fic, Supernatural: I Just Need A Place To Lay My Head (Sam/Castiel), PG-something
Dude. I wrote Sam/Castiel. AND IT ISN'T EVEN CRACK. (Well, fine, I kinda had written it in a comment fic I will share sooner or later but WHATEVER.) This was so not supposed to happen. Blame last episode. I-just-had-to, even if I have a lot of more pressing matters, in theory.
Title: I Just Need A Place To Lay My Head
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Rating: PG-something (less than 13 but more than PG?)
Wordcount: 2600
Warnings: someone is drunk. 5x17. That's a warning enough I guess?
Summary: where Castiel is both drunk and miserable, Sam is both worried and miserable, and they try to deal with it.
Spoilers: 5x17 '99 Problems' coda, ergo up and included said episode.
Disclaimer: SPN isn't mine and the title isn't either. If SPN was mine I wouldn't be so cruel.
A/N: using for sacred_20 #12, faith. Also. I like Sam/Castiel. I do, even if it isn't exactly my ship. I just don't usually write it. And if I do, it's crack. But after last episode I kind of had to and just, duh, I don't even know. I'm not jumping ship. I just had to. Really. ;) Title stolen from The Weight by Bob Dylan & The Band.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
On further thought, Castiel thinks as Sam sort of steers him towards the bed, he could have been a little less abrupt.
Then again, a few days ago he had the confirm that his Father brought him back just to wash His hands of him, and without even giving Castiel the chance to hear it; and right now he’s positively drunk, no, wait, wasted, as Dean would say, and excuse him, he’s allowed to be rude in this circumstance. Sam doesn’t even look too surprised or angry, which is definitely not a bad thing; Castiel doesn’t think he has it in himself to discuss the circumstances. He doesn’t think he has it in himself to do anything, right this moment, but if Sam called he obviously needs help and he’ll see to give it. Not much else he can do right now, if you don’t count finding another liquor store. And he thinks it might not be that wise of a course of action, even if it’s tempting.
“Cas?” Sam asks, jolting him out of his train of thoughts; Castiel just nods, letting himself fall on the edge of the bed. There’s a pleasurable buzz still going on inside his head, but he can already feel the beginnings of an headache and that won’t feel as nice or distracting. He knows.
Suddenly a glass of water is in front of him. He raises his head and raises an eyebrow in Sam’s direction; Sam just thrusts the glass into his hand.
“It’ll make you feel better. Some.”
“Didn’t you want to talk?”
“That can wait. Just drink that.”
Castiel shrugs and does; it does bring a bit of solace, but not nearly enough to fill the gaping hole that tore through him the second Dean told him the latest news from Heaven.
Sam takes the glass back, refills it, hands it over again and sits next to him on the bed.
“Christ,” he says after staring for a good minute, and Castiel lets out a chuckle that sounds forced even to his own ears. But he also sounds genuinely concerned and for a second it feels almost good; it disappears soon after though, and Castiel wonders if he’ll ever get past the despair he’s been feeling for the last days.
“What even possessed you to drink a liquor store?” Sam mutters; Castiel shakes his head.
“It seemed like a… very, very good idea at the time.”
“Yeah, it always does, until you realize it isn’t. Listen, lie down. Please.”
“Sam, I don’t need to lie down. I’m perfectly capable of talking. Which I believe is the reason you left that unnerving message on my phone, so if you…”
“Cas. I still have a conscience. You’re too out of it and I don’t need another reason to feel bad with myself. Lie down.”
And maybe it’s because he misses orders and a purpose and a lot of other things, but his head is starting to pound and lying down doesn’t sound that bad. So he does and he barely bothers to kick off his shoes, if only because they feel constricting. As everything else feels, but that’s not the point.
“Cas. Cas?”
“What? First you want to talk, then you don’t, then what?” he asks harshly, and he feels vaguely sorry for it but he can’t exactly control his reactions right now.
“Right, I might want to talk, but not business.”
“And what, then?”
“You. Cas, I’ve never seen you look this fucking bad, not even when you passed out in that motel room. And while Dean keeps on teasing me about trying to get him to talk about his goddamn feelings, maybe he could have used that, and you could use that. In conclusion, since you’re scaring the fuck out of me, would you mind sharing with the class? Because it’d do you a hell of a lot of good, I think.”
For some reason it doesn’t sound too bad, even if Castiel most definitely doesn’t feel like talking or making any kind of effort right now. Though, Castiel doesn’t think he’d have ever gone and told anything to either Sam or Dean if only because they have enough problems of their own, but if Sam asks…
He lets his face burrow deeper into the pillow, then lets out a breath, then feels his eyes stinging and what an angel he really is. No angel worthy of their name would ever let things get to him like this.
He wonders if he’d like it better if he couldn’t feel anything anymore, and then figures it’d be hopeless. His time of not-feeling ended the day he dragged Dean out of perdition.
“Is God doesn’t care enough?”
He doesn’t really expect what happens next.
An arm suddenly wraps around his waist, turning him around; the next second, Sam’s other arm is thrown around his back, Castiel’s own head is pressed against Sam’s shoulder as they both sit on the bed and the first thing he can think of is that Sam is warm. More than warm, he’s a furnace almost, and Castiel thinks that it might be good to just stay still and soak in it; but then for some reason his hands reach up slowly, tangling up in Sam’s shirt, and even if he has never done this before it feels good in a way that’s strange and alien but welcomed at the same time. Sam tugs closer even if he doesn’t push it and that’s when he loses it and just grabs back as tight as he can; Sam matches it and at some point Castiel feels thankful that he doesn’t need to breathe. He doesn’t even want to care about it. He just wants that warmth to sink into him and have a few seconds of blessed oblivion.
And so he does; for a second he wonders if it’s appropriate not to move after a reasonable amount of time which he thinks should have passed already, for human standards, but when he tries to talk Sam just shakes his head and tightens the hold of the arm around Castiel’s waist. It feels good. It really does. It feels… welcoming. Nice. Maybe next time, before finding himself another store, he could ask Sam if they could do this again, because it’s not like he doesn’t know that there will be a next time.
For now, he says thank you into Sam’s shoulder and exhales in relief when long, hesitant fingers belonging to a hand large enough to cup a good part of the back of his head tangle in his hair.
---
Sam slams the door behind him as soon as he doesn’t see the rear lights of the Impala up on the road anymore.
“Fuck,” he says at no one, because pastor Gideon is passed out on the bed and Cas is hunched on himself on the other bed.
What the hell should he do now, is a question. He should go after Dean, but how? He doesn’t have a car and he doubts that if he asked to someone in town they’d be happy to give him a ride; he should wait for Pastor Gideon to wake up, probably, but who the hell knows when is it going to happen. The guy is out cold and he just saw what he believed was his daughter die; Sam doesn’t exactly want to burden him further, even if he will, if he has to.
Anyway, he can’t possibly go and run after Dean, can he? At this point, he’ll be already at the border or some crap like that. He just hopes that he doesn’t say yes soon. Maybe he had some business to attend before? He sure as fuck hopes so because then there’s no chance for Sam to find him and slap some sense into his brother’s head.
He hears a soft groan from the other bed and curses himself again, because in all of this mess he had forgotten about Castiel being visibly in pain after that spell. Like they already didn’t have enough suffering going on between the three of them, he thinks as he kneels next to the bed and brings a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. This is definitely not Team Free Will’s greatest moment.
“Cas?”
“Sam,” Castiel croaks, and his voice sounds wrecked.
“Hey. How bad is that? Should I…”
“I’ll recover. This will not be what kills me, not yet. Where… where is Dean?”
Sam’s shoulders fall.
“He told me he’d go get bandages. And… he left. With the car. I think… I think he’s about to something stupid. The Michael kind of stupid.”
Castiel’s shoulders slump forward. Sam doesn’t think Castiel could possibly hunch on himself more, but he evidently was wrong.
“This definitely will not be what kills me, Dean will be,” he mutters before straightening the coat around his shoulders.
And it wouldn’t even be the first time, Sam thinks, and he wishes it didn’t have to be like this.
“How are you? Really. You shouldn’t be moving, Cas. Not for…”
“I shouldn’t, you are right. And I believe that Dean won’t do anything stupid just now. If he has been gone for a while, then he won’t. If he did not have something to do before, he would have already said yes and I would have known it. Then again, we cannot… afford to lose time.”
“Yeah, and what are we going to do? I doubt he’ll answer calls, Cas. Not from us. Or Bobby.”
“No. But doesn’t… don’t cellphones have some tracking device that could be used to find him?”
“You mean GPS? Yeah, but I would need my laptop to do that, and it’s on the goddamn car. But… wait here a second. I’ll call Bobby,” Sam answers before giving Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze and running out of the room.
He calls Bobby and breaks it down to him; after a good bunch of idjts screamed over the phone, about three quarters for Dean and one for Sam himself, Bobby tells him that he’ll track Dean down and call as soon as he stops in one location for more than five minutes. Sam thanks him but the call is ended just as he finishes the sentence.
He suddenly feels so alone that it aches.
He quickly gets back into the room and sits on the bed, on an empty spot next to which is Castiel’s waist; the angel raises an eyebrow questioningly and Sam nods.
“He says he’ll call as soon as Dean reasonably stops in one place.”
“That’s good,” Castiel says as he sits up straighter, or attempts to; Sam brings his arm around his waist to help him and he’s shot a thankful look which for some reason gives his guts a punch.
“Sam. Listen to me, because I don’t need to repeat this twice. When Bobby gives you the location, I will go and try to dissuade him. If he doesn’t want to be dissuaded, I will make sure he doesn’t say yes anyway. But I can’t bring you with me. I should recover enough to travel in the next hour or so, but I don’t trust myself with transporting anyone else. It might be too much and I will still need to bring Dean back with me if he doesn’t agree to come willingly.”
Sam nods, it’s not like he can fault Cas if he doesn’t want to die by angel express when he is the express. Also as long as it works, he can bear not to be there.
“I swear I will try anything to stop him. But, in the case I should fail or be too late and he says yes… don’t you dare follow him.”
Castiel is now staring at him so hard that it’s almost uncomfortable.
“Why should I…”
“I know the both of you. If he says yes, you will feel compelled to do the same in return because whenever one of you does something stupid, the other follows suit, and don’t even try to contradict me.”
Sam doesn’t try to deny it. He can’t really find any fault in Castiel’s reasoning.
“But, in case you haven’t noticed, if Dean says yes, then you are what I have left. I am cut from Heaven and I won’t delude myself into thinking that my Father will appear now of all times. And while I do get your impulse to follow your brother wherever he goes, if it comes to that, think about it twice.”
“Didn’t you say you did everything for him…?” Sam asks then, totally dumbfounded, and Castiel shakes his head before invading his personal space so blatantly that if Sam hadn’t done the exact same thing earlier (but hell, giving the poor bastard a hug seemed the least he could do) he’d be tempted to back off.
“Yes, I did it for him. Which does not mean that I haven’t learned to care about you, too, and since you and your brother both need it spelled out, for the last time: don’t even think about saying yes,” Castiel concludes, his voice deep and the lowest Sam ever heard it; it sounds like it sounded when Castiel was still a goddamn angel of the Lord in all his glory and power and Sam shivers for a second. He’d be scared if Castiel’s eyes didn’t tell a whole other story; he’s looking at Sam the way Dean was looking at him in that hotel room before Hell broke loose between them, when he was begging him to just come and leave Ruby behind and do things their way, and Sam thinks he gets the feeling. It was the same feeling he got when he called Dean to tell him about Lucifer wanting him for a vessel and the answer he received was that they should stay apart.
He doesn’t even know why he leans forward and instead of actually saying something with a sense he kisses Castiel, but before he can back off and call it a mistake a hand grabs the back of his neck and he’s kissed back for a handful of seconds. Castiel’s lips are soft and pliant, his mouth warm and welcoming even if it still tastes like bourbon, and pricey bourbon for that matter, and it might be just a short while, but it feels good, it feels reassuring, and he lets it happen.
“Fine. If he says yes, I swear I’ll help you kick his ass if he ever comes back. Or. Not if. When he does.” He could and should probably stop here, but then he feels like he needs to add the following bit. “I… I’ll make sure your faith is not misplaced.”
For a second he wonders if it wasn’t going too far, but then Castiel’s lips slightly quirk up and it isn’t a smile but it’s as close as it can get. Meanwhile, thankfully, the pastor is still sleeping or otherwise, well, that’d be weird explaining how and why exactly Sam and Castiel are being so close and not exactly proper.
“Good,” Castiel says then, and suddenly Sam feels tired.
“Listen, what if… I mean, until Bobby calls or he wakes up… what if we just lie down for a while?”
The both of us?, is asked silently in Castiel’s eyes, but before Sam can answer that, Castiel makes space for him on the bed and after occupying it, Sam can’t help bringing a hand on Castiel’s waist, under the coat. He gives a light squeeze and he isn’t too surprised when Castiel comes a bit closer, enough that there are just a few inches between them.
They don’t even try to sleep as they wait for the call, but at least, Sam thinks, in two it’s not really as miserable. And if his hand stays where it is, or if Castiel’s reaches out to cover it, they let it happen.
End.
Title: I Just Need A Place To Lay My Head
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Rating: PG-something (less than 13 but more than PG?)
Wordcount: 2600
Warnings: someone is drunk. 5x17. That's a warning enough I guess?
Summary: where Castiel is both drunk and miserable, Sam is both worried and miserable, and they try to deal with it.
Spoilers: 5x17 '99 Problems' coda, ergo up and included said episode.
Disclaimer: SPN isn't mine and the title isn't either. If SPN was mine I wouldn't be so cruel.
A/N: using for sacred_20 #12, faith. Also. I like Sam/Castiel. I do, even if it isn't exactly my ship. I just don't usually write it. And if I do, it's crack. But after last episode I kind of had to and just, duh, I don't even know. I'm not jumping ship. I just had to. Really. ;) Title stolen from The Weight by Bob Dylan & The Band.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
On further thought, Castiel thinks as Sam sort of steers him towards the bed, he could have been a little less abrupt.
Then again, a few days ago he had the confirm that his Father brought him back just to wash His hands of him, and without even giving Castiel the chance to hear it; and right now he’s positively drunk, no, wait, wasted, as Dean would say, and excuse him, he’s allowed to be rude in this circumstance. Sam doesn’t even look too surprised or angry, which is definitely not a bad thing; Castiel doesn’t think he has it in himself to discuss the circumstances. He doesn’t think he has it in himself to do anything, right this moment, but if Sam called he obviously needs help and he’ll see to give it. Not much else he can do right now, if you don’t count finding another liquor store. And he thinks it might not be that wise of a course of action, even if it’s tempting.
“Cas?” Sam asks, jolting him out of his train of thoughts; Castiel just nods, letting himself fall on the edge of the bed. There’s a pleasurable buzz still going on inside his head, but he can already feel the beginnings of an headache and that won’t feel as nice or distracting. He knows.
Suddenly a glass of water is in front of him. He raises his head and raises an eyebrow in Sam’s direction; Sam just thrusts the glass into his hand.
“It’ll make you feel better. Some.”
“Didn’t you want to talk?”
“That can wait. Just drink that.”
Castiel shrugs and does; it does bring a bit of solace, but not nearly enough to fill the gaping hole that tore through him the second Dean told him the latest news from Heaven.
Sam takes the glass back, refills it, hands it over again and sits next to him on the bed.
“Christ,” he says after staring for a good minute, and Castiel lets out a chuckle that sounds forced even to his own ears. But he also sounds genuinely concerned and for a second it feels almost good; it disappears soon after though, and Castiel wonders if he’ll ever get past the despair he’s been feeling for the last days.
“What even possessed you to drink a liquor store?” Sam mutters; Castiel shakes his head.
“It seemed like a… very, very good idea at the time.”
“Yeah, it always does, until you realize it isn’t. Listen, lie down. Please.”
“Sam, I don’t need to lie down. I’m perfectly capable of talking. Which I believe is the reason you left that unnerving message on my phone, so if you…”
“Cas. I still have a conscience. You’re too out of it and I don’t need another reason to feel bad with myself. Lie down.”
And maybe it’s because he misses orders and a purpose and a lot of other things, but his head is starting to pound and lying down doesn’t sound that bad. So he does and he barely bothers to kick off his shoes, if only because they feel constricting. As everything else feels, but that’s not the point.
“Cas. Cas?”
“What? First you want to talk, then you don’t, then what?” he asks harshly, and he feels vaguely sorry for it but he can’t exactly control his reactions right now.
“Right, I might want to talk, but not business.”
“And what, then?”
“You. Cas, I’ve never seen you look this fucking bad, not even when you passed out in that motel room. And while Dean keeps on teasing me about trying to get him to talk about his goddamn feelings, maybe he could have used that, and you could use that. In conclusion, since you’re scaring the fuck out of me, would you mind sharing with the class? Because it’d do you a hell of a lot of good, I think.”
For some reason it doesn’t sound too bad, even if Castiel most definitely doesn’t feel like talking or making any kind of effort right now. Though, Castiel doesn’t think he’d have ever gone and told anything to either Sam or Dean if only because they have enough problems of their own, but if Sam asks…
He lets his face burrow deeper into the pillow, then lets out a breath, then feels his eyes stinging and what an angel he really is. No angel worthy of their name would ever let things get to him like this.
He wonders if he’d like it better if he couldn’t feel anything anymore, and then figures it’d be hopeless. His time of not-feeling ended the day he dragged Dean out of perdition.
“Is God doesn’t care enough?”
He doesn’t really expect what happens next.
An arm suddenly wraps around his waist, turning him around; the next second, Sam’s other arm is thrown around his back, Castiel’s own head is pressed against Sam’s shoulder as they both sit on the bed and the first thing he can think of is that Sam is warm. More than warm, he’s a furnace almost, and Castiel thinks that it might be good to just stay still and soak in it; but then for some reason his hands reach up slowly, tangling up in Sam’s shirt, and even if he has never done this before it feels good in a way that’s strange and alien but welcomed at the same time. Sam tugs closer even if he doesn’t push it and that’s when he loses it and just grabs back as tight as he can; Sam matches it and at some point Castiel feels thankful that he doesn’t need to breathe. He doesn’t even want to care about it. He just wants that warmth to sink into him and have a few seconds of blessed oblivion.
And so he does; for a second he wonders if it’s appropriate not to move after a reasonable amount of time which he thinks should have passed already, for human standards, but when he tries to talk Sam just shakes his head and tightens the hold of the arm around Castiel’s waist. It feels good. It really does. It feels… welcoming. Nice. Maybe next time, before finding himself another store, he could ask Sam if they could do this again, because it’s not like he doesn’t know that there will be a next time.
For now, he says thank you into Sam’s shoulder and exhales in relief when long, hesitant fingers belonging to a hand large enough to cup a good part of the back of his head tangle in his hair.
---
Sam slams the door behind him as soon as he doesn’t see the rear lights of the Impala up on the road anymore.
“Fuck,” he says at no one, because pastor Gideon is passed out on the bed and Cas is hunched on himself on the other bed.
What the hell should he do now, is a question. He should go after Dean, but how? He doesn’t have a car and he doubts that if he asked to someone in town they’d be happy to give him a ride; he should wait for Pastor Gideon to wake up, probably, but who the hell knows when is it going to happen. The guy is out cold and he just saw what he believed was his daughter die; Sam doesn’t exactly want to burden him further, even if he will, if he has to.
Anyway, he can’t possibly go and run after Dean, can he? At this point, he’ll be already at the border or some crap like that. He just hopes that he doesn’t say yes soon. Maybe he had some business to attend before? He sure as fuck hopes so because then there’s no chance for Sam to find him and slap some sense into his brother’s head.
He hears a soft groan from the other bed and curses himself again, because in all of this mess he had forgotten about Castiel being visibly in pain after that spell. Like they already didn’t have enough suffering going on between the three of them, he thinks as he kneels next to the bed and brings a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. This is definitely not Team Free Will’s greatest moment.
“Cas?”
“Sam,” Castiel croaks, and his voice sounds wrecked.
“Hey. How bad is that? Should I…”
“I’ll recover. This will not be what kills me, not yet. Where… where is Dean?”
Sam’s shoulders fall.
“He told me he’d go get bandages. And… he left. With the car. I think… I think he’s about to something stupid. The Michael kind of stupid.”
Castiel’s shoulders slump forward. Sam doesn’t think Castiel could possibly hunch on himself more, but he evidently was wrong.
“This definitely will not be what kills me, Dean will be,” he mutters before straightening the coat around his shoulders.
And it wouldn’t even be the first time, Sam thinks, and he wishes it didn’t have to be like this.
“How are you? Really. You shouldn’t be moving, Cas. Not for…”
“I shouldn’t, you are right. And I believe that Dean won’t do anything stupid just now. If he has been gone for a while, then he won’t. If he did not have something to do before, he would have already said yes and I would have known it. Then again, we cannot… afford to lose time.”
“Yeah, and what are we going to do? I doubt he’ll answer calls, Cas. Not from us. Or Bobby.”
“No. But doesn’t… don’t cellphones have some tracking device that could be used to find him?”
“You mean GPS? Yeah, but I would need my laptop to do that, and it’s on the goddamn car. But… wait here a second. I’ll call Bobby,” Sam answers before giving Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze and running out of the room.
He calls Bobby and breaks it down to him; after a good bunch of idjts screamed over the phone, about three quarters for Dean and one for Sam himself, Bobby tells him that he’ll track Dean down and call as soon as he stops in one location for more than five minutes. Sam thanks him but the call is ended just as he finishes the sentence.
He suddenly feels so alone that it aches.
He quickly gets back into the room and sits on the bed, on an empty spot next to which is Castiel’s waist; the angel raises an eyebrow questioningly and Sam nods.
“He says he’ll call as soon as Dean reasonably stops in one place.”
“That’s good,” Castiel says as he sits up straighter, or attempts to; Sam brings his arm around his waist to help him and he’s shot a thankful look which for some reason gives his guts a punch.
“Sam. Listen to me, because I don’t need to repeat this twice. When Bobby gives you the location, I will go and try to dissuade him. If he doesn’t want to be dissuaded, I will make sure he doesn’t say yes anyway. But I can’t bring you with me. I should recover enough to travel in the next hour or so, but I don’t trust myself with transporting anyone else. It might be too much and I will still need to bring Dean back with me if he doesn’t agree to come willingly.”
Sam nods, it’s not like he can fault Cas if he doesn’t want to die by angel express when he is the express. Also as long as it works, he can bear not to be there.
“I swear I will try anything to stop him. But, in the case I should fail or be too late and he says yes… don’t you dare follow him.”
Castiel is now staring at him so hard that it’s almost uncomfortable.
“Why should I…”
“I know the both of you. If he says yes, you will feel compelled to do the same in return because whenever one of you does something stupid, the other follows suit, and don’t even try to contradict me.”
Sam doesn’t try to deny it. He can’t really find any fault in Castiel’s reasoning.
“But, in case you haven’t noticed, if Dean says yes, then you are what I have left. I am cut from Heaven and I won’t delude myself into thinking that my Father will appear now of all times. And while I do get your impulse to follow your brother wherever he goes, if it comes to that, think about it twice.”
“Didn’t you say you did everything for him…?” Sam asks then, totally dumbfounded, and Castiel shakes his head before invading his personal space so blatantly that if Sam hadn’t done the exact same thing earlier (but hell, giving the poor bastard a hug seemed the least he could do) he’d be tempted to back off.
“Yes, I did it for him. Which does not mean that I haven’t learned to care about you, too, and since you and your brother both need it spelled out, for the last time: don’t even think about saying yes,” Castiel concludes, his voice deep and the lowest Sam ever heard it; it sounds like it sounded when Castiel was still a goddamn angel of the Lord in all his glory and power and Sam shivers for a second. He’d be scared if Castiel’s eyes didn’t tell a whole other story; he’s looking at Sam the way Dean was looking at him in that hotel room before Hell broke loose between them, when he was begging him to just come and leave Ruby behind and do things their way, and Sam thinks he gets the feeling. It was the same feeling he got when he called Dean to tell him about Lucifer wanting him for a vessel and the answer he received was that they should stay apart.
He doesn’t even know why he leans forward and instead of actually saying something with a sense he kisses Castiel, but before he can back off and call it a mistake a hand grabs the back of his neck and he’s kissed back for a handful of seconds. Castiel’s lips are soft and pliant, his mouth warm and welcoming even if it still tastes like bourbon, and pricey bourbon for that matter, and it might be just a short while, but it feels good, it feels reassuring, and he lets it happen.
“Fine. If he says yes, I swear I’ll help you kick his ass if he ever comes back. Or. Not if. When he does.” He could and should probably stop here, but then he feels like he needs to add the following bit. “I… I’ll make sure your faith is not misplaced.”
For a second he wonders if it wasn’t going too far, but then Castiel’s lips slightly quirk up and it isn’t a smile but it’s as close as it can get. Meanwhile, thankfully, the pastor is still sleeping or otherwise, well, that’d be weird explaining how and why exactly Sam and Castiel are being so close and not exactly proper.
“Good,” Castiel says then, and suddenly Sam feels tired.
“Listen, what if… I mean, until Bobby calls or he wakes up… what if we just lie down for a while?”
The both of us?, is asked silently in Castiel’s eyes, but before Sam can answer that, Castiel makes space for him on the bed and after occupying it, Sam can’t help bringing a hand on Castiel’s waist, under the coat. He gives a light squeeze and he isn’t too surprised when Castiel comes a bit closer, enough that there are just a few inches between them.
They don’t even try to sleep as they wait for the call, but at least, Sam thinks, in two it’s not really as miserable. And if his hand stays where it is, or if Castiel’s reaches out to cover it, they let it happen.
End.