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* * *
Castiel has been leaning against his truck for an hour before he could gather the… courage? Or rather ready himself for the angry looks and waves of disappointment rolling off of Dean. Despite it being Dean who summoned him back here.
It was a little over a week ago when he called. It took several ignored calls and a prayer snapping “Answer your damn phone, Cas,” that made the angel pull to the side of the road to pick up his persistently chiming cellphone that reported DEAN CALLING. DEAN CALLING! DEAN CALLING!
It was an… awkward conversation.
“ ‘Bout fucking time,” Dean greeted.
“I’m driving, was driving. I’m on the side of the road now,” he found himself clarifying. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean was rolling his eyes at him.
“And with how many damn times I called? What’s your excuse for not picking up thirty minutes ago, huh? We could have needed help.”
Cas huffed. “You haven’t been calling for thirty minutes. And if you actually needed my help you would have prayed before you would have called. Now, what do you want?”
Dean sighed. “Look,” he says, losing any and all irritated and annoyed tones. “Sammy’s birthday is in, like a week or so, and, uh…” He huffed. “Could you just show up?”
Castiel’s brows furrowed, he had basically missed all of Sam’s and Dean’s birthdays since he’s known them. “Why?”
“Damn it, Cas, he… look, he’s been kinda… gloomy lately.”
There was a long pause then Castiel says, “I still don’t under—”
“When don’t you?!” Dean huffed. “Seeing you there, seeing us getting along, maybe that’ll perk him up a little. And maybe while you’re there you could, I don’t know, heal him?”
“I don’t think I can heal depression, Dean.”
“He’s not depressed!” There was a pause. “Why would you think that? Do you—is that something you sense? Can you sense that from a person?”
Castiel rolled his eyes. “It’s about hormones and chemical imbalances, Dean, of course, I smell it. You are too, by the way.”
“Oh, shut up!”
“It appears to be a Winchester trait,” he adds.
“Guess you got it too, then, huh?” Dean sneered as if that wasn’t basically a compliment to Cas’ angelic ears. Dean still considered him family, a Winchester. It brought a small smile onto his face. “Look, anyway, it’s May second—”
“I know when his birthday is, Dean.” He felt almost offended now.
“Okay, I’m just calling now 'cause I don’t know where you are and—or how long it’s gonna take you to get back to the bunker. But if you could, please, show up, that’d be great.”
Castiel sighed. “Should I… bring a gift or—?”
“Ah, shit, I got to go, uh, no, you don’t have to, you just being there would probably count as one,” Dean whispered hastily then hung up.
Castiel sighed and pushed off his truck to head deeper into the bunker. He fingered the item in his pocket, still unsure whether Sam would be pleased or accept it without expressing a negative response. He also wondered if it was even deemable as a birthday offering. He couldn't think of anything else worth giving, not that he thought it was worth much. But stopping at multiple stores only to come up empty-handed, he didn’t have much else to offer except that.
He expected both brothers to be sleeping as it was nearing two in the morning but he found Sam stationed at the table, working. He found himself staring at the man for a long moment.
Sam appeared too tired to even realize that another being was in the room, that there were eyes on him, typically his hunter instincts would kick in by now. It showed too not only by the obvious dark circles, heavily hooded eyes, and his ashen tone, but how he worked. It was slow; he took longer and gave more looks between the books and his writing, and more notably there was no enthusiasm, no determination as his eyes dragged from one to the other. It appeared to be mechanical, detached… soulless.
“Sam,” he says quietly, slowly approaching the cluttered table.
The hunter looked up disorientedly. He looked doubtful for some reason. “Cas?” he said, blinking, then rubbed his eyes, then blinked at him some more. It seemed to help as the twinkle resurfaced in his bi-colored eyes. “Cas!?” He stood up but wobbled. He clutched the table edge, but Cas moved quicker to him, lifting his hands up just in case.
“Sam, are you okay?”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “Yeah, yeah, hey, Cas, what’s up? How you been? It’s good to see you!”
“I’m fine, it’s nice to see you too, except it’s extremely early and you obviously need sleep.”
Sam looked around. “Is it? I don’t know what time it is. Ah, well, I’m not exactly ready to conk out yet. But, hey, it’s been a while. You need something? Should I go wake up Dean?”
“No, no, Dean knows I was going to show up. He didn’t tell you?”
“No. What’s up?”
“It… He called to…” Cas shook his head. “Happy birthday, Sam.”
“Huh? O-oh, it—yeah, uh, thanks, Cas. Wait, did Dean make you come all the way here just to tell me that?”
“No, if it was just that I would have called or texted you. No, he seemed to think that you’d ‘perk up’ if I personally came.”
“Perk up?”
“He said you’ve been ‘gloomy’.”
Sam frowned. “I have not. He’s just exaggerating, and being a jerk, as usual. But it is good to see you, Cas.” Sam shifted closer and extended his arms out. Cas smiled and reciprocated the hug.
“It’s good to see you too, Sam. But more pressingly you need to sleep.”
“I can’t, not yet,” Sam insisted.
“Why not?”
“I… I just can’t. But hey, why don’t I get us some coffee, huh?”
“No, Sam, you need to sleep. If you're having trouble, I can help.”
Sam shook his head. “I’m okay, really, Cas.”
Castiel sighed. “Sam… fine. But come along with me,” he said as he started for the sleeping quarters.
“Huh? Why? Where we going?” Sam wondered, following him nonetheless.
“To your bedroom, I’ll give you your birthday present there.”
“Huh?”
“Then you can get ready for bed, and we can watch some Netflix while you nod off for a couple of hours.”
Sam made a disapproving noise. “Okay, but not the last thing—I mean Netflix sure, but I already told you I don’t want to sleep yet. And you didn’t have to get me a present, Cas. Thanks, but just you showing up and saying ‘happy birthday’ was enough for me.”
Cas grunted. “It’s not much, I couldn’t think of anything else to give you. Well, I did, but it didn’t… it didn’t seem good enough, not that what I plan on giving you is good enough.”
Sam snickered. “Why are you being so cryptic? What is it?”
“I just… I don’t know if I actually want to give it to you.”
“Huh? But you just said—” Sam laughed. “Give it, or not, it’s up to you, man. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s good.”
Cas opened Sam’s door, flicked the light on, and immediately saw that Sam’s bed was untidy. The Winchester always made it a habit of making his bed when he got up in the morning, but it seemed it hadn’t been made in days, let alone touched in that long either.
Sam cleared his throat, color rising to his face. “Sorry ‘bout the mess. I’ve been busy.”
“Yes, busy not sleeping,” he chided as he slipped the gift into his pants pocket before shrugging out of his coats.
Sam huffed a laugh, rubbing his neck. “Why are you suddenly getting after me about my sleeping habits?”
Cas sat on the bed and took his shoes off. “Why are your sleeping habits irregular now? I know you had a better process than this. Such as avoiding caffeine at a certain time, at least be in bed at a certain time even if you continued with your translations.” Cas cocked his head at him. “Your sleeping timetable would probably always be irregular but you still attempted sleep, even if it was for a few hours. Something is obviously bothering you, is it your nightmares? Are they more distressing than before?”
Sam lowered his eyes and shifted on his feet. He shrugged. “I… I guess you could say that.”
“Sam, you’re running yourself ragged. Let me help, please.”
Sam closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath.
“You know you don’t have nightmares when I’m here,” Cas reminded him.
“I know,” he whispered. “But I hate using you like that, Cas. You have more important things to do than make sure I’m not terrorized by my own brain while I’m unconscious. I like—I’m glad you’re here but I don’t want you thinking it’s because you keep the nightmares away, or because you keep me company with Netflix, or—or—”
“Sam, I don’t think that, and even if that was true, I’m happy to be of use to you.”
Sam lurched forward a few steps. “Don’t say that, Cas, you know I don’t like it when you say that. You don’t need to be useful to us—to me, for me to care about and want you here. Being family, it doesn’t mean you have to have a use outside of just existing.”
Cas smiled. “I know, I just like hearing you say that. Thank you.”
Sam huffed and dragged a hand through his hair. “I should take a shower before I—”
“Later in the morning, Sam.”
“I smell, my hair—”
“You smell fine, your hair can wait, get into bed.”
Sam pouted, which turned into a yawn. “Teeth?” he murmured.
Cas rolled his eyes and searched for the remote. “As long as you don’t fall asleep while you're at the sink, and it doesn’t take you more than five minutes.”
Sam grumbled and took four minutes just because. “So have you decided?” he asked timidly going to his bed.
“Decided what?”
Sam huffed a laugh. “If you’re giving me whatever you're thinking about giving me as a birthday present. Did you decide whether or not I’m getting it?”
“Mmm. I suppose, but… I just want you to know that I’ll understand if you don’t want to accept it.”
Sam sat sideways on his bed to face the angel. “Why wouldn’t I accept it?”
Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin chain necklace. The pendant was a quarter-sized, see-through teardrop filled with illuminating wispy liquid.
“I-is that…?”
Cas nodded. “It’s grace. Mine. If you ever need it, if I can’t be there, you can use this. For yourself, for Dean, for someone you saved during a hunt, or no one at all. It can easily be seen as a decorative trinket.”
Sam slowly reached out and lightly cupped the teardrop. “Why wouldn’t I accept it?” he whispered.
Cas gave him a small pained smile. “I know that even the mention of grace makes you uncomfortable, let alone being touched by it.”
Sam gives a shaky laugh. “That’s—that’s true, but not for you, Cas. I trust you, I know… I know what your grace feels like, I recognize it. Not like this, but when you heal me, when you use it on me to help me sleep, I know it’s you doing it, not anyone else. I trust your grace, Cas, but… are you sure?”
“About what? Giving this to you? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Don’t you need this? You’re still recuperating from getting your grace back, aren’t you? You need every single drop.”
“Mmm, not every single one. I can spare this little one.” Sam looks unconvinced. Castiel lays Sam’s hand flat to place the necklace on his palm, then closes Sam’s fingers around it. “I’m not even sure how much it would even heal if you were to use it. I’m certain it won’t bring back the dead, but at least heal a more dire wound enough for me or a doctor to come and help.” Sam swallowed and looked down at their hands. “Will you accept it?”
Sam nodded. “Of course, I will, Cas.” He leaned forward and hugged him. “And it is good enough,” he whispered. “This is beyond good enough, how could it not be?”
Cas sighed as he leaned into Sam’s embrace. “My grace isn’t in the best shape. Honestly, I’m just hoping it’s good enough to heal a more dire wound. I’m not entirely certain. And it only is a tiny amount.”
Sam leaned back. “I don’t think that’s the proper word to use then, Cas. I think effective or potent is more suitable than good enough, because it is good, and it is enough. Thank you, Cas.”
Cas smiled and nodded. “Alright, Sam, lay down, you need to sleep now.” The hunter groaned but clipped the necklace around his neck before flopping down with a huff. Cas got up to grab the blanket, he flapped it up to air it and spread it out over the bed. Sam sighed and curled up in it, muttering thanks.
Cas resettled on his side of the bed after shutting off the light, only the TV illuminated the room, and the faint glow from Sam’s locket beneath his shirt. “Are you ready?”
Sam took a shaky inhale. “No nightmares,” he exhaled.
“No nightmares.”
“Okay, Cas. Thanks.”
“Of course, Sam. You need your sleep and I’m happy and willing to help.”
“What time?”
“Considering you hardly slept in days, maybe weeks, and it’s already past three, how about six or seven?”
Sam sighed. “I’m gonna say six and you're gonna say seven, then I’m gonna say six thirty and you're still gonna say seven, then in the end I’m gonna cave. So let's just get it over with.”
Cas grinned. “Seven thirty it is.”
“Huh? What? That wasn’t an option!”
Cas shrugged. “It is now.”
“Ugh, fine. Seven thirty.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Good night, Cas.”
“Good night, Sam, see you in the morning.”
Sam hummed and closed his eyes as Cas pressed his fingers against his temple and eased the hunter into a peaceful, restful sleep.
* * *
True to Cas’ word, Sam roused at seven-thirty. He thanked the angel again, feeling almost entirely rested, alert, and much more stable than he had been feeling before.
After a refreshing shower and a kick of caffeine, Sam settled back at the library table. Only to cringe in horror at how shoddy his sleep-deprived work turned out. “I can’t believe I wrote this, I can’t believe I got this far without noticing.”
“You were very sleep deprived. I think when I showed up last night you thought I wasn’t real.”
Sam flipped through his notebook distractedly. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I thought you were a hallucination too.”
“Do you want to talk about it? What caused your sudden rebellion against sleep.”
Sam grimaced. “Not really. Maybe one day, but it’s too… fresh for me to talk about it. It’s a bit stupid.”
“That’s doubtful considering you lost a tremendous amount of sleep over it, and that was distressing for me as well as your brother.”
And as if he was summoned, Dean emerged. “Look who’s up and—wow, Sammy, you finally got some z’s. Your work I’m assuming,” he motioned to the angel.
Cas nodded.
“What time did you show up? I went to bed at one and he was still crazed on wanting to finish whatever the hell it was.”
“A little while after two,” he said, a little glad that he waited an hour last night before exiting the garage. Dean may not have been as welcoming last night; he was a bear when he got woken up, let alone staying up late trying to wrangle with his ‘crazed’ brother. Sam was much more approachable sleep-deprived or otherwise, if however stubborn.
“Well, thanks for that, kid needed sleep.”
“I’m right here, and not a kid. I literally just turned thirty.”
Dean laughed. “Wait till you hit forty, Sammy.”
“You’re still going to call me a kid, you old man.”
“Hey, this old man can still kick your ass. And if anyone is old, it’s him,” Dean thumbed at Cas. “No cake can handle the amount of candles of how old he is.”
Cas sighed. “That’s true. I’m very old. Both of you are babies compared to me, very young, very premature babies.”
The two hunters were pouting at him and he smiled.
“You ain’t going to do that all day still, are you?” Dean motioned to the books and papers scattered around the table. “You just got some color back, and you lost a bit of that emo eye bag makeup you were rocking. You need a break. You need to eat. Come chill out in the kitchen while I make breakfast.”
“Dean, I messed all of this up, I gotta—”
“Sam,” Cas interrupts him. “I agree with Dean. You do need to eat something, and taking a break from this would be good. I’ll help you fix this later, okay? That’ll make the work quicker.”
Sam sighed and looked down at the papers in his hands. “This isn’t fair,” he muttered. “Ganging up on me, like this.”
“You know you should too,” Cas says. “You just want to be stubborn about it.”
Dean smirks.
Sam huffed. “It’s my birthday, you'd think I can choose to do what I want.”
“You can choose what you want me to cook you for breakfast,” Dean offers, turning to head to the kitchen.
“Well, why can’t I cook?” Sam argues, putting down his notes and following after his brother.
“Oh, you ain’t touching my oven or stove.”
“Your oven and stove?”
Cas smiles leisurely following after them.
* * *
Cas sat beside Sam at the table, sipping coffee while Dean puttered around and cooked.
“And you finally called Cas but it was to tell him to show up because I’ve been gloomy? Seriously, Dean?”
Dean rolled his eyes as he shuffled the bacon and the eggs around with his spatula. “You have been! For weeks!”
“You always say I’m gloomy!”
“Sure, but you were extra gloomy! And it was glooming up the bunker. Even a hunt didn’t fix your gloom.”
Sam glowered at his brother. “I’m not and was not gloomy! And what is that?”
“Huh?” Dean looked up from stirring the ingredients he had in the bowl in his hands.
“That’s not pancake mix, is it? You don’t put it in a pan like that.” He pointed to the round stainless steel pan on the counter.
“It’s cake mix,” Dean muttered.
Sam squinted his eyes and tilted his head. “Did you just say cake mix, as in you’re baking… a cake?”
Dean shrugged.
“When did you start baking?”
“Today, I guess.”
Sam huffed in astonishment.
Dean shrugged again. “It’s got instructions and stuff, it seemed easy enough. Why not?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re just using my birthday as an excuse to eat cake.”
“Well, yeah, but I don’t need that excuse. It’d be better if it was a pie. Should have ordered one, birthday pie.”
“Why don’t you bake a pie?”
Dean grunted. “Apparently pies are more difficult to bake.”
Sam watched his brother for a moment. On one hand, he wanted to taunt him, but on the other, he knows his brother is probably feeling insecure about it. “Huh,” he says. “Well, I’m sure you’ll learn how then you won’t stop, and I’ll tell you right now I’m not helping eat all of them.”
Dean glanced up at him, Sam gave him a stubborn look and was earned a smile. “I’m not gonna need help eating them, you’ll be lucky to have one single slice,” Dean told him.
Sam snorted. “You better remember that. And don’t forget that you’re cooking breakfast and I’m apparently not allowed to touch the oven or stove.”
“Damn right you can’t; Cas, get over here and save those eggs, the bacon is still amazing burnt, but can’t let Sammy whine about charred eggs.”
Sam scoffed and watched as Cas got up from the table to help Dean. “You let Cas, but not me?!”
“Cas ain’t the birthday boy,” Dean taunts.
Sam scoffed. “And I’m, what, supposed to sit around and do nothing? This is stupid.”
Dean laughed as he poured the batter into the pan. “Any other time you’d bitch if I told you to do anything.”
“Cause you don’t ask, you demand, there's a difference.” Sam sighed and idly sipped his coffee.
“Where’d you get the bling?” Dean says drawing his attention.
“Huh?”
Dean’s eyes directed him down at his hand, fiddling with the locket. He blushed and glanced at Cas, who was also staring at him. “Birthday gift,” he muttered.
Dean smirked. “Cas gave you a necklace?”
“Who said it was Cas?”
“Unless you left the bunker, who else?”
Sam huffed. “Yeah, Cas gave it to me.”
“How sweet,” Dean said, looking at the cake box.
“Shut up.”
“What, this cake, it’s sweet.”
“Sure.”
Castiel was looking confused between the two. “Is there something wrong with giving Sam a necklace?”
“No,” Sam said.
“Nope, nothing wrong with that,” Dean said.
“Because if there was,” Cas says slowly. “I want to remind both of you that Sam gifted you a necklace when you were children.”
Dean shrugged and slipped bread into the toaster. “Sure, of course. ‘Cept mine was one, an amulet, two, cool-looking, and three, apparently a tool to find God.”
“Which you threw in the trash,” Sam murmured.
“And I regret that,” Dean confessed. “I tried finding it.”
“I did too.” After a sullen moment, Sam adds, “Anyway, it has Cas’ grace inside it. If one of us gets hurt we could maybe use it to heal, so personally I think that’s more helpful than yours had been.”
Dean and Cas scoffed in agreement. “Definitely,” Dean said, swiping butter across the finished toast and tossing them onto the plate Cas held out. The oven beeped but Dean went to the fridge and fished out a few fruits he had bought this morning and scattered them around the plate as well. He patted Cas’ back, motioning for him to give the plate to Sam.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Store, where else?” he said putting the cake pan in the oven, before setting up his own plate.
Sam gave him an annoyed look, but promptly popped a blueberry into his mouth. “Also, did you use cooking spray?” Dean gave him a blank look. “You know so the cake doesn’t stick to the pan.”
“Shit.” Dean glared at the oven as if it was its fault. “Maybe if I keep an eye on the time?”
Sam shrugged. “Hey, Cas, so I was thinking, there's lore and stories told about vessels like bowls and goblets that refill whatever you put in it; water, gold, fruit, bread, you name it. Do you know if those actually exist?”
Castiel nodded. “Yes, at certain points those did exist, but I’m unsure what happened to them, or if they were all destroyed.”
“Hmm.”
“What, did you read about it in those books?” Dean asked.
“No, I just… I was thinking, maybe if we had one—”
“Dude, we’d be rich! Throw in a hundred, oh! Oh! Or maybe some good old whiskey; how many times can you put something different in it?”
Sam shook his head. “No, Cas’ grace! Put a drop of that in it, then boom, you got more grace. It’s just a theory, and it could be a long shot, probably not worth overly hoping for. But it’s something I thought about.”
Castiel cocked his head. “I don’t know if we’re capable of making one of those vessels, let alone finding one. But it is a nice thought, and an interesting project to undertake.”
Sam’s eyes lit up. “How much do you know about them? How do you think we’d go about making one?”
“Hmm… I know that it relied on what it was made from, as well as the sigils carved into it. I believe there was either a blessing or a type of ritual required too.”
“How fun,” Dean drawled, “a nerdy witchy project. I’m shutting it down if it has to do with body parts, sacrifices, or any type of visit to a witch’s coven or witch hangout.”
Sam grinned at Cas. “Well, we got big brother’s green light, so now we don’t have to go behind his back.”
“Unless, of course, it requires one of those restrictions,” Cas reminds him.
Sam laughed. “Yeah, unless, of course, it does.”
Dean glared at them. “I’m regretting it already. You two aren’t responsible when it comes to your group projects. Don’t forget what happened last time.”
Sam shrugged. “Don’t you have a cake to check on?”
Dean grunted but got up to fix up the cake while Sam and Cas discussed their project.
Their discussion was soon interrupted as Dean made frustrated noises. “Dammit, why is it doing this?!”
Sam watched as the cake basically fell apart as his brother tried layering—in his opinion—way too much frosting on it. “I think… you had to let it cool before putting that on?”
Dean grumbled.
“It’s fine, Dean, it doesn’t have to look nice, all that matters is the taste, for you, it’s not like I’m going to eat it, it’s way too early.”
“Frickin’ after dinner is way too early for you.” Dean gouged the edge of the cake and took a bite. He hummed. “Seems I’m not only a natural cook but a natural baker too.”
Sam snorted. “Alright, Betty Crocker, is my break and breakfast over now? I have a lot to fix up in my notes and information to dig up on the refilling vessel project.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Let me finish frosting this delicious beauty up, shove the candles in so you can blow ‘em out, then you can unleash the nerdy beast.”
“Please don’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’.”
Dean scoffed. “You wish. I baked a damn cake, I wanna dig in.”
It took a few more minutes for Dean to cover the warm cake in frosting, and luckily it was only two candles that Dean slid onto the top; a three and a zero.
“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Cas said.
The hunters looked oddly at the angel. “What?” Cas muttered. “Isn’t that the custom? Making a wish as you blow out the flames?”
“Yeah, that is a common practice, but…” Sam looked down at the flames and wondered what he should even wish for, not that it’ll come true.
“Come on, Sammy, make a wish and blow. What is it? Do you want so much that you can’t decide what to pick?”
Sam’s brows furrowed, but he leaned forward and blew as he made his wish. When he opened his eyes, he found Cas staring at him knowingly. He smiled warily at him and was given a smile in return.
“It’s a good wish,” Cas whispered to him as Dean cut the cake unevenly—giving himself the biggest piece.
Sam shrugged and fiddled with his pendant. It was the only thing he wanted; for his family to be happy.
* * *