#allmyfics

But now, now that he’s human... it seems to be his favorite thing. He loves the way it sounds, the way it smells. He loves the way it feels on his skin and the way the birds seem to sing even though it was wet. He loves everything about it. 

Dean catches him out of bed so many times he loses count. It was scary the first night. Dean had just gotten Castiel back. He’d just watched him go from dead to alive only hours previous so when he gets up in the middle of the night and Castiel isn’t there: he freaks out. He feels tears sting his eyes as he gets up, thinking it was all a dream, that Cas wasn’t alive. It wasn’t until he goes outside to get some air, that he finds Cas standing there in the rain. He’s soaking wet... but he’s smiling, looking to Dean. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asks.

Dean doesn’t remember much after hugging him so tightly his own front ends up soaked and he tells the other that he’s human now and this is a good way to get sick. His mind so clouded with relief that he doesn’t care either.

It doesn’t end there. Castiel scares him a few times after that. Once, on a hunt, they had agreed to try and get some sleep before going back into the monster they were hunting. And of course, Dean woke and Castiel was simply gone. He’d begun to dress, ready to kill... when he finds Castiel outside, sitting on a bench; frowning because he can’t capture the rain with his phone like he thought he’d be able to. 

As time passes, Dean gets used to it. In fact, he even, sorta, falls in love with it. He loves how this simple thing makes Cas so happy. He adores that the man he loves, once broken over the fact that he was human again, was able to find solace in something as simple as nature. 

So when Dean awakens on this night, he doesn’t get startled. He doesn’t freak out. He waits, listening for the sound of the rain... and when he hears it, he smiles to himself and gets out of bed. He takes the blanket that sits on the end of the bed with him as he goes toward the garage. 

He finds Castiel sitting exactly where he knew he would: on the floor, just inside the garage. His head is tipped up, trying to see as far up as he can without going outside or getting wet. 

Dean smiles again and moves, sitting down next to him. As soon as he does, Castiel moves between his legs so that his back is against his chest and Dean wraps the blanket around them both. 

“Any good thunderclaps?” he asks as he presses his lips to the top of his head.

Castiel smiles and nods. “Yes, but they seem to be moving farther away. Though the lightning is still moving across the sky. It’s beautiful,” he responds. 

Dean smiles down at him, sappy responses on his tongue. But he leaves them there, thinking he can say them another time. 

“You know, when someone makes love to someone else, they’re supposed to be there when the other wakes up,” he whispers teasingly into Castiel’s ear, smiling as he laughs. 

“You like watching the rain with me,” Castiel points out as he cranes his neck to look up at him. 

Dean can’t help himself, he leans down and kisses Castiel softly, a hum on his lips. “Yeah...” he whispers against them. “Yeah, I do.”

She hadn’t been a fan of the motel room when they’d gotten there. He could tell immediately. Dean was usually the ‘if you don’t like it get out’ kind of guy. But not with her. Never with her. He’d almost had the thought to switch, get a better room if it made her happy. 

The sheets rustled on the other side of her and Castiel peered over, looking at Dean. He smiled softly as he watched Dean fawn over their daughter, much like he always did. She was still small, only a year and nine months, and she had Dean wrapped so far around her little finger that when they arrived at the motel the night before, their road trip underway, and Dean sensed that Grace didn’t like the motel room, he offered to get them a nicer one. 

Dean looked over to see Castiel watching him and he smiled. “Morning, angel,” he said softly. 

Castiel’s eyes focused as Dean called him that. He smiled back and reached over, their hands meeting to lace in the middle. “Good morning,” he whispered before he looked down. “She’s still asleep. That’s a first,” he laughed. 

Dean chuckled and looked down as well. “I know. It was so shocking that I had to take a moment,” he informed as he looked back up to blue eyes. “She reminded me of her Papa.”

“Oh?” Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “And how is that?”

Dean grinned. “She looks like an angel when she’s sleeping,” he said. “So beautiful.”

That made Castiel’s cheeks heat up. “That’s funny,” he said. “Because you know as well as I do that she looks just like her Daddy,” he countered. 

Dean chuckled and shook his head, though he didn’t deny it. He knew Castiel was right. Grace looked just like him in so many ways except the dark curls that were coming through. They were loose and looked like someone had put curlers in her hair, but neither of them had done such a thing.

Just then their little girl started to move, wriggling to get up like she was missing out on the day.

Dean grinned and made a happy face. “Good morning, little girl! How did you sleep?” he cooed as she seemed groggy at first before she gave him a big smile and launched herself forward as if it had been ages since she’d seen him. He made a slight sound, hugging her to him. “Well I’m gonna take that as good.”

“Daddy’s girl,” Castiel laughed, moving to get up. “I think that means it’s time to get back on the road.”

Dean looked over. “Say ‘Papa! Where you going?’” he said to Grace as he pulled Castiel back down with a grin, enjoying the surprised noise he got from him. “Say we don’t go anywhere without morning kisses, right?”

Grace nodded seriously. “Right,” she said. 

Castiel laughed. “Yes, how could I forget?” he inquired as he picked Grace up high and only brought her down when she squealed in delight. He kissed her cheeks, smiling as she giggled. “There. Am I free?”

Dean smirked. “Not even close,” he said as he pulled him in for a deep kiss. 

Castiel made a small noise at the kiss, enjoying it as his eyes fluttered closed and he pressed back. With Grace, they didn’t get much time like this anymore. So he knew making moments... even with Grace there, it was important. 

When Castiel pulled away, Dean looked down at him with a smile. “How’s that for a ‘good morning’ kiss?”

Castiel thought of telling him it was one of the best Dean had ever given him. He thought of telling him how amazing it was. Instead... he did what he knew Dean would have done. 

He gave a light smirk and shrugged. “I’ve had better.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh that’s it! Get ‘im, Gracie!” Dean called as they tackled him to the bed. 

Castiel laughed hysterically as Dean’s fingers dug into his sides to tickle him while Grace tried to do the same, her own laughs surrounding them. 

Dean only let up when he knew Castiel couldn’t handle it anymore. He flopped beside him, both of them panting a little, thinking of taking a breather... when Gracie popped up and started jumping on the bed. 

Dean laughed again and looked to Cas. “Ready to start the day?” he asked. 

Erik never thought wandering would be something he would do. He never thought that he would need it like he needed air to breathe. Of course… he was always a wanderer… wasn’t he? 

But this felt different. He didn’t go about looking for mutants to join his cause. He didn’t look for a place to hide and to have a normal life. He didn’t look for any of that. Instead, he simply kept going. He went from country to country. 

The more he saw, the more he did… the farther we went. It wasn’t until he ended up where he was now that he realized he’d been running. And he’d run right back to the start. He never dreamed that he’d end up right back at the beginning. Of course, he never realized that he’d been running from his own thoughts, his own heart until that moment.

He looked up at the mansion, turned training facility… turned school. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been there. But he knew who was inside. He knew why he’d gone all over the world and yet… he’d ended up right back to where he always did: At Charles’ doorstep. 

He didn’t know how long he’d stayed outside the school. He was far enough away that no children saw him that were roaming during the day. And into the night, he stayed rooted to his spot, looking up at the window he knew had once looked out of Charles’ room. He wondered if it still was. Perhaps that was why he was standing where he was. Perhaps he just wanted to see the man.

He’d barely noticed when it started to rain. Water never bothered him and he wasn’t one to shy away from it. Though, he was getting soaked. And while he should have done anything– gone toward the school, away from it– he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but exactly what he was doing. Like he was useless. 

Lights had long gone out in the mansion and everything was quiet. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps coming up beside him. 

“Erik,” came a voice. 

Erik’s head whipped up in surprise, recognizing the voice as if it were his own. Or another he would rather hear. There stood Charles. That in itself was surprising. He didn’t think Charles was doing that anymore. He was sure he’d embraced the fact that he couldn’t walk. 

“What are you doing here, old friend?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed. 

Charles had begun to age, begun to wrinkle. As he had, he was sure. But most of his memories of Charles… they were stuck in the limbo of their younger years. 

“You’re walking,” Erik pointed out. 

Charles looked down and then back to Erik again, though his eyes shifted around as he wondered what exactly Erik was doing here at this time. “Yes… I still have a few vials of the serum Hank made for me. I use them when it’s important. Like when someone shows up on the property… and simply stands there,” he said as he stepped closer. 

“How did you know I was here?”

Charles chuckled and looked down before he looked back up. “Your thoughts are very loud, old friend.”

Erik shook his head as he continued to walk forward to meet the other. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he said softly. “I was never much your friend. And when we weren’t at odds with each other… we were so much more,” he breathed as he grabbed for Charles’ hand. 

Charles breathed a soft sigh. “Erik…” he whispered. It had been years since they were together. Closer to decades. He wondered why now? What had brought Erik back to his doorstep so many years later. After so much arguing, so much confrontation. After just… so much. 

But of course he didn’t pull his hand away. because after all they’d been through, all the things that they’d done for each other or against each other… he’d always loved Erik.

“I tried to move on,” he whispered before he gave a humorless chuckle. “But all I could think of was you.”

Charles softened as he looked up at him. He was surprised, to say the least. He never dreamed that words like that would come from the other. 

Their eyes met and all at once, it was like a surge of electricity sparked between them and they crashed forward, locking their lips together in a desperate kiss. It was everything they’d been missing from each other for years. It was everything they’d been holding back, ignoring. It was everything. 

When they pulled away, it was to regain some air. They panted lightly and Charles pulled Erik. “Come inside with me.”

“Are you sure that is such a good idea?” he asked. 

Charles chuckled. “When have the two of us ever had a good idea when it comes to this, here?” he asked. 

“Then why invite me inside?” he whispered in response. 

Charles looked up. “For the same reason I came out here, old friend,” he said. “Because I’ll always believe there’s a chance.”

“You believe in me too much. You always have.”

“Perhaps. And yet we come back to each other,” he said as he pulled Erik toward the mansion. 

“We always come back to each other,” Erik muttered. He let Charles pull him inside. He let him sneak him upstairs. And when it came time, he let Charles strip him of his soggy clothes and lead him to his bed like he’d done so many times before. 

Don’t get Stiles wrong. It was never this soul-crushing phobia that some people have. It was never the thought that he would grow old alone. It wasn’t a fear. It didn’t thrust him into one of his panic attacks. It was just a feeling of discomfort that was like an itch under the skin. 

It got worse when he got older. As soon as he hit a certain age, he wasn’t expected to be dropped at the McCall house to be looked after. He was old enough to look after himself. He hated that too. 

And then Derek left. The first time, he managed it. He and Derek still had that back and forth relationship where he didn’t know if they just didn’t get along in a playful manner or if they actually wanted to kill each other. Nevertheless, Derek came back. 

It was the time after... when Derek stayed gone, that hit him hard. Just when they were beginning to get closer, becoming friends. They’d begun to turn to each other for more than banter. It was becoming something real. And damn didn’t that feel like a blow to the chest when he just... left. Like he was meant to be left alone. Sure he had the others. But even his and Scott’s friendship sometimes felt strained with the way things always were in Beacon Hills. 

It was when Derek came back... that was when Stiles stopped feeling alone again. It had been after Derek had showed up at his door (his window, more precisely) and announced himself like he hadn’t been gone for so long. Like they hadn’t needed him. It had been after a lot of yelling, and even some tears... that they’d fallen into bed with each other. 

Stiles remembered waking up the next morning, Derek holding him tightly and nuzzling into him as if rubbing his scent all over him. As if Stiles was his human and that was all there was to it. 

“Are you staying this time? For good?” he whispered, not even knowing if the other was awake at this point. 

There was a long pause before Derek breathed and nuzzled his nose into his hair. “Of course I am staying. Who do you think I came back for?” he whispered back. 

Sam is pretty sure he’s falling in love with a short little blonde from his art class. 

Now, to know Sam, you must know that he hates art. Loathes it. It’s not that he doesn’t like actual art. It’s that he hates taking the class. 

Sure, when you’re in high school, you can some times get by with some splatters on a page and saying that it was how you felt in the moment and that to do any more would be to stifle your creativity... at least that was how Dean did it.

But he had never been good. He’d been passable. In fact when he was interviewed for his spot of enrollment for Stanford, the woman that handled admissions said she was thankful he wasn’t going to study art. It was a joke, of course. 

But then when he got his schedule and learned that he’d accidentally been put in an art class instead of something he was actually good at like writing or anything else... he freaked. 

He’d tried so hard to change it but all the school kept telling him was that if he dropped the class, it meant taking on more the next semester and the next semester was where he was going to have all his important classes with teachers that showed no mercy. It was better to just do it and get it over with. 

“Come on, Sammy. It won’t be that bad,” Dean had said to him. 

“Dean, this isn’t high school and I’m not you. I can’t make something that looks like something a child did,” he had looked at the other. 

“I’ll have you know my art was legendary,” he offered in a joking tone. “But you can do it. How hard can it be?”

Hard. Very hard...

And Sam was not referring to the level of difficulty of the class. 

The class had started off fairly easy, actually. They had just been talking about art for the first month and that was a relief. But then the teacher started to dive in something he wasn’t the worst at and that was painting. 

He painted his feelings and emotions-- which earned him an A-- and then they moved on to fruit like everyone always did in the most basic of art classes. But then they were moving on to the human body. 

Sam sighed as the guys in the corner snickered to each other, obviously thinking that since the professor was male, they were going to get a nice curvy female to paint naked. 

Oh how they were wrong. 

Sam hadn’t seen the other come in as he readied what he would needed, almost hoping their skin would be a darker tone as it was so much easier to mix the colors. But as he got his things together, he heard the guys in the corner suddenly stopping before making a ruckus. 

“If you are uncomfortable with the body you are to be painting, you may leave and take a zero,” the professor said in a haughty tone. 

Sam frowned and looked up at the man standing on the small platform so that he could be seen by the whole class. 

His mouth dropped immediately as he saw the man wrapped up in the sheet. His hair was long-ish, golden as the light hit it, and he wondered if this man looked so good wrapped in a sheet and perfectly normal... how would he look after he’d just--

He cleared his throat, rather loudly, getting the attention of the short blonde and he perked up a little when the man gave him a small smile before he was told to drop the sheet and to get into a comfortable position. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Gabriel,” the teacher said softly. 

Gabriel. So that was his name. He liked it. 

When Gabriel dropped the sheet, Sam squirmed in his chair. Oh... so not only was he handsome, he had a nice body. Great this was going to be impossible. 

It’s going to take three classes, the professor informed them before letting them get to work. So he would get to look at the other naked for three classes? That was... well it was either torture or a slice of heaven. 

The entire first class, Sam spends it trying to get the others curves right. It’s impossible, he was sure. Gabriel was tiny but he was nearly built feminine, curved like a stereotypical woman. It’s beautiful... what would be even more beautiful would be if he didn’t have to waste three canvases on trying. But the professor just gives a knowing smile and turns back to his desk. 

The second second class, Sam is sure Gabriel is looking at him the whole time. He can’t prove it because every time he looks up, the other is switching poses it seems, and to the pose he’s not even doing. As he tries to work, he can’t seem to concentrate. If this was how it was to be, he would just have to ask Gabriel out and get it over with... but when the professor declares the class over, Gabriel picks up his sheet and races back into the professors office and Sam has to be across the campus in fifteen minutes for his next class... so he leaves. 

By the third and final class, Sam has decided that Gabriel is way out of his league. He has decided to just paint the other, to try and make it decent and get a good grade on it. He’d let Gabriel go on his way. 

When the professor says that time is up, Sam races to put the finishing touches on when he ears a voice. 

“Isn’t that cheating?” he hears. 

Sam swallowed before his eyes trailed upwards, first casting upon the sheet that he’d become familiar with and then to the beautiful eyes he’d been trying to get right. 

“Uh--” he flounders because the guy he’s been thinking about for nearly a week... he’s talking to him... and they’re the only ones here. “I just um... I wanted to get it right,” he said. “I wanted to make sure that I captured your beauty.”

God help him, Sam loves it when Gabriel suddenly blushes but he smirks at him. “You know... I thought I felt someone staring at me extra,” he said to the other. “But you know... you’re not very good,” Gabriel seems to tease at the other as he takes the others wrist that is holding the paint brush.

Sam frowns with mixed emotion. Firstly, the guy he knows he could fall for is touching him and it’s electric but he is also telling him he sucks in the nicest way possible. “I know. I’m trying, though. I suppose that’s what matters?”

Gabriel nodded. “It is, I think. But maybe you should take a different approach to this?” he asked. “The assignment, I believe... was to paint my body... perhaps you should get a little... creative,” he whispered as he brought Sam’s hand up the same time his sheet dropped and he dragged the brush across his abdomen, painting him a blue. 

Sam gasps when the sheet falls but it’s when Gabriel brings the paint across his skin that his jaw hangs open only long enough for him to realize what Gabriel means, what he wants before he is on the other, kissing him deeply. 

Sam misses his next class in favor of spending it in this one. He is thankful that this seems to be the last class the professor has as they paint each other a medley of colors, kisses causing it to get just everywhere as they touch. Their colors are at such different ends of the spectrum that later, Gabriel jokes that when they joined they made a rainbow. 

When they’ve finished, they lay panting, absolutely covered in paint, not one regret about them; the sheet wrapped around their cooling bodies. 

“My name is Sam, by the way. I don’t think we covered that. Though, maybe you were moaning it, I can’t remember,” he laughs. 

Gabriel laughed with him and cupped his cheek. “You always sign your art before painting. Most sign it after. I saw your name on the ones you threw out.”

Sam smiled. “I’m sorry I didn’t paint you very well,” he said softly. “I wanted to. You’re gorgeous.”

Gabriel smirked. “I can honestly say you painted me just fine,” he whispers as he brings Sam in for another kiss.