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One moment Sam is buying Castiel a vanilla milkshake – when Dean forgot to get him one – and handing it to the angel with a sympathetic smile on his face, patting his back gently. The next moment, not even an hour later, Sam is smashing the glass of a car window, pulling the door open, ripping out the wires under the steering wheel, and hot-wiring it.
Dean has mentioned the fact that Sam has a rebellious streak, even if he doesn’t always show it, but Castiel just never looked closely enough at the younger Winchester to notice.
Castiel saw these types of actions in a game popular among youths. Grand Theft Auto, it’s called. This is no game, though. This is Sam’s world; this is what he does in his everyday life. Most of the time for survival purposes.
They end up in this car because Dean needs time alone with a girl who followed him out of the diner. Sam is back to his calm, friendly mood when they’re a safe distance from the parking lot. Castiel watches him, admiring the young man and his dual nature.
If hunting is one thing that brings aggression out of him, what else could have that effect?
They nearly hit a tree when Castiel reaches out and pushes Sam’s hair out his eyes. It’s not really Castiel’s fault, he decides, but he still feels responsible. Castiel wanted to avoid just such an event from happening by moving the strands away.
Sam stops the car, looking over at Castiel with an unexpectedly stern expression. “Why did you do that, Cas? You could have just told me, you know.”
“I wanted to help you. I thought it would be safer if I did it rather than you letting go of the steering wheel.” Castiel frowns, leaning further into his seat. He didn’t mean harm – surely Sam should understand that.
Sam sighs, nodding. “I get it now. But just let me know next time, okay?” He smiles at Castiel, resting his large hand on Castiel’s shoulder.
It’s too gentle. Castiel wants the rough man from earlier. He wants to confirm with his own senses that there is a different creature inside Sam, perfectly blended in. What could make that return?
Castiel touches Sam’s hand gingerly, peering into the younger man’s eyes. Sam looks confused for a moment, and Castiel uses that to draw Sam’s fingers nearer, kissing the top of his hand. Maybe affection, open and freely given, would make him shrug out of his demure state.
Sam’s voice is almost too soft when he asks, “What are you doing?”
Castiel feels shame; he’s made the young Winchester uncomfortable, worried. He can hear Sam thinking, considering what to do, how to break free of the hold, and they both know there is no way he could – if Castiel wants to keep him there.
“I – I don’t know,” Castiel says, letting Sam’s hand go at once. “I can leave if that’s what you wish for me to do.”
Sam sucks in a breath, his eyes scanning Castiel’s face for some kind of emotion that’s not there. The angel can’t help listening in again.
Does he know I like him? Did Dean tell him something? Or is this just him being friendly? But he never touches me—
“I enjoy your company,” Castiel supplies. “You are intelligent and kind. And very brave at the right moments.” He cups Sam’s cheek gently, stroking across the skin, giving him the answer he wants.
“What does that mean?” Sam asks, cautiously.
He’s not like Dean in these situations. He won’t push forward, won’t assume he's wanted by everyone around him. Sam is logical, not impulsive; he doesn’t take unless explicitly told to.
Castiel’s fingers trace Sam’s lips, the younger man trembling with impatience. Maybe Sam’s close to that dangerous point, to boiling over. The angel stares at Sam’s lips, darting his tongue out to wet his chapped ones. “I think you know.”
The car groans when Sam lunges for Castiel, fisting into dark hair and sucking the very existence out of Castiel’s vessel with each heated, desperate kiss. This, without a doubt, is the real Sam that’s always hiding away – unrestrained and indefinitely hungry. This, Castiel learns, is the day his eyes are truly open.