castiel had held up stoically under Dean's demands and insinuations, which frustrated the older brother looking for dirt within Dean.
Today, the brothers are alone at the Formica tabletop.
Dean finally broaches the subject on his last egg, eyeing his fork pushing the fried egg into some salsa.
"So… This guy, Castile, it's serious, huh?" he plays with a stray tomato slice rather than look at his brother.
Sam shrugs, not wanting to make it seem permanent when he knows Castiel will be slingshotting himself back into space in no time.
"Not particularly, we just want to see where we're at before we make any proclamations."
He frowns at Dean's grimace.
"You can be honest with me, Sammy, I'm not gonna report on you to Dad and Bobby or anything."
Sam shakes his head at his brother's insistence.
"It's nothing that big, Dean. We're pretty casual."
Dean finally pins Sam with a frown.
"Gimme a break, Sammy. The way you look at this guy, I don't know how you can be anything but serious with him. And it's not like you haven't been dating long enough for it to get serious," he gestures towards the ceiling, indicating the room Sam and Cas have been "sharing" on the second floor. Dean hasn't noticed how Castiel sneaks out every night to mold parts and repairs to his craft.
Now it's Sam's turn to grimace.
He's spent the last few months trying to keep Dean off his back about dating by inventing a secret college romance; the little implications and vague mentions have come seriously in handy explaining away the naked man in the kitchen. The dreamy English teaching assistant just happened to notice Sam's hopeless pining, and after course completion, had told Sam to keep his personal number. That story has got him out of Dean trying to set him up with the friends and siblings of his dates, but now gives Sam little room to classify their relationship as anything but "serious."
Dean notices the uncomfortable look on Sam's face and decides to press further.
"It just seems like you're more into him than he is into you," he states bluntly.
Dean's seen the vague look on the dude's face whenever Sam kisses him anywhere and the detached set of his smile when Sam's talking. Dean doesn't like the look of the guy. Something about that vagueness suggests that either the guy is a stoner or has something other than a simple weekend with his boyfriend on the brain, and Dean suspects it's on the shady side. Whatever this Cas guy's got going on on the side - an affair, some mob-ties, drug-dealing, what have you shady- Dean wants Sam to be smart about this.
And what's smarter than realizing you don't really care about the guy and breaking up with him before he has a chance to screw you over?
Sam's face falls, knowing that in a way, Dean's absolutely right. He's way more interested in Castiel and understanding their visitor from space than Castiel could ever be of a simple human.
This absolutely isn't going to last: Castiel's stop on Earth will be noted as nothing but a minor inconvenience in the grander scheme of his great scouting mission, and Sam will be left forever knowing that life exists out there in the cosmos and it couldn't be less interested in their planet or their little human lives.
"Yeah, I think you're right," Sam nods, breaking eye contact to watch his fingernail scrape a heart shape into the chipping Formica, "But it's nice to dream for a little while, isn't it?"
Maybe Dean is more right than Sam could bring himself to think about, but it's all going to end soon. Maybe he'll have a broken heart to go with the emptiness that will surely be the result of his looming existential crisis.
Sam disregards the thought for now. Right now, what he's going to do is get some more coffee.
Watching his brother shuffle to the coffee machine like a kicked puppy, Dean feels like a complete tool without any way to make it up to his brother. He sees no other exit than to change the subject.
"Aren't Dad and Bobby supposed to be back tonight from that 'business trip' tonight?" he blurts, relieved when Sam nods amusedly. The brothers share an eyeroll at the excuse and exchange jokes at their parents' expense for a little while, before Castiel stomps down the stairs.
He enters the kitchen in one of Sam's overly large t-shirts and a pair of boxers, hair sticking up on odd ends. Sam can't help the soft smile spreading on his face. He can't help the warmth spreading in his chest at the sight or the curiosity sparked up in fingers, itching with the desire for Dean to leave the room. Sam's not quite sure if he can't wait to ask Castiel more about his home planet or bury his fingers up under the hem of his shirt hanging to Castiel's upper thigh. He's so screwed.
The evening had gone about as awkwardly as Sam had expected it to.
Between Dean's weird looks -suspicious and apologetic by turns- and Bobby and John's honest confusion at meeting someone dating Sam, the youngest Winchester had been playing dinner conversation defense for two. John seemed to share Dean's suspicion of Castiel, while Bobby had focused in on Sam himself, eyeing every little point of contact between the "couple." It brought to Sam's attention how much he'd ended up actually touching the alien, and the realization raised a self-conscious flush across Sam's cheeks.
Staying behind to wash dishes had been Sam and Castiel's ticket to freedom; after washing and rinsing in companionable silence, Sam led Castiel out of the back door and into the crisp winter night by a gentle grasp on his wrist.
Without examining the urge too closely, Castiel flips his hand in Sam's ginger grip and fits their palms together. His eyes roam around the unfamiliar stacks of metal until they reach the roughly bush-hogged edge of the scrap yard. Castiel says nothing as they walk out to the middle of a large adjacent field, appreciating the new taste of grass and rich earth in the air. This side of the property has yet been unknown to him, having landed smack on the opposite edge of the yard, closer to the dirt road than this open country.
"Where have you brought me, Sam?" Castiel inquires, as Sam settles on a rotting crate beside a little pond. Castiel would have overlooked it without Sam's gaze, with its overgrown borders and undisturbed shallows. Still, following Sam's contemplation, the reflection of the clear night sky draws him into the deceptive depth of the stars.
"It's nowhere," Sam answers with a cryptic smile, not taking his eyes off the stars in the pool.
At Castiel's prompting silence, Sam continues.
"No one comes out here anymore. Bobby used to bring me and Dean out for a game of catch when we first moved in, but I don't think he's come out here in a decade. Dean and I did, though, together for a long time," Sam chuckles, turning to share the laughter with Cas. "This one time, we set a ton of fireworks off, and Ms. Marilyn, from way down the road, drove all the way out here with this little bucket of sand to put out a wildfire before it got too big. Dumped it right on our heads when she saw us with the matches."
Castiel nods in understanding.
"It is a place of fond memories, then."
Sam's smile twists a little, but he nods.
"Yeah, mostly happy memories. Some not so great, too, but that's really everything, right?" He catches Castiel's cocked head in question, and Sam sighs a little. "I used to come out here when me and Dad had a fight, especially after Dean was off in college. It's peaceful, good place to cool down. That's why I thought about it tonight, after everything with, ya know," Sam gestures back towards the house with a chagrined smile, "Sorry about them, they're not really used to meeting the people me and Dean date."
"Is it so unusual?" Castiel inquires, wondering if anyone else had had the harrowing experience with John Winchester and Bobby Singer as himself. Were interrogations and quiet warnings by parents apart of the typical courtship rituals in this Earth's Dakotas?
Sam laughs again.
"I don't know yet. The only person Dean's ever brought home was his high school sweetheart Cassie, and that went over pretty well; but I've never really dated seriously enough to bring someone home to meet them. You're the first."
Castiel weighs that thought and wonders what exactly the warm clench in his stomach means.
"I am glad to have participated in your trial, Sam."
Castiel catches Sam's eyes earnestly, then watches as Sam looks into the reflections of light once more.
"I'm glad it was you, too, Cas," he answers.
The longing in his voice seeps beneath Castiel's rib cage. His hand tingles with cold, and he wishes Sam would look away from the stars.
Sam stares up at his ceiling in silence, his fingers just brushing Rumsfeld's fur as she slumbers peacefully beside his bed.
Midnight passed him by over an hour ago, yet still sleep evades Sam in the silence of the house.
Dean's finally gone back to his own apartment since John and Bobby have returned, no longer feeling the need to keep Sam company in the large empty house. Their parents themselves have been buried in a serious project at the garage for the entire day and had decided to hit the bar for a bit of pool. Castiel has spent the entire previous night and day with his pod somewhere amongst the wrecked cars, and Sam hasn't seen him since he carried Sam back to his bed the previous night. It was a little embarrassing to learn that he'd crashed against Castiel's shoulder sometime between sharing the rickety makeshift bench and waking up in his boots under the covers.
The day had been entirely too quiet, and Sam could only feel that this is the beginning of what his foreseeable future after Castiel will inevitably look like. Simple days of menial tasks followed by quiet dinners and nights suffocated by the silence.
He misses the figure of Castiel sitting on the edge of his bed, explaining some feature of a distant moon, allowing himself to glow and even reveal his wings for Sam to get a better look at. He misses the debates about philosophy and telling Cas little bits of human history and literature. He misses the shadows his hands made in Castiel's halo and the odd times Castiel would stare intently at his eyes- he'd never heard of humans with central heterochromia of the eyes.
Sam can admit now, just between him and Rumsfeld, that it's more than just a mutual curiosity that keeps bringing him back to Castiel. Sam's natural thirst for knowledge sparked the fascination, but the discovery of Castiel's dry humor and weird obsession with pickled foods were just two of the many surprisingly… human aspects of the alien.
Sam just finds all the little discoveries so… endearing.
He wouldn't say what he feels for Castiel is quite love, not yet, but the inclination to love, a fondness that he hasn't really felt for anyone else in the past. He wants to keep uncovering those little aspects and sharing pieces of himself with Cas. Sam can feel his heart longing to nurture the little sparks of feeling, to embrace the possibility of something there.
To give all that up, to just let Castiel fly off into the cosmos without sharing whatever this is… Sam can't bear the thought. Tossing and turning in his bed, he's wrestled with possible outcomes of a confession or even bringing up the possibility of romance; anxiety maintains that most of them would turn out poorly, but Sam can't bring himself to let go.
Sam sighs, still undecided, and tries to picture what Castiel could be doing at that moment. He thinks about how close Cas had seemed to finishing his repairs when they'd last spoke, and he wonders if he succeeded. Sam jolts up, realizing that Castiel could have been gone the entire time he'd been wrestling his emotions, and suddenly everything else seems pointless. Castiel could have left hours ago, and Sam would've missed his chance to say anything to him, even goodbye.
That's the only thought running through Sam's mind, as he tugs on his boots and a hoodie, running out to the area Sam thinks Castiel was keeping his pod. He never asked to see it or knew exactly where it was, a little afraid to fully confront the concrete reality of an alien spaceship. He curses that fear now, terrified that he'll never see its passenger again.
"Castiel? Cas? Where are you?" Sam calls, trying to keep his voice down in case Bobby or John decide to wander the yard at this time of night. Storming around the rusty metal maze, Sam can do little more than ring his hands and try to keep the faith that Castiel wouldn't have left without even a farewell.
"Sam," Castiel suddenly answers, seemingly appearing out of nowhere amongst the scrap.
The building tightness in Sam's ribs loosens, but Sam can't bring himself to calm down just yet.
"You should be sleeping," Castiel notes with concern; he eyes the wild light in Sam's eyes warily. That combined with Sam's mismatched attire- boots, boxers, and a thin hoodie in the chilled early morning air- worry Castiel, particularly in light of his own lack of information. What could have upset Sam so much?
Sam grips Castiel's shoulders, hesitantly at first, then tightening his grip when he feels Castiel's solidity.
"Cas, I- I just realized that you probably fixed your pod and were leaving soon, and I thought that maybe you'd- well, you have no reason to stay, but I wanted to say- you've got to know how much I-." Sam huffs, hating how circular his babbling has become, but he's still unsure of what to say precisely.
"I was afraid you'd left," he forces out, "and I realized that there is something I need to tell you before you do."
Castiel blinks. His hands come up to clasp Sam's on his shoulder. He's still not sure what has brought this on, human emotional logic a bit unpredictable to him, but he hopes the touch offers Sam some reassurance.
At Sam's silence, he offers, "I had no intention of leaving without speaking to you, Sam."
Sam shakes his head.
"I didn't think you would, but you have no reason not to, right? You finished your pod, or just about, right? So there's nothing to keep you here now. You can leave whenever you want to and get back to your mission… but I'd like you to stay." Sam shakes a little as he says it, but it's the undeniable truth. "I- I care about you, Cas, and I love being with you, and listening to you teach me about the universe, and sharing little things about Earth with you. It just… it feels like there's something wonderful here, Castiel, and I don't want to let you go," Sam confesses, but shakes his head before Castiel can really process his words. "But I don't want to stop you from your destiny, and I don't think I could even if I did. I just needed to tell you, before you're gone."
For a while, only their foggy breaths interrupt the quiet.
"Sam," Castiel begins slowly, watching Sam's startled twitch at the sudden break in the silence. "I have decided to continue my mission here."
Sam blinks at the announcement, dumfounded.
"What?"
"I requested that my mission be carried out on Earth. Much of the information my people have collected about your planet is outdated; no one has studied Earth for millions of years, not in any real depth, and there's very little information about the sentient lifeforms here. I was… able to make my case," Castiel explains, not bothering to mask a little excitement in his tone.
"So you, you're staying here? What will you- how are you going to pull this off?" Sam can't help but wonder, not allowing himself to believe Cas fully until he understands the plan.
Castiel smiles a small wry grin.
"I thought I would begin at a university, after gaining my bearings. Perhaps you could help me choose one. Your opinions mean a great deal to me, as well."
A startled laugh escapes Sam, and suddenly all the tension floods out of the human with an almost violent bout of laughter. He buries his head in Castiel's shoulder, his hair brushing the other's neck and sending a shudder through him.
When he finally collects himself, Sam pulls back to grin at Castiel.
"I think I can do that."