#casandriel

     Samandriel began to wonder when he started noticing the physical attributes of Castiel's vessel. The way too blue eyes narrow when he's trying to understand something or how his own orbs are drawn to the sliver of skin beneath the collar of his elder's shirt.

     He's been paying far too much attention to Castiel since the other had become human. Even now, without grace, he holds himself in a way that demands attention yet exudes modesty. The expressions he wears when he's angry, happy, sad, or surprised are all carefully cataloged into the recesses of the angel's mind. Then his thoughts trail to the hands, once Jimmy's, now Castiel's. He vividly recalls their grip on the back of his neck, on shoulder blades. And then there is the matter of lips pressed to his forehead, the same that promised safety and inspired trust in him.

      And when he dropped his eyes to the book in his hands for a moment, they quickly return to Castiel. It is then that he finds the elder squinting at him, closing the book in his own grasp.

     "Is something troubling you, brother?" He asked.

     The angel did not lie in response, only analyzing the effect these musings were having on him. The silence trailed on for a moment, before he furrowed his own brow in return. "My musings are not troubling... merely provoking of introspection." And with that, the younger returned his gaze to the book he read, muttering a simple apology. "I do hope I have not disturbed you."

     Samandriel proceeded to thrust the thoughts to the corners of his mind, intent on exploring them, understanding them, at some other time. The only thing that concerned him was, while he had millennia to find meaning in them, Castiel had years.

     Perhaps that should have been an indicator in itself, but what does an angel know of sentiment?

     "No, you haven't disturbed me." Castiel replied, setting his book aside now. "Though I have noticed your gaze has been drawn in my direction for some time now."

     The younger angel's gaze dropped, a small frown tugging at features that weren't necessarily his own. "...To see you assures me, Castiel." Samandriel began, attempting to dissect a plethora of unfamiliar emotions through speech alone. "My gaze is drawn to you for reasons I could not hope to understand. Perhaps it trails to your grace, what once was."

     It was strange, how his posture was so stiff and his vessel's knuckles grew white as their hold on the book he was studying intensified. A sigh parted his lips, the breath escaping with what tension he could release in a single moment. Articulating shouldn't come to him so difficultly. Samandriel had once held his own in a bidding war against the King of Hell. This was Castiel, the one he trusted the most, believed in above near all else.

     "— I find that I do not feel as close to you." He continued, speech coming easier than moments before. "To once know everything at a glance to this silence... It is something I do not understand. — I don't mean to stare, Castiel. It is simply a way to read you, to feel you again, in a sense. If it bothers you, I will cease such action."

     Castiel titled his head ever so slightly then, the act hardly noticeable if one was not looking for it. Something Samandriel couldn't quite identify shined in his eyes before he averted them, pulling the book he previously sat aside back in front of his person. For a moment, the angel believed he would say nothing. He did though, after sighing, seeming as tired as Sam and Dean did in one singular action. If the two hunters were not out on a job, Samandriel was convinced Castiel would have remained silent.

     "I understand your frustration." The other spoke, raising his gaze back to Samandriel. "Too look at you — and see nothing but your vessel is... unnerving." What he noted next seemed unprompted, though he obviously thought it worth mentioning. "Despite losing my grace, I haven't changed. Though, if it comforts you to simply look at me. Feel free. It's not a bother."

     Of course, Samandriel wanted to explain, to reason with Castiel that he was in no way questioning the other's intent. Even if he was uncertain of what he could say, his understanding being so obscure of his own meaning, he at least had to offer a simple objection.

     Yet, by the time the younger angel formed some sort of response, Castiel was already studying the book before him once more. Therefore, he considered it best to avoid actively interrupting again, instead returning his attention back to the text in his own hands and uttering far too quietly, "That's not what I meant."

     Perhaps later he would be able to put into words that angel or not, he would always look upon Castiel the same. That maybe, indeed, it was Samandriel that changed with Castiel's nature. That perhaps his regard for the other had evolved into something he couldn't quite fathom anymore.

     One day he might be able to mention how the threat of losing Castiel hit too close to home far too many times and that this, the fragile mortal life he wore now was infinitely terrifying. Castiel's days were truly numbered now and though he met oblivion before, it seemed more concrete without the hum of grace, without the face that was actually the other angel's resounding through his vessel's appearance looking back at him, and without the promise that a simple heartbeat wasn't the only thing keeping him alive.

     Samandriel had believed Castiel dead before, but to see the timer ticking down, to know it was coming, well that was one time too many.

     He reached across the table then, research abandoned in favor of action and seized the human wrist in his angelic grasp. When blue eyes met his, a mix of surprise and curiosity in Castiel's gaze, he simply stated, "I know, but perhaps I have."

     Those too blue eyes narrow again, the expression coupled with a question, even if Samandriel was more intent on cataloging the surprise from a moment before. "What do you mean, Samandriel?"

     The angel didn't relinquish the contact between himself and Castiel when he replied. "I don't know, yet — I was hoping you could help me understand that."

     Samandriel might not comprehend why his gaze strayed to a form that belonged to his brother, why he was so intent on watching his elder when he could no longer truly see him, but with Castiel leading the way, perhaps he one day would.

((Oh Gosh hi friend! And I would say I’m sorry but I’m really not.))

Michael’s dark wings snapped up, arching high as he came into Samandriel’s shaking body. He shoved a hand between the Angel’s wings, pushing his chest down onto their nest, his body following so that he could keep the angle, keep his cock buried as deep inside of his Seraph as he could.

Samandriel gave a quiet, complaining whine when Michael pulled out, achingly slowly. His rim, pink and slick, clenched up as best as it could to keep Michael’s seed inside of him.

Michael bent down, kissing softly at the small of Samandriel’s back. “Stay just like that,” he ordered, petting down Samandriel’s spine. Samandriel sighed softly, his wings relaxing down onto the bed until they hit resistance.

When they’d returned from the hospital, Castiel had asked Samandriel what he wanted. His expression had been bright, lively, sweet, and it’d filled Castiel with optimism.

"I want a home," Samandriel had admitted, a dreamy look in his eyes as he gazed out the window. Then, he’d turned to Castiel with the smile Castiel had fallen in love with and said, "That’s all I could ask for."

So Castiel gave him one.

He stood on the threshold of it now. A white signpost beside the driveway advertised its listing price as $358,800. There were plenty of fliers in the hatch, all water-stained, and food wrappers and cigarette butts littered the bottom.

Lifeless, dark windows stared at him. Only a shadow remained of the welcome mat Castiel had placed before the door as a first act of domesticity. Ghosts of flowers laid in the garden. A swinging bench had been attached to the porch, which now extended to wrap around the house; the wood was still in good condition.

His ears rang faintly, but he couldn’t muster the proper fear when the house loomed over him, empty except of dust and broken promises.

previous anon. *Bend on the table. Sorry

THIS IS LITERALLY MY FAVORITE

like i just fucking love samandriel being more for recon and spy work than being a front-line soldier and people question the choice because samandriel has always been a little messenger boy, but castiel knows differently

he knows samandriel is more dangerous than anyone realizes, just because of how much they all underestimate him