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C
ASTIEL SKYDAS SIGHED heavily and resisted the urge to reach up and scratch at the bandage covering a good portion of his head. The place where his hair had been shaved to allow the hospital to stitch the bleeding head wound closed itched horribly and he was more than ready to say to hell with what the hospital staff and the fire chief had to say about keeping him for observation and just sign himself out against medical advice and go home. He didn't, because he was the responsible one as his older brother Balthazar loved to tease him - he'd become a firefighter while Balthazar was still struggling to break into acting, after all - but oh, it was tempting.
"Hey there, Cassie!"
Well, speak of the devil.... Castiel stifled another sigh and turned flat blue eyes on his brother, who was lounging with casual insolence in the doorway to the room despite the fact that it was a good half an hour after visiting hours were meant to be over.
"Balto," he returned in deadpan, feeling a flicker of satisfaction at the scowl the childhood nickname earned him. "If you're looking to crash on my couch again, I haven't moved the spare key since you were in town three weeks ago."
"You need a better hiding place for that," Balthazar informed him, as he did every time he used the spare key Castiel kept in the mouth of the ceramic frog outside in the tiny garden patch by the door to let himself into Castiel's townhouse. He waved a hand. "Not why I'm here, and your Chief Lokeson got me in past the nurses to see you."
Castiel frowned at that, ignoring the way the expression pulled at his stitches. "Why? He already refused to hear my verbal report on the incident--"
"And he still doesn't want to officially hear it," Balthazar confirmed, looking uncharacteristically serious. "But the man that pulled you out of the building is awake and asking after you."
Castiel sucked in a sharp breath, his mind automatically flashing back to the burning warehouse and the man he'd tried to rescue from behind a heavily padlocked door on the second floor. He'd managed to very literally break open the door with his axe when part of the ceiling had fallen and struck him across the head, and after that he only had broken flashes of frantic hazel eyes reflecting the fire surrounding them, large hands pulling him up and the disjointed weightlessness of being carried at a run, the crash of a large body hitting something solidly glass and breaking through followed by shouting as other hands reached for him, more shouting going up as the large hands of his rescuee turned rescuer literally fell away, and the wail of sirens as he was rushed to the hospital from the scene.
"Is
he
okay?" he asked, struggling to sit up from the partially reclined bed. Balthazar made a sound very like a stifled yelp and jumped forwards, pushing Castiel back down firmly into the mattress.
"Whoa, little brother, take it easy!" he exclaimed quietly, shooting a furtive glance towards the door. "He's fine, Cassie, and that's the problem."
"....What?" Castiel blinked, staring at Balthazar blankly. "If he's fine, why is it a problem?" For that matter, why would a man who was 'fine' be just now waking up?
"You didn't hear this from me, and I didn't hear it at all, got it?" Balthazar said seriously. When Castiel nodded cautiously, his brother said, "Talk is that the guy jumped you both out of a second-story window and landed without dropping you, kept hold of you and refused to pass you off until the paramedics identified themselves, and then promptly collapsed the moment you were on the gurney. He's been down the hall from you on a continuous IV for severe malnutrition and dehydration, and let me tell you I've seen the guy, he's built like a mountain!"
"How did you manage to see him?" Castiel interrupted, frowning further.
"Used to date one of the nurses," Balthazar waved the question aside, making Castiel narrow his eyes further. Hadn't his brother just said that Chief Lokeson got him past the nurses? Before he could pursue the question, however, his brother said, "That's not the interesting thing. What's interesting is the sun and pentagram tattoo on his chest and the serial number branded on his lower back over the spine."
"Project Archangel," Castiel breathed, almost without thinking. It had been a short-lived media shitstorm when Dr Lucien Azazel had turned up dead, shot in the head execution style back in 2007 along with evidence tying him to several abductions of young adults aged eighteen to twenty-five over the preceding year. The man had been a German ex-pat who had claimed to have fled the Nazis, only for the investigation into his murder to turn up files on the creation of over a hundred "special children", artificially induced pregnancies with genetically modified embryos. The names of the children and the women who had given birth to them had been withheld from the public, but each of the case files had a serial number and picture that was said to match an abducted young adult. That had been all that was released before DARPA had suddenly taken over the investigation and the public reporting dried up faster than the Mojave Desert in summer, but anyone who'd been old enough to pay attention still remembered the story.
"Exactly," Balthazar said, nodding. "That's why Lokeson doesn't want your report or the reports of anyone else on the scene and why I'm in here telling you all this instead of him. If this guy really is one of those kids, then the fire you were dispatched to probably wasn't just an accidental fire from some careless jackhole's cigarette."
"The investigating team would probably find a cigarette," said a soft baritone voice from the doorway. Castiel and Balthazar jerked and turned in tandem towards the door to see a familiar mountain of a man standing just inside the door. At their obvious startelement, he flinched, then offered a weak smile. "Y'know, just for authenticity."
"How the bloody hell--" Balthazar started to demand, but Castiel raised his voice to speak over him.
"Should you be up and walking around?" he asked, looking the man over worriedly. Despite being upright and in clean hospital scrubs that were too small for his muscled chest and arms and too short for his long legs, the young man's shoulder-length brown hair hung limply around his too-thin face and his hands were shaking very slightly where they rested by his sides. The man caught him staring and huffed a small laugh that turned into a cough.
"Probably not," he admitted when he could breathe again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but our rooms share an air vent."
And we're in here talking about extremely sensitive and potentially classified information,
Castiel filled in as he and Balthazar followed the young man's gaze to the open air vent. Balthazar let out a curse and scrambled to close the vent, casting a sheepish look back at the doorway.
"Guess I'm not going to land the role of James Bond anytime soon," he joked, earning a snort from Castiel and a bemused smile from the man. Seeing him beginning to list sideways, Castiel waved him into the room.
"You may as well come in and sit down so you don't set yourself back any further," he said. When the man hesitated, Castiel bent a stern look on him. "Don't make me get up and carry you."
"Could you?" the man blurted out, then flushed at Balthazar's resulting cackle. "I'm sorry, just... even my older brother has trouble hauling my ass around."
"Why do you think it's called a 'fireman carry'?" Castiel deadpanned, smiling faintly when the joke garnered another surprised huff of laughter, though it faded when the laugh again turned into a cough.
Smoke inhalation
, his mind offered.
"Though from what I hear, that's not how it went down," Balthazar interjected. "And since my baby brother seems to have taken leave of his manners, please allow me to tender both our thanks for your rescue of him."
"Wouldn't have been able to do it if he hadn't rescued me first," the man admitted freely. He glanced over his shoulder, then seemed to come to a decision and visibly pulled on reserves of strength to step away from the door and cross hesitantly to the chair by the bed, sinking into it when Balthazar pointedly took a seat on the end of Castiel's bed. "Thank you for that. I wouldn't be alive now if you hadn't heard me yelling and banging on the door."
"Then I'm very glad I heard you, and that you were still capable of calling for help," Castiel said seriously. When the man blushed and looked down at his knees, Castiel added. "While I gather you heard us talking earlier, we never actually made introductions. My name is Castiel, and this is my brother Balthazar."
"Or just Cas and Balt if you'd rather," Balthazar broke in with a grin. "Just don't call him 'Cassie', he hates that."
"I can't imagine why, knowing that, you persist in doing it," Castiel said flatly, ignoring the strange flutter in his stomach when the young man looked up at him almost shyly. This close, he could see that the man's eyes weren't just green, but held flecks of gold and brown. Castiel couldn't help but feel oddly captivated by that gaze, somehow pinned and assessed without actually being obviously studied. He didn't want the young man to look away, he realized, and silently chastised himself for his own ridiculousness.
"It's okay, I get it. My name is Sam, but Dean... my brother... he's persistent about calling me 'Sammy' like I'm forever a short, chubby twelve year old to him," the young man -
Sam
- was saying ruefully. Balthazar choked on air, apparently oblivious to his younger brother's internal turmoil over this bizarre fascination with this strange yet beautiful man, and visibly looked Sam up and down.
"I'm sorry, did you say 'short'?" he repeated in disbelief. Castiel shot his brother a glare as Sam hunched in on himself, face turning even redder.
"I hit my growth spurts late," he muttered, picking at a loose thread on the scrubs.
Castiel studied his face for a moment, then prodded Balthazar with his foot and gave him a pointed look. Balthazar scowled at him, returning the pointed look with one of his own, and Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. With a groan, Balthazar threw up his hands and got to his feet, fixing a flat look on Castiel, who met his stare evenly.
"Well, since I've done my filial duty for the evening, I'm off to find some actual decent coffee. You," Balthazar said, pointing at Castiel, "stay put and rest like the responsible little hero you are, and you," he added, swinging his finger around to point at Sam, "keep him company for me and don't go jumping out any more windows."
"I'll try to restrain the urge," Sam said dubiously, giving Balthazar an odd look. Balthazar just nodded as if he'd expected nothing less than complete agreement with his directives and sauntered lazily out of the room, the tips of his fingers catching on the door just enough to make it swing slowly shut behind him with a pointed click. The room descended into silence again as Sam stared at the door like he wasn't sure if he should be alarmed or not and Castiel stared at Sam, just drinking him in.
"You are not actually required to stay if you would rather return to your room," Castiel offered when the silence reached the point of awkwardness. Sam tore his eyes away from the door to blink at Castiel, who found himself blushing. "I suspect Balthazar only asked you to remain as a means of deterring me from plotting my own escape from this wretched hive of sickness and infirmary."
A slow, shyly delighted smile spread across Sam's face, showing even teeth and dimples, and took Castiel's breath from his lungs with its brightness. "Sorry, I'm betting your brother would say the same about garbage compactors that he did about windows."
"Unfortunately," Castiel agreed, sighing mournfully as he looked down at the overly starched hospital bedding and threadbare blanket covering his legs. "I find my lack of pants disturbing."
The laugh that burst out of Sam as he threw back his head in mirth was sudden and much louder than either of the previous sounds. It also failed to dissolve into a coughing fit, so Castiel easily pushed aside the twinge of guilt and frankly stared at the open joy on display before him, as if he was looking at actual sunshine.
Or an actual angel....
He didn't realise that he had spoken that last thought out loud until Sam's laughter faded out into a pensive frown that made Castiel want to cringe and mourn the loss of that smile. The strength of that feeling took him aback. He'd only just met this man, and under very unusual and stressful circumstances!
What's wrong with me? This isn't a romance novel or a "chick flick"!
"It wasn't 'Project Archangel'," Sam said abruptly, breaking through Castiel's whirling thoughts. Now it was Castiel's turn to blink in uncertainty.
"What?" he asked, feeling singularly dense. Sam ducked his head.
"You mentioned Project Archangel earlier, when you and Balthazar were talking," the young man reminded him, fidgeting. "That was the name of the original experiments back before World War II, and it was the name the press got ahold of back in oh-seven, but Dr Azazel renamed it to Project Morningstar. Because he was working with samples from only one of the four successful test subjects from Project Archangel."
"You don't need to tell me this," Castiel started, frowning at the way Sam was so clearly uncomfortable, but Sam just shrugged.
"You got caught up in--" he broke off and waved a hand around to indicate the walls of the hospital, himself, and possibly even the world beyond. "Uncle Bree won't let my involvement get into any official reports and the investigation will turn up nothing, if it even goes ahead, but... you deserve some closure after risking your head to save me."
"That does not mean you owe me anything," Castiel protested, his stomach sinking at the word 'closure' and its finality before something else caught his attention. "I... did you just say 'Uncle Bree'?!" Because that couldn't possibly mean...
"Chief Lokeson," Sam corrected himself, wincing even as he confirmed what Castiel had partially hoped he'd misunderstood. "He's not actually... I mean, we're not...."
"....That must have been an awkward conversation," Castiel said after a moment. Sam snorted softly.
"Just a bit," he said dryly, then pitched his voice in a near-perfect mimic of the Chief. "'Of all the warehouses in all the cities in all the world, kiddo, and you nearly get burnt up in mine!' Um... Try and forget I said that, okay?"
"I'm sure whatever they have me on for pain is strong enough to account for any odd hallucinations," Castiel assured him dryly, slumping back into the unyielding embrace of the hospital bed. He could read well enough between the lines, and the implications were staggering and so very far beyond his clearance level that it was laughable. The twisting disappointment in his gut was almost expected now.
So much for getting a date with my handsome rescuer....
"Er..." Sam squeaked. Castiel glanced at him long enough to discover Sam's eyes had gone wide, and then closed his own while mentally cursing his loosened tongue.
"Forgive me, that was inappropriate of me," he muttered.
"It's... fine," Sam answered awkwardly, an odd note to his voice. There was a rustle from the chair, and then the bed dipped under the weight of another body near his hip. Castiel opened his eyes to see Sam had relocated from the chair to the bed and was studying him with a pensive expression. "I... can't really stick around long enough to take you on that date...."
"I know," Castiel interrupted, voice subdued. He could easily imagine the murmurs he would hear tomorrow of how Sam had mysteriously vanished from the hospital with no records to prove he'd ever been there at all. "It's--" ...
really not fine.
"You don't have to explain."
"I want to," Sam said lowly, leaning forward. He met Castiel's startled eyes with his own earnest ones. "I wish I
could
ask you out properly, even if all we did was go for burgers and a walk in the park while we play twenty questions."
"I believe all either of us could probably manage right now is hobbling down to the cafeteria," Castiel admitted ruefully. "And that would be a dreadful first date to inflict on you." Not like the one Sam had described, which honestly sounded fairly well perfect, simple and easy without the pressure to impress, just sharing each other's company and getting to know one another...
"We might have to lean against each other to stay upright and moving," Sam offered with another of those dimpled grins that made Castiel's chest feel tight and fluttery. "And we could curl up together in the shadows so none of the nurses would see us and try to send us back to our separate rooms early."
"If the nurses interrupted my chances of getting a proper kiss at the door to end our date, I might become homicidal," Castiel replied as flippantly as he could manage around the tightness. It was just a joke, after all, a playful hypothetical of things that couldn't actually happen in their lives, but the longing he felt was still staggering enough to make him briefly grateful to be confined as he was to the hospital bed.
"You... would want a kiss? To end the date?" Sam asked softly, and that odd note was back in his voice. It may have been wishful thinking on Castiel's part, but he was starting to think it was some combination of disbelief and hope.
As if Sam weren't joking about their hypothetical first date.
"Well," Castiel said, absently licking his lips to try and ease the sudden dryness of his mouth, peering up cautiously at Sam. "It seems like the best way to end a good date with an even better person. If that person agreed."
"I can do that," Sam said, hands twisting in the sheet near Castiel's lower ribs. "Not the date, we don't... Chief Lokeson called my, uh, extraction team before I woke up, but the goodnight kiss... I can do that." He bit his lower lip suddenly, looking unsure. "If you want one."
"Only if you want to," Castiel said hoarsely, even as he tilted his head up, just enough to make his lips accessible if Sam were serious. The younger man's eyes flickered down to his mouth and he drew in a slow, slightly unsteady breath.
"I really do," he whispered. Castiel swallowed.
"Okay," he said. Sam's eyes jerked up to meet his, and it really wasn't Castiel's imagination that Sam looked hopeful.
"Okay?" he breathed, leaning closer. The bed shifted as he moved to brace his weight on the partially upright bed near Castiel's head. Castiel tipped his head carefully back even further as he tried to sit up enough to meet the other man halfway, one hand reaching out to try and draw Sam closer.
"Yes," he whispered, and the distance between them closed.
It started slow, just a brush of lips on lips. Sam's were chapped from being bitten, and Castiel's were no longer moist so that it caught and pulled. He parted his lips to try and ease some of the friction and Sam made a soft noise in his throat before opening to him in return. A careful tip of his head and the kiss shifted from tentative and chaste to deeper and almost languid, familiar like a song you couldn't remember ever hearing and yet know the words to anyway. There was no more hesitance, but also no pressure to move any further than they were, soft and tender and still so slow, like they had all the time in the world just for this.
A sharp rap of knuckles on the closed hospital door preceded the door opening and a drawling baritone voice called out, "Hey Sammy, you in-- whoa!"
Sam's groan, despite resonating through his intimate contact with Castiel, was not one of pleasure, and the kiss broke as Sam pressed his forehead to Castiel's, muttering darkly about "never living this down" and "not being above killing that jerk". Castiel couldn't help but chuckle softly at him for it.
"Your 'extraction team'?" he murmured even as he reluctantly disentangled his fingers from where it had crept into Sam's lank and sooty hair, dislodging a lingering scent of smoke from the clumping strands. Sam nodded slightly, not moving away from Castiel as he did.
"My brother," he grumbled, confirming what Castiel had already guessed. He did pull back then, and Castiel suppressed the urge to protest the loss of closeness and contact. "Dean, get in here and meet the man who saved my life!"
"You saved my life immediately after, which I believe makes us even," Castiel retorted, turning his attention to the man who was slipping into the room looking more than a little uncomfortable. There was little resemblance between the brothers, which would figure if Sam was a survivor of Project Archangel Mark Two or whatever he'd said, but there was some similarity in their cheekbones and jaw line, and Castiel noticed that they both seemed hyper aware of everything around them. "Hello, Dean."
"Uh, hi, random stranger my brother was kissing," Dean answered a little dubiously. Castiel mentally translated the look he shot Sam as some variation on Balthazar's 'what the fuck, little brother?' look with amusement.
"His name is Castiel," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. Dean's eyebrows shot up, and his expression when he looked at Castiel again was considerably more assessing. Shoving down the disquiet tugging at him in conjunction with the carefully ignored previous mention of Sam's 'Uncle Bree', Castiel met the man's shrewd green eyes with his own impassive stare.
"Huh," Dean said after a moment. "Well, you've got excellent taste in handsome rescuers." And then he smiled, and suddenly it was a lot easier to tell that he and Sam were brothers. Very slightly stunned, Castiel blinked and then glanced up at Sam.
"Was he talking to me or to you?" Castiel asked in an undertone. "Because I'm fairly certain you are the more attractive of us." Sam flushed, shooting a glare in the direction of his laughing brother.
"I'm sorry for my brother," he said in a long-suffering tone that Castiel knew all too well from having grown up dealing with Balthazar. Sam's face changed then, becoming pinched and unhappy around the eyes, and Castiel felt the levity drain out of him. "And--"
"You have to go," Castiel interrupted, a little more brusquely than he intended. He grasped Sam's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze to try and chase the pained, hangdog look from those beautiful features. "I knew that already, remember? You've already given me more than I dared hope for."
"I'd give you so much more if I could," Sam murmured, tangling his fingers with Castiel's and pointedly ignoring Dean making gagging noises beside them. Castiel smiled weakly, then lifted their entwined hands and twisted them around to brush his lips over Sam's knuckles.
"Rain check," he offered, reluctantly forcing himself to release Sam's hand and lower his own back to rest on the hospital bed beside him. That strange expression flitted across Sam's face again, there and gone again, but the other man only nodded solemnly and carefully stood. He swayed, and Dean was there beside him in an instant, fitting himself under Sam's arm and up against his side to support him with the ease of close brothers. Castiel gave them both one last smile, then closed his eyes, unwilling to watch as Sam walked out of his life.
When he opened his eyes again, it was morning.