#constellationsammy

And Cas realizes that this whole soulless thing has made them very physically connected.

He knows he’s completely lost - a slave for this kind of touch - when he whimpers out his orgasm, hitting him unexpectedly, causing him to temporarily black out.

YES. YES, PLEASE.

it’s the morning of may 2nd, which, in the indeterminate future, still follows after may 1st, sure. nonetheless, it takes the word birthday a few long moments to filter into sam’s foggy brain. sam buries his face deeper into his pillow, dead comfortable the way he only gets when he’s right on the cusp of waking up, and mumbles, “sleep.” sam’s usually a morning person, he really is, but on his birthday... well, everyone deserves to sleep in on their birthday, right? the bed shifts a little as castiel stretches out beside sam; then sam feels cas’ hand settle on his back, the warmth of his palm bleeding through sam’s shirt. cas has been human a few years, but the biggest discovery that came with his mortality persists: he’s developed into a surprisingly tactile, affectionate person, and sam—sometimes quietly, at other times quite vocally—loves it.  “s’good,” he tells him now, hoping it’s intelligible, as cas rubs soft little circles between his shoulder blades.  “good,” cas echoes. sam can practically hear him smiling. it’s turned out cas has this fond little hint of a smile reserved for when sam makes him happy, and sam finds himself 30-something and giggling like a teenager at the thought. cas’ lazy exploration of sam’s back stills. “what’s funny?” he asks. sam turns his head to grin sleepily at cas. he thinks he probably looks besotted as hell. “nothin,’” he says. “you’re just really great, that’s all.”

he sounds so earnest. sam bows his head and just concentrates on the congested crackle of castiel’s breath in his ear. “thanks,” he says. it comes out watery. “thanks, cas.”  “dean is missing, but you aren’t alone. ”  stop, sam wants to say, stop being so kind to me, at the same time as his heart, as dry earth soaks up the barest rain, grasps at the first hint of reassurance. “i feel alone,” sam admits. it feels like sacrilege. “not that—i mean. i know i’m not, not really. you’re in this fight with me. i know you’re—you’re always lookin’ out for me, cas. but it’s just... so much. it’s so much.”  “i know it is. life enjoys giving you burdens to bear, doesn’t it?”  “i do what i have to,” sam says quickly. “i... i bring things on myself—and then i’m weak—”  “oh, sam. that isn’t true.” he can hear the fondness, the honesty, in castiel’s voice. “you are so strong. so persevering.” sam squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the phone harder to his ear. he realizes, detachedly, that his cheeks are wet. castiel’s words sink into him slowly; he feels flushed with them, with something hot and squirmy like shame at the thought of accepting them. but he had wanted this. wanted reassurance. wanted it from cas.  “yeah, well.” finally, his voice splinters on an in-breath and jumbled words, “i—s-still can’t save dean for shit—”  “shhh,” cas croons on the other end, “shhh,” and something about it does still sam, gives pause to his fragmented, anxious thoughts. “would you speak like this toward me? toward someone else suffering?”  sam thinks, hard. “...no,” he says. “i wouldn’t.” it’s true: he cringes away from the thought of berating a stranger the way he does himself. but he’s different; he deserves it; he’s earned his self-recrimination. so sam says as much. “sometimes,” he manages, voice thick, “i don’t know if i know how to be kind to myself. maybe i did, once. but i don’t now.”  this time, there isn’t even a moment’s pause. “i will be kind to you,” cas says resolutely, “while you remember.”

sam’s the one who notices first that castiel has been behaving differently, and castiel doesn’t know whether to be grateful or to wish sam hadn’t picked up on anything. sam has enough of his own struggles: life has hardly been kind to him. castiel can take care of himself. he used to be fathomless; it feels impossible, ironic, and selfish that this finite human form is now proving to be too much to handle.  “i’m fine” is the first thing castiel can think of to say when sam asks him about it.    sam’s expression softens, but not with pity. “look,” he says, his tone a mix of matter-of-fact and empathetic that makes castiel simultaneously want to crumble and, uncharacteristically, cry. “i’ve said i was fine before because i didn’t want to put my crap on people. and it sucks. it sucks worse than sharing feels, cas, trust me. you don’t have to talk to me, today or any day, but—i’m here if you ever want to, alright? no matter what it is.”  “i don’t know if i can,” castiel manages in the face of sam’s earnestness. it sounds strange and stilted to his ears. haltingly, he says, “i don’t think there are words.”  “that’s fine.” sam’s mouth quirks up at the corners. he ventures, “you were an angel. now you’re not. that’s like... cramming six whole star systems into a measly human body. you don’t need to have words.” castiel’s shoulders sag in relief. “you understand.”  “well—wait, i mean,” and sam’s fumbling with his words, looking down at his knees, “not that you’re, uh, measly now, that’s not—god, that’s not what i’m saying—” he glances back up at castiel when his spread hands don’t offer any solutions, lets out a helpless huff. “don’t be distressed, sam.” now it’s castiel’s turn for a hint of a smile. “i didn’t take it badly.”  “you’ll never be any less than what you were,” sam says, a little intensely, castiel thinks. “even when you’re struggling, even when you’re, like—” he wrinkles his nose, thinking; castiel’s heart warms at the sight. “—constipated, or something. even when you can’t sleep, or you can’t leave the house for three days ‘cause you’re not up to it. that doesn’t make you any less... um.” sam falters, flushes. “incredible. just... remember that, okay? you’re still incredible.”  i am diminished, though, castiel feels compelled to argue. once i was all of heaven and earth, and now i’ve become an ant crushed against the sole of the earth’s shoe. but arguing the point will come later, perhaps. for now, he lets himself, albeit reluctantly, feel the comfort sam wants to offer.  “thank you, sam,” he says, “i’ll try to remember,” and sam’s answering grin, wide, bright, and glad, colors castiel’s grayscale world for the rest of the day.