Title: More than Words
Author: lt_indigo
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: M (to be safe)
Length: 7,240 words
Summary: In which Sam and Gabriel help their brothers to understand each other.

Author's note: I have taken some inspiration from NorthernSparrow's fics Flight and A Room of One's Own with regards to the angels' wings, and the book that Sam reads. I hope she doesn't mind.

Set some time during Season 5, after 5.08 Changing Channels. Kind of deviates from canon. A bit.

---

Sam stifled a groan as Dean and Castiel took up their customary staring contest and slammed his laptop shut.

“I’m going to get a coffee,” he announced, standing up and grabbing the car keys. “You two have fun.”

Dean barely glanced at him. “Don’t scratch my baby.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude.”

.oOo.

There was a Starbucks half a mile down the road from the motel, offering free WiFi, and Sam pulled in gratefully. He ordered his customary triple-redeye and settled himself into a booth to while away a couple of hours away from the lovebirds.

He looked up, surprised, at the sound of a wing-beat opposite him. Expecting to see Cas, he was even more surprised to see the Trickster, leaning back into the back of the booth and sipping indulgently at something that seemed to be mostly whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

“So, our brothers are idiots,” he said conversationally.

“What? Why are you here? How did you find me?”

Gabriel sighed and set down his mug. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you mooks for a while. You know, making sure you don’t completely blow everything. And yeah, that fancy body art you’re sporting is keeping you hidden, but Castiel is a beacon. A fading beacon, but still. And I’m here because our brothers are idiots and need help.”

Sam nodded despite himself. “Tell me about it.”

“I mean, Castiel has an excuse: he has absolutely no idea what he’s feeling, but Dean? With his track record, I expected better.”

“Dean’s hung up on the gender thing,” Sam said. “That and Cas doesn’t exactly give much away.”

Gabriel smirked at him over his cream-filled mug. “Oh, he does. You guys just can’t see it.”

“Wait, what?”

Gabriel leaned over the table, resting his chin on clasped hands. “We’re a lot more like you than you think,” he admitted. “Most of our communication is non-verbal too. Admittedly we tend to share thoughts, but we have our own body language, just like you.”

Sam pushed his laptop away, his eyes fixed on Gabriel’s. “You do? But you don’t have bodies.”

There was a grin from the archangel. “Bingo. I’m just saying ‘body language’ because it’s a term you can understand. It’s not synonymous, and nothing translates from one species to the other. Castiel might be able to speak and read every language throughout history, but that’s all verbal. My brothers have never learned to read your body language, so Cas doesn’t know what Dean’s is telling him. And Dean can’t see what Castiel’s ‘body language’ is saying.”

Sam snorted and shook his head, leaning back. “So, what you’re saying is that they actually need to talk to each other? About their feelings?”

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. “Yep.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Between your emotionally constipated brother and my emotionally stunted one, no, probably not. Which brings me back to them being idiots and needing help.”

Sam considered this: the tension between the two was unbearable to the point that Sam was being sexiled without actual sex taking place, but would sex make it any better?

“Are you kidding? They’re not exactly going to be cooing over each other and making out in public,” Gabriel pointed out, leaving Sam wonder whether he had accidentally voiced his question aloud.

“Hello? Archangel.”

So, no, he hadn’t. And Gabriel had just told him that angels shared thoughts: the whole damn species was telepathic. But…

“Yeah, I wish Cas would read Dean’s mind, but he either won’t or can’t any more. I’m kinda hoping it’s ‘won’t’.”

Gabriel’s face was oddly serious as he contemplated that, and Sam suddenly realised that Gabriel actually cared about Castiel. Someone other than him and Dean cared about Cas. An angel cared. An archangel at that; a being with mind-boggling powers who could bend time and create actual people on a whim.

“Can you help him?” he blurted out.

Given the topic their conversation had started on, Sam was surprised to see Gabriel’s shoulders slump, his face falling as his eyes glanced away from Sam. “It doesn’t work like that, Sammy,” he said softly. “I could give little Cassie a top-up, and he might even be able to use it for a little while, but borrowed grace burns. It never works out well, and it would end up killing him even more quickly than him becoming mortal.” Gabriel sighed and swiped his finger through the melting cream that topped what appeared to be a hot chocolate, judging by the colour of the bubbles seeping up and over the side of the mug. “The best thing would be to get him hooked back up, but only Mikey or Dad can do that and, well, you know the scores there.”

“I had to ask.”

Gabriel looked back up at him. “I know, and that’s the reason I was wrong about you, kiddo.”

“Oh?”

“You’re nothing like Lucifer. You might have a mile of daddy issues but who doesn’t, right? Luci would never have thought to ask. He never cared much for anyone beyond Dad and Mikey. Even Raph and I weren’t worthy of too much of his attention after a few millennia, once we were old enough to look after ourselves. Not until he tried to convince me to stand up to Dad with him, anyway.”

“You?”

Gabriel gave a wry grimace. “He tried all three of us, but he kept coming back to me. I think he figured I was the most like him. And he’s right: I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

How was this his life? He was spending Friday evening drinking coffee with the archangel freaking Gabriel, who had spent a merry six months killing Dean every way he could possibly imagine, then another six months letting Sam sink into a mire of despair and vengeance, who killed people for his own amusement (okay, they were complete and total bastards who probably deserved it, but not the point), and Sam was trying to console him. Persuading him he wasn’t like his big brother. Who, you know, happened to be the devil. How was this Sam’s life? Seriously?

“Okay, so you can think for yourself, but you don’t corrupt people like Lucifer does. You just step in and administer justice after they’ve been corrupted. And you don’t kill all of them. Not that I agree with your methods, but the ones you leave alive never offend again. I’ve been tracking your MO all over the country, you know; keeping tabs on your victims. The lessons stick.”

Gabriel was uncharacteristically silent as he contemplated Sam’s words.

“So,” Sam said after a couple of minutes, testing the waters. When he didn’t get smote on the spot, he gave Gabriel a little smile and asked: “what’s the plan for getting those two bone-heads together?”

.oOo.

As it transpired, Gabriel didn’t have much of a plan at all, but he at least stopped moping. Turns out that, unsurprisingly, angels weren’t really geared towards dating or sex (although Gabriel assured him, with a lascivious waggle of his eyebrows, they were perfectly capable of enjoying it). Castiel was going to need help, and lots of it. Gabriel said he was quite happy to teach his little brother about certain aspects of humanity (and Sam immediately resolved to check up on this before Cas tried anything out on Dean), while Sam handled Dean. That wasn’t going to be so easy because, as he pointed out to Gabriel, Castiel had gone and chosen a male vessel, and Dean was categorically straight. It wasn’t even deeply-in-the-closet: Dean was attracted to women. Sam had seen far, far too much of his brother, limbs wrapped around one woman or another, to ever question that. At least, Dean was never going to question it: Sam had seen far too much in his time in college to believe that sexuality was ever as cut-and-dry as that. And this wasn’t just about sex: this went far, far beyond sex (given that Dean saw Cas as a man, and Cas was technically asexual).

Sam was going to have to be as wily as, and a hell of a lot more subtle than, his Trickster co-conspirator to get Dean to realise what an idiot he was being.

.oOo.

Sam glanced up from the book on vampire lore he was reading to find that Dean was trying to teach Cas to play poker. Ordinarily, this was something he would have liked to see (Cas’ poker face would be epic), but he had something else on his mind.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“You can take a vessel of either gender, right? I mean, we’ve seen you in a female vessel before. So why do you call your brothers ‘brothers’?”

There was the briefest of flickers in Castiel’s expression, a furrowing of his brow as he was taken by surprise.

“While English has an appropriate agendered word, ‘sibling’ is not commonly utilised, and is generally impersonal. The patriarchal nature of your society leads us to use the word ‘brother’ instead.”

Sam made a small noise of comprehension. Dean stared at him in disbelief.

“Why do you ask?” Castiel continued.

Sam shrugged. “Just curious.”

.oOo.

Bobby threw a package into Sam’s lap the second he collapsed onto the ailing sofa.

“I ain’t a PO box, boy,” he growled. “At least let me know if you’re ordering on eBay.”

Sam frowned, turning the very book-shaped package over to look at the shipping label, showing the sender to be ‘eBay user: MessengerRareBooks’. Shockingly subtle of Gabriel, Sam thought approvingly. “Sorry, Bobby: I completely forgot. Won’t happen again. I should, um, stow my crap.”

Bobby eyeballed the two duffle bags that were currently littering the floor of his living room. “You’re damn right about that, boy. I can’t exactly ballet dance over them these days.”

Sam tucked the parcel under his arm, snatched his bag and escaped upstairs to Bobby’s spare room. Once there, he sat on the rickety old bed he and Dean used to share and tore the wrappings from his mystery parcel. Out tumbled an incredibly elderly but remarkably pristine leather-bound tome. On it, embossed into the leather, was one word: ‘Angeli’. His curiosity piqued, Sam opened it gently and found what appeared to be a Medieval book detailing purported facts about angels as a supernatural species, just as there were books about demons, vampires, werewolves and the like (some more accurate than others). Given its provenance, Sam was willing to bet that this was either a very good fake, or an amazingly accurate original, rather than the more fanciful information that Castiel tended to look down his nose at (on one memorable occasion he had actually tossed a book into Bobby’s open fire, so poor was its content). He flipped through, and was surprised to find a detailed drawing of the banishing sigil, along with meticulous instructions on how to employ it.

Now very curious about Gabriel’s intentions in sharing this knowledge so freely, if secretively, Sam flipped back to the contents page and discovered that the book dealt with most of the aspects of the species a hunter would want to know, including behaviour and weaknesses (the chapter he had discovered the sigil in). Even as he opened the book to the chapter on weaknesses, Sam found himself wondering just how the author, or the contributor, had learned the sigil: after all, they had learned it from a fallen angel who didn’t even remember that she knew it. There couldn’t be that many fallen angels around, surely?

The chapter was distressingly brief, and only yielded one new piece of information: a painted or chalked sigil that worked in the same manner as a devil’s trap, capable of containing an angel. It had the same pros and cons as a standard devil’s trap, and holy oil was quicker and a hell of a lot more invisible to work with. But, Sam figured, it was worth knowing. The book was useless on how to actually kill an angel, beyond the use of holy fire: the author clearly hadn’t known that anyone could wield an angel’s blade to great effect (or, of course, the author was Gabriel himself and didn’t want Sam and Dean to have that information. But why then give them the book?). To be fair, Castiel himself had been taken aback when Dean had shoved Cas’ dropped blade through one of his many, anonymous-to-them brothers a couple of weeks ago and the guy had actually been decent enough to die.

Behaviour was the only other thing that really interested Sam (the chapter entitled ‘Scaphia’ was probably very useful, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know and more about vessels than he already knew), and the thing that he and Gabriel had talked about. He grinned as the book, in a painful, Medieval kind of way, eventually got to discussing the body language issue and the fact that angels’ wings were the best indicator of their moods, in the unlikely event that a human ever got the chance to observe them.

It was while he was reading this that Dean barged in and demanded to know what the hell Sam was being so secretive about.

“Oh,” Sam said, startled, “I found this online” (he held up the book so that Dean could see its title) “and thought it might be useful. Know your enemy and all that. It’s pretty unusual: the author’s pretty much ignored everything the Bible says and dug into every other account of an angel encounter he could find. It’s got the banishing sigil in here, and we know that works.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know, we’ve got a walking, talking angel expert a phone call away.”

“Yeah, true,” Sam admitted, “but Cas is busy, and he’s not always in a coverage zone, is he? The signal’s pretty crappy in the middle of the Amazon rainforest, or on Mars.”

“Seriously, dude? Mars?” There was a moment of hesitation, then: “Mars? You think?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not like Cas has to breathe, is it? The guy can fold time; I don’t think a few million miles is any challenge to him.”

He struggled not to grin as he watched Dean try to wrap his head around that idea. Anything that got Dean to think about Cas as the angel inside Jimmy Novak’s skin was a bonus. And now Sam wished he hadn’t had that thought, because now he was creeped out about the idea of him and Gabriel trying to set Dean and Cas up when there was another guy inside that admittedly handsome body.

“Hey, is the washer free?”

Dean grinned at him. “Yeah. You’ve been up here that long I’ve already done my laundry. And Bobby’s got a pot roast going. Good food, a chance to wash up properly: good times, huh?”

Sam nodded and placed the book carefully on the night stand, marking his place with a torn piece of the discarded wrappings. Bobby’s place was the closest thing to a physical home Sam could remember: these days it was a small and very welcome haven in the midst of the insanity that was their lives.

Sam grabbed his clothes and made his way down to the washer that was now located what had once been a small den. He and Dean had moved it up from the basement when Bobby got out of the hospital. Operating the machine with long-practiced ease, he checked in with Bobby, got an earful about helplessness and a lack thereof, and went for a stroll around the junkyard, putting as much distance between him and the house as possible. He stopped in one of his favourite spots; a long-rusted ’67 Firebird that his dad had stripped for compatible parts more than twenty years ago. It was right up at the perimeter fence, overlooking a field. He sat down on the hood and, within seconds, Gabriel appeared beside him, feet hitched up onto the bumper and a smug smile on his face.

“You got my gift?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I like the eBay ID.”

Gabriel frowned at the lack of enthusiasm. “What’s up, Sambo? I thought you’d like it.”

He tried to give the angel a reassuring smile. “I do. It’s really interesting, it’s just…” He trailed off as he tried to work out how to voice his concerns before realising he needn’t have bothered: the second he thought about Jimmy, Gabriel’s head came up sharply, his whole body straightening up.

“You’re worried about the vessel, huh? I guess that makes sense, from your point of view. I can safely say, from experience, that it’s not an issue. My vessel enjoyed everything just as much as I did.”

“Past tense?” Gabriel shrugged. “Yeah, well. It’s been a while since I’ve let him be conscious: he’s not exactly what you’d call ‘sane’ any more. Human souls might be eternal, but they’re not meant to actually live forever. That and I imagine being chained to an angel isn’t something that even a vessel is equipped to cope with, mentally.”

Sam eyeballed him long and hard, and felt kind of proud when Gabriel squirmed uncomfortably. “Yeah, I know. I’m an asshole, remember? So’s my vessel, before you ask. He was an abusive, womanising drunk.”

“Jimmy’s not,” Sam felt the need to point out. “He’s a nice guy, with a wife and a kid.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes before frowning again, his eyes boring uncomfortably into Sam’s, clearly seeing the recollection of Amelia and Claire playing in Sam’s mind. “Holy crap; you met the vessel?”

“Vessels, plural.” He deliberately thought about the moment he realised Cas was wearing a twelve-year-old girl, and seeing him switch between the two of them.

“Cassie’s got bigger balls than I thought: rebelling after that.” Gabriel sounded a little awed, clearly understanding something about Castiel’s absence that Sam hadn’t and probably didn’t want to. “But why the Hell does he have to make this so morally difficult? The truth is, Sammy, I don’t know if your boy Jimmy is even still awake in there. I don’t know how much separation there is between Cassie and his vessel any more; and I heard tell… has Castiel told you about how we communicate with the Host?”

Sam thought for a second before he realised what Gabriel meant. “You mean ‘angel radio’?”

Gabriel gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, that’ll be it. I like it. I heard on Angel FM that Castiel’s done a Winchester and managed to get himself killed and resurrected.”

Sam nodded. “The day I opened the Cage, yeah.”

“Could be that Jimmy didn’t get his soul popped back in when Dad rebuilt the vessel. Outright possession of a vessel is unheard of, but so’s an angel coming back from the dead. Dad doesn’t exactly play by the same rules as us. That body could be all Cassie’s for all I know. It wouldn’t surprise me; Daddy dearest must have known about their epic gay love for each other.”

Sam chuckled. “It was pretty obvious, even then. But, what if Jimmy is still in there?”

Gabriel shrugged. “There’s only one person who can tell us that, and it’s the same person who can ask the guy whether he’s okay with the man-loving we’re planning. We need to trust Castiel. Fuck, why is his vessel so damn nice? Why couldn’t he have just possessed a douche-bag like I did?”

“Maybe the personality needs to fit?” Sam suggested innocently.

Gabriel shot him a sideways glance before laughing; a genuine, heartfelt laugh that made Sam smile too.

.oOo.

Sam kept the book with him and read from it periodically. He always left the bookmark in the section about angelic body language, and hid a grin the day returned from grabbing burgers and saw that the book had moved. Dean was oddly contemplative that evening, and Sam fired off a quick text message to Gabriel: ‘He’s read it. You’re up.’

.oOo.

“Freaking skeevy witches, man,” Dean growled as he picked drying gloop from his hair. Sam wasn’t smug about having got away scot-free (from the spell-gunk, anyway), and he totally wasn’t gloating. No, not him.

“You sure this stuff’s safe?” Dean asked for the third time as he dropped his keys on the table and headed for the bathroom.

“I’m sure,” Sam reassured him. “The spell wasn’t complete: the valerian was sitting right there on the table next to her.”

“You’d better be right. If I grow an extra head or some stupid shit like that, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Stop bitching and just wash it off. You’ll be fine.”

Dean closed the bathroom door. A few moments later, Sam heard the shower start running and the tell-tale sounds of water falling from a person into the tub. He pulled out his phone.

‘Sorry about cutting your throat. You’re not pissed, are you?’

The response was quick: ‘Worried I’ll smite you in your sleep?’

‘A little.’

‘We’re good. You didn’t get any of my blood on you, did you?’

Sam hadn’t thought anything of it as he had slit the golden-eyed teenage witch’s throat, but yes, there were splatters pretty much all over him.

‘Course not. Not like it’s a messy way of killing someone. Why?’

Sam was pretty sure that angel blood was safe: Cas had never warned them against touching him when he bled, and it wasn’t like Sam was licking it off himself or anything like that (he hadn’t even been as stupid as to lick his lips at all afterwards, just on the off-chance. One blood addiction was enough, thank you).

‘No reason. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

Then: ‘You might get some effects similar to what Deano should start seeing. Maybe? Hopefully that’s all, anyway. Not really bled out over anyone before.’

Sam rolled his eyes, wishing that Gabriel had thought to mention the little detail of his blood before they had gone into the house and ‘taken out’ the Sabrina wannabe. Either that or…

‘You couldn’t have just made a prop person?’

‘Hindsight, kiddo. Works just as well for us as you.’

‘I wanted to see Deano’s face for myself. And it’s more fun, being right in the action. Worth a little inconvenience in the clean-up.’

Yes, that sounded about right, Sam thought. He only hoped he wouldn't pay for Gabriel's desire to see this through. The sound of the shower shutting off for his attention: suddenly he was even more enthusiastic than he had been to wash the archangel's blood off, but he also hoped that Dean didn't call Cas while he was in the bathroom because he wanted to see his brother's reaction for himself (yes, he was a filthy hypocrite, but at least he admitted it).

.oOo.

They didn't see Cas until the next day: they had grabbed some sandwiches and pie from a gas station and made the most of the good weather and beautiful surroundings to have a picnic, pulling off the road in a small wood. Dean sounded positively cheerful when he gave Cas their location, and didn't yelp when the angel appeared. Sam, lying on his back and watching the clouds, gave a little wave of acknowledgement and did his damnedest not to look at his brother for his reaction, but couldn't stop himself when he heard Dean swallow. Dean's eyes were fixed on Cas, and her looked like he was torn between outright panic and, oh - God help them - lust.

"Dean, are you unwell?"

Sam propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over at Cas. Sure enough, Gabriel had been right: behind the angel, Sam could make out the faint shape of wings. The impression wasn't enough for him to work out what colour they were, but they were definitely there, and Dean was definitely seeing them too. Hopefully more clearly than Sam was, otherwise Gabriel had misled him about the spell he had cast while wearing that ridiculous cheerleader body that he had shown far too much of off.

“Um, no, I’m fine.” Dean’s voice was a little unsteady. “Why’d you ask, Cas?”

“You seem tense,” Cas said bluntly. Good for Cas: Sam knew that in the background of their grand scheme to hammer the truth into Dean’s thick skull, Gabriel was teaching Castiel to read human body language better. It looked like it was working, because Dean definitely looked tense.

“Me, nah.” Dean reached over, faking nonchalance, and grabbed a fresh bottle from their cooler. “I’m fine. You want a beer?”

Sam was fully expecting Cas to do what he always did and decline. He was therefore taken aback when Cas accepted the bottle with the tiniest of smiles. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey, no problem.” Dean patted the ground. “Pull up a piece of grass, take a load off. I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you all the time.”

Cas’ miniscule facial expression shifted slightly as Dean grumbled, from that smile to an almost imperceptible drawing together of his eyebrows. What was more telling were the hard-to-focus-on wings, which drew closer to his back as the confusion set in. Huh.

Even though he was clearly confused by Dean’s apparent change in temperament (Sam knew better, but Cas didn’t yet), the angel sat down, cross-legged, his insubstantial wings sinking through the ground. It was a strange enough sight for Sam: he couldn’t imagine what it looked like to Dean. It must have been very odd, because Dean took a sip of his beer to cover his unease but, in his distraction he choked on it. Sam just rolled his eyes.

“What’s up, Cas?” he asked, taking pity on Dean and letting his brother catch his breath.

The angel took a moment by popping the cap off his bottle; a tiny glow of grace at his fingertips even as his wings seemed to droop even further into the ground (a reaction that completely equated to human body language). “I am… losing hope. For months, I have searched the Earth for signs of my Father and found none.”

“You just need a break,” Sam said. “Go back to it with a fresh set of eyes.”

“Yeah,” Dean chimed in. “Kick back, take a moment to enjoy a few cold ones. Hang out with us for a few days. Your big bros aren’t going anywhere while me and Sam keep saying no.”

Sam was torn about this: on the one hand, Castiel was a beacon, and he was advertising their position loud and clear; on the other, Cas being around more meant that he and Dean might work out their epic romance once and for all. That and Gabriel knew where they were, and might just maybe step in if someone like Zachariah found them and tried out his persuasive techniques on Dean again.

Fuck it, he decided eventually: if this was the end of the world, Dean and Cas at least deserved some happiness.

“You should definitely stay,” he said, seeing that Cas was uncertain (wings held tightly again, but twitching slightly). “Sleeping on a problem can make a solution obvious. Or, in your case, just taking a break.”

Cas took a sip of his beer. “Perhaps you are right. Gabriel has also advocated such a course of action. Of course, I was sceptical of his motives given that he does not believe I will succeed in finding Father, but…”

“You’ve seen that asshole?” Dean spluttered, interrupting Cas and earning himself a baleful glare. Castiel might not understand body language very well, but he was incredibly good at expressing himself through his eyes.

“Gabriel is my brother, Dean,” he said firmly, wings flaring out a little, the insubstantial feathers seeming to bristle. “I understand your animosity towards him, but he is the only member of my family who is not only is willing to speak to me, but is not actively trying to kill me.”

Dean had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Also, given your lack of recollection, I believe that both Sam and I have much better reasons to have issue with Gabriel. He was the commander of my garrison for countless millions of years, and he turned his back on us. I have forgiven him, Dean; both for that and for his continuing blasphemies. Sam also seems to wish for his allegiance in our fight to stop the apocalypse.” (Sam nodded his agreement when Cas glanced at him.) “Perhaps it is time you ‘got over yourself’.”

Sam covered his mouth and pretended to cough in order to cover up his smirk and stop himself from laughing at Dean’s completely incredulous expression. That and, of course, that was exactly what Sam and Gabriel wanted Dean to do, just in a completely different context.

“I, er… It’s not that simple, Cas. The dude killed me like a thousand times.”

“I believe the final total was one hundred and thirty-two,” Cas said mildly. “And each time, he kept your soul safe, and restored you with no memory. Therefore, only Sam is able to hold a grudge for that incident.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not saying I like the guy, but he would be a powerful ally, and I still think he wants the apocalypse to happen about as much as we do. That and he’s your brother, Cas: we can’t take something that important from you.” He gave a wry smile. “I know what it’s like to miss your big brother.”

Dean positively squirmed at that: even though they were generally over any perceived abandonments (Stanford and Ruby still came up occasionally when Dean was really pissed with him), this topic of conversation wasn’t helping. This was probably a good thing in the grand scheme.

Sam got to his feet and started to head towards the trees.

“Where you going?”

He turned back to Dean. “Seriously? I need to take a piss.”

“Fair enough.”

Sam wandered just far enough into the trees and leaned against the back of a large tree, pulling his phone out. Seriously, this was starting to feel like the whole thing with Ruby all over again.

‘Cas is here. Dean can definitely see his wings. So can I – thanks for that. I feel like I’m perving on your brother.’

The response was swift:

‘You are: you’re looking at his naughty bits :D’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Right?’

‘Yeah. We don’t have naughty bits in our true forms. And you wonder why I like living here so much?’

.oOo.

Cas stayed with them for the rest of the day. When night started to fall, they found a motel, ordered pizza and Dean found a monster movie marathon on TV. Sam made it to the end of Dracula (“These vampires are extremely inaccurately portrayed. The Van Helsings, however, are famous even in Heaven: like you, they are both hunters and vessels.”) before declaring that he was going for a run. Dean simply rolled his eyes in response and got up to shove another bag of popcorn into the microwave. By the time Sam emerged from the bathroom in his running gear, Dean had resumed his former position and was offering Cas the bowl of freshly popped kernels as the new movie started.

He barely made it past the parking lot before he was ambushed by an archangel. Fortunately for him, it was the one that wasn’t after his ass one way or the other.

“Oh, don’t sell your ass short, Sammy,” Gabriel said with a smirk, not moving from where he was slouched against a nearby tree. “No wonder Luci wants to ride it so badly.”

Sam pulled a face and watched as Gabriel’s feathers seemed to fluff up at the same moment as the smile reached his eyes.

“Oh, so you can see them.” Gabriel gave his wings a little shake.

“More clearly than Castiel’s,” Sam admitted, desperately supressing the urge to run his fingers through the bright, golden feathers. “It’s like I can’t focus properly on his.”

Gabriel appeared thoughtful. “Makes sense, I guess: it was my blood, after all. It should fade in a few days. Anyway, how are things going in there? I can’t see past your damned warding.”

Sam grinned. “Good to know it’s working. I left them lounging on the same bed, eating popcorn from the same bowl and watching Frankenstein.”

Sam was amused to see Gabriel’s feathers fluff up even more.

“That’s a good reaction, right?” he asked, waving a hand vaguely. “All that fluffing up?”

Gabriel turned his head to look, seemingly surprised. He reached up and touched the delicate plumage with reverence. “Yeah,” he said softly, his smile suddenly much softer and more genuine. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Sam got the impression that it was something Gabriel wasn’t used to seeing any more, which seemed very sad.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing the archangel by his free hand and dragging him down the street. “Let’s get some ice cream.”

.oOo.

The ice cream had been an awesome plan, in retrospect: it had kept Sam from wondering about what the hell was going on back at the motel, because he had spent the entire time trying to get Gabriel’s wings to fluff as much as possible. He had recounted just about every damn good story he had, paying particular attention to the prank wars he and Dean had engaged in regularly. Gabriel had roared with laughter at the Nair-in-the-shampoo, and approved immensely of Sam’s retaliatory fake-tan-in-the-body-wash. In return, Gabriel had debunked some of the Loki myths (“Seriously, Sammy: you really think I gave birth to a horse?”) and re-told some of the others with his own spin on it (“Thor really didn’t have the figure to pull off a dress. Now, me…” “Growing your own tits to look good in drag is cheating, Gabriel.”). He even recounted a few stories of Heaven (“I swear to Dad, you were literally an inch from never existing. Cas was a clumsy kid.”). All told, Sam felt he had gotten to know his old adversary much better and, like Dean originally had, liked the guy. His lessons tended to have an almost poetic elegance to them, and he seemed to have a genuine love for Earth and humanity that so many other pagan deities (and angels, for that matter) lacked.

The issue now was that Gabriel had made some truly pornographic sounds while enjoying his enormous sundae, and back in the relative privacy of the motel room bathroom, Sam’s mind was wandering, thinking about other ways to make Gabriel sound like that. Which was a novel experience: sleeping with supernatural creatures was pretty much par for the course by now, but male ones? Or, at least, male-shaped ones? That was new. Especially male-shaped, telepathic creatures. How far had his mind wandered while he was still sat across from Gabriel? Had he pictured dropping to his knees, reverently opening the Trickster’s jeans? Had he imagined the archangel lying beneath him as he kissed and nibbled his way down Gabriel’s body? Sinking his fingers into those gorgeous, thick feathers? Had Gabriel seen the moment his mind had flipped on him and remembered how strong Gabriel was? How easy it would be for the archangel to hold him down and have his wicked way with Sam? How much Sam had been mentally translating Gabriel’s licking of the sundae spoon to licking his cock?

He bit down on his fist as he came, muffling the cry his treacherous body still tried to make despite a lifetime spent sharing close quarters with his brother.

He was curled up on the other bed when he remembered that Castiel was a telepath too. Sure, Cas would have figured Dean out ages ago were he actively reading their minds, but how loud had Sam been projecting his thoughts? How much control did Cas have when he was asleep? Because he was asleep: had been for about half an hour before Sam had returned, according to Dean. Dean, who hadn’t wanted to disturb the slumbering angel snuggled up to him by moving, meaning that Sam was now trying to sleep just a few feet from where Dean was spooning the love of his freaking life; the angel whose blurry, out of focus wings looked kind of fluffy.

.oOo.

Dean fessed up the next morning, pretty much taking advantage of Castiel’s disorientated sleepiness. That said, Cas wasn’t sleepy for long after finding that out; his focus sharpened to its usual chisel-like intensity as he grilled Dean about when exactly this had happened, what exactly Dean could see (turned out that Dean was seeing Castiel’s wings in much better focus than Sam was, and could even make out that they were silver in colour), and demanding to know every little thing that had happened since they last saw an angel to determine what had caused this.

“And what about you, Sam?” Cas demanded, eventually turning to him. “Are you able to see my wings also?”

Sam determined that honesty would be the better part of valour here, even though, from how tightly said limbs were being held, it was obvious Cas was truly uncomfortable about this.

“A bit,” he admitted. “It’s more like a blurry outline, to be honest. I couldn’t have told you anything about the colour.” He shrugged and added: “I just figured it was Lucifer screwing with my head.”

Okay: honesty to a point.

“Oh, dude, it wasn’t that freaking witch, was it?” Dean said with a groan. “I knew all that crap was too gross not to be something.”

Sam frowned. “But I didn’t get any on me,” he pointed out.

“How the hell would you know?” Dean demanded. “I might have dripped on you for all you know. You were that covered in her blood, you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Sam appeared to consider this. He knew damn well that he hadn’t been touched by so much as a drop of Gabriel’s concoction, but it was a reasonable explanation. “Maybe, I guess.”

“It is possible,” Castiel allowed finally, his wings starting to relax a touch behind him. “If one of the spell ingredients was an angel feather, this is a known side-effect of such magics. I assume it will wear off eventually.”

Dean gave him an odd look. “I dunno, man. I kind of like seeing you properly; seeing something that’s you rather than Jimmy.”

“Okay,” Sam announced suddenly, seeing something soften in both sets of eyes, “I’m going to get some breakfast. You guys want anything?”

Dean gave a wave of his hand that Sam readily interpreted to ‘Bacon sandwich and coffee’. Cas gave the question a little more thought.

“Perhaps I should begin to acclimatise myself to food,” he mused. “I do not know enough to choose for myself, though.”

“I’ll think of something,” Sam assured him, and left them to it. He was sure it wasn’t his imagination that Castiel’s wings seemed a little fuzzier around the edges than before.

.oOo.

Sam based his selection of breakfast on what little he knew about Jimmy’s preferences (a man after Dean’s cholesterol-ridden heart) and Gabriel’s texted advice that the lore about trickster metabolism had come from his sweet tooth and not the other way around (his, not his vessel’s), and presented Castiel with a polystyrene container holding pancakes, maple syrup and bacon, with a selection of small coffees for him to try.

Dean seemed to take great pleasure in watching Cas try his first proper meal. Sam noticed that Dean had taken to watching Castiel’s wings rather than his face, and it was obvious that Dean was liking what he was seeing. Which clearly meant that Dean was learning to read Castiel’s body language. Dean laughed when Castiel’s wings spasmed when he tasted the black coffee, the shudder reverberating through his vessel. Sam smiled and Dean shifted subtly when Cas let out a rapturous moan when he took his first sip of the mocha.

They took a meandering route when they checked out, ending at a lake surrounded by trees. Castiel’s eyes lit up and his wings stretched out the second he was out of the car.

“This is beautiful,” he exclaimed. “I so rarely take the time to enjoy my Father’s creation any more.”

Dean looked taken aback, before a bright smile lit his features as he watched Cas enjoying nature.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Sam announced. “There was a sign for a diner a bit further round the lake: I’ll bring back some sandwiches.”

“Sure thing.”

Sam was probably a quarter of a mile from the car when Gabriel appeared at his side.

“Deano’s going to notice that you keep wandering off,” he commented as an opener.

Sam gave a snort. “He’s not going to notice anything: he’s too busy staring at Cas’ wings, trying to get them to fluff up.”

He made a mistake at that point, looking sideways and catching the archangel looking at him with a shrewd expression. Oh, crap: how much was Gabriel seeing in his mind?

“I’d be more worried about what you’re not seeing back with Tweedledee and Tweedledum if I were you,” Gabriel informed him. “C’mere.”

Gabriel grabbed his hand and suddenly, they were back with Dean and Cas. Dean was smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and Cas’ wings, suddenly much more solid-looking, were so fluffy he looked like a fledgling bird, but held tightly to his back as if he were nervous. They were both in each other’s space, the beautiful lake sparkling, forgotten, behind them.

“Dean, I… I wish to try something I have observed humans doing.”

“Sure thing, Cas.”

Castiel reached out and cupped his hand around Dean’s jaw. Dean’s eyes widened with sudden understanding.

“Uh, Cas?” His voice was lower than usual. “Are you sure you know what that means?”

Cas gave him a tiny little smile. “Yes Dean, I know.”

With that, Cas closed the gap between them and brushed his lips against Dean’s. It was hesitant, tentative. It was exactly what a first kiss should be like.

“Yeah, when you’re thirteen,” Gabriel snarked, but his wings (also much clearer, and Sam suddenly realised they weren’t actually there at all: he was just seeing something through Gabriel’s superhuman perception) were fluffed too – something Sam could now interpret easily as ‘happy’.

Sam elbowed him anyway, on principle. “Cas hasn’t got your millennia of experience,” he said pointedly. “This is literally his first kiss.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s adorable. Let’s go get some cake before you start feeling like a voyeur.”

Immediately, they were outside the diner and Gabriel was pushing the door open. Sam followed, his feet feeling heavy all of a sudden. Gabriel had come to him to help get Dean and Cas together, and now that mission was over. Their brothers were kissing like clumsy teenagers a mile away. Did that mean Gabriel would leave?

He collided with the angel, who had stopped abruptly in the doorway and turned back around. Without hesitation, Gabriel wrapped both his arms and wings around him.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he said gently. “I’ll be here as long as you want.”

Sam hadn’t realised just how much he wanted until the moment he had thought Gabriel might leave. Entertaining some interesting fantasies didn’t really mean anything, after all. But he actually liked Gabriel and, cocooned in the phantom warmth of feathers, he realised that Gabriel liked him too.

“Hey, you’re not as dumb as you look, mud monkey,” Gabriel teased, grinning up at him. “Now, show me more about these fantasies.”

 

The tale continues in P.S. I Miss You.