1. Ephemera

He doesn't understand some of their references, but cultural sign posts are delicate, temporary things that Castiel has spent thousands of years ignoring. Gabriel found them fascinating, but they are ephemera that Castiel has the mind to comprehend and classify but not the patience. He is, despite eons of practice, not patient. He never has been, not from the first, when they called him "Littlest Brother" and Gabriel would drop him between the shifting light of stars just to watch Castiel tumble. It feels to him as if some things have not changed at all. He is still impatient.

"Cas, hey, wait. We have to pay for the food," Sam grabs at the arm of Castiel's coat to hold him in place, as if he could if Castiel did not want him too. This thoughtless familiarity is something even Dean does not have, being too much in awe of Castiel's powers (and failures). But Sam dropped his awe and fear a long time ago. To him, Castiel is simply someone like any other, even more familiar than most. So Castiel stops, knowing full well that in this era humans exchange currency for food. He knows it, how could he not? But he's never cared about it before, not enough to slow down.

"Then we must pay for it."

Sam huffs out a laugh. "You mean, I'll have to pay for it." He reaches for his wallet.

Castiel could pay for it. He could call up gold or cash or a sacred cow, whatever is needed to buy their safe passage out of the diner. But he enjoys the way Sam does everything slowly, as if he can teach Castiel by example something he already knows: See, this is my wallet? It holds money. I use the money to pay for our food. Castiel doesn't smile, although he's beginning to understand why humans do.

At the hotel Sam ignores him, another precious thing that is never granted to an angel of the Lord. Castiel is used to either not being seen or being seen and bowed to, never taken for granted. Sam sighs and starts throwing clothes around into piles, ignoring Castiel who sits on the bed to watch. Castiel distantly knows that this is some precursor to doing the laundry, and he doesn't care. He never has cared over the millennia of humans learning to wear clothes which they then need to wash, but there is nothing else for him to do but watch Sam.

Watching Sam is something Castiel is learning to care about.

"Got sweats." Sam waves some clothes at Castiel and throws them on the bed. Irreverent, and impudent. Castiel frowns at the items next to him on the bed. Sam looks over.

"Dude, you're ripe. Change into the sweats, at least. You could use a shower, honestly." Sam pulls his shirt up and over his head, tosses it onto one of the piles.

"Ripe?"

"You stink. You smell like rotting cow." Sam unbuckles his belt and drops his pants. He's suddenly as naked as the day he was born—Castiel wasn't there, Sam was born on a Monday—and beautiful. Majestic, even; perfectly formed if imperfectly lived. He has no shame, still sorting the clothes, and Castiel realizes that it is one thing to know that the brothers are comfortable with each other at all levels and another thing completely to be granted that same familiarity.

"My clothes need to be washed," Castiel says instead, surprised by the realization. Sam really looks at him for the first time since they got into the room.

"Yeah."

Castiel plucks at his dirty coat. "I knew that."

Still naked like a child of Eden, Sam sits down next to him. "Okay."

There is something deeply wrong with being reduced to the level of washing clothes, of trying to understand the incomprehensible difference between a dime and a nickel, or even of needing a bath. These are all things Castiel knows in the abstract, but sitting with Sam, who is quiet and still next to him, makes it all far too real. Far too human. Castiel hates that, as much as he loves humanity; he hates it because he is impatient and uninterested in the minute. His view is the arc of eons, the stretch of eternity, not piles of clothes on the floor needing to be washed. Sam might as well go hammer them with rocks in a stream, as far as Castiel is concerned. It's all the same.

Only it isn't. Sam puts a hand on Castiel's thigh—forward and brave, perhaps, but Castiel knows better. It is the touch of affection and concern, Sam trying to ground Castiel as a friend or a brother. Grounding an angel as easily as clipping his wings.

"Shit, Cas—" Sam wraps himself around Castiel as he breaks, the human vessel he wears driving Castiel to weeping his despair out, an endless sweeping emotion that is nothing like the pain of death. It is like falling, and falling, and falling…he wonders if this is the sound of Lucifer as he fell, this keening cry that Castiel cannot pull back into himself.

Sam drags him backwards onto the bed and folds over him as Castiel curls up, dirty coat and all, stinking like a rotting cow, nothing sacred and everything profane. He feels weirdly safe under Sam, who does not treat him as if he is untouchable, but instead pets him and showers him with words of kindness. When the overwhelming grief starts to ebb, Castiel rolls back a little to look up at Sam, still naked, still encasing Castiel's body with his own.
"I need to bathe."

Sam's expression shifts from worried to amused. "You really do, man, seriously. You do." He leans forward and kisses Castiel, pushing him down further into the mattress. They don't shift much as they kiss, but Sam uses one large hand to frame Castiel's face and Castiel wraps both arms around Sam to drag him closer. It's all of this that Castiel has known forever that is ruining him anew: laundry, food, kissing, Sam.

But if he is to be ruined he willingly gives that sin to Sam, who has all the patience both of them need.

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