It Be Like That

a little shamefully, when cas wards their ribs, he puts in a slightly sharper curve to sam's fourth rib enochian symbols to use if he needs to tell them apart in a pinch.

before they're "on the same team," as it were, he doesn't correct uriel when he gets them wrong. it's not his place to correct superiors, but he does find it mildly amusing when uriel calls dean "the boy king that never was."

if anything, getting to know them makes it worse. at first, cas is only familiar with dean's soul, since he had to painstakingly separate tendrils of it from the rack, his soul holding onto the only refuge it had known in a place of pain, even as the torturer.

the second he sees sam for the first time, he's a little dimmer, but as he's detoxed from demon blood, they're almost indistinguishable.

cas treats them similarly because if he makes a joke and one of them laughs, he counts it as a mark in both of their columns. if one of them helps him out, he counts it as a favour he owes to both of them. it's hard to tell in the moment, unless cas can squint past their glow into the ribs to see which is which.

he knows that sam curls around his grace hungrily when cas heals him, little tickling wisps of soul around his fingers. dean always shrinks from his healing hands, his soul compressing like the core of a star whenever cas's grace flows across his skin. he often doesn't realize who is hurt or who he's healing until their souls react to it. cas finds it ironic, that a blessed vessel reviles holy grace, and the infernal vessel craves it.

when his grace is stripped away, he starts to understand why they look at him so strangely. they really don't look much alike at all. they have the same set to their shoulders. the same shape of face, maybe. but physically, very different.

for one thing, sam is taller, which cas isn't expecting. sam is big, too. wide.

"did you know you're quite large?" is the first thing cas says to sam, stupidly. sam recoils slightly, before huffing a small laugh.

"yeah, cas." he says, patting him on the shoulder. "i noticed."

"have you been this big the entire time?" cas asks, because the last time he saw sam's body away from his soul was the cage. and it was...significantly smaller, then.

"tell me about it," dean huffs, shaking his head. sam laughs like it's a joke, so cas smiles, too.

dean's shorter, but his grin is sharper. it's rewarding to know what his friends' smiles look like, so cas takes it in stride.

"have you considered cutting your hair?" cas asks sam one afternoon, while sam makes them lunch--cas loves lunch; a meal in the middle of the day? genius.--and dean whoops in delight. cas isn't quite sure why.

it's weird that they look so different--it feels...wrong. sam looks like he should have shorter hair. dean looks like he should be taller. but who is cas to judge god's design? (seriously, even their eyebrows are different. do all humans look so different?)

when cas gets his grace back, he's a little better at telling them apart. it's just like telling apart twins, cas has realized, since he was a human. there are small, infinitesimal details in the shapes of their souls. small things, but cas is better at it.

dean's soul hums when he's happy, a low, major note that swells when he laughs like the roar of an engine. it sours into a minor key when he's upset, it's more musical when he's content, and it flares gleefully whenever sam's in the room. it sparks whenever sam laughs.

sam's soul trills, almost. whenever he's excited, or he's discovered something new, it flutters like a hummingbird against his ribs. it's a constantly moving thing, vibrant and alive whenever he's happy. as he gets older, it smooths instead of jolts, swelling and ebbing like the tide when he feels strong emotion. but he still jumps whenever dean teases him, still flickers excitedly whenever dean gets closer.

cas has learned to catalogue these things about his friends.

jack struggles when he arrives.

"dean," he asks, while he's trying to figure out how to close one of dean's porn tabs. ah. classic dilemma. jack looks over the top of the laptop. "how do i close out of a--" he reads the screen "--hot twunk stepbrother trapped in washing machine."

"ah, ah, ah." cas corrects, pointing. "that's sam. see how he's sharper at the edges?"

jack looks up, squints. cas points at dean.

"dean's sharper in the middle, see?"

jack's face splits into a grin. "ooooh." he says. he looks up at cas gratefully. "that makes so much more sense." he turns back to dean. "hey dean, what's a hot twunk stepbrother?"