pleadingoneword said:
Hands flutter anxiously over the table, over the gear, then finally over to Cas' sleeve, where he presses just hard enough to feel the hand beneath it before he backs away. "You okay?" It's on a breath, too strong out for anything else. They're safe in the bunker (never truly safe anywhere, but safe enough), and Sam tries to take strength from it as he tries to hold Castiel's gaze.
Somehow, despite all that has changed in the years since he met the Winchesters—everything he’s learned, everything he’s experienced—, small gestures like this still catch him off guard.
And Sam Winchester, despite his size, is full of small, careful gestures.
He can’t be sure whether it’s Castiel’s comfort or his own that Sam seeks, but he feels the brief warmth of that hand through to the tattered remnants of his grace. And Castiel finds himself wishing he could retaliate in kind by healing all of Sam’s aches and pains.
Blue eyes look up at Sam Winchester, full of tired affection.
This is not a question that always requires an honest, objective answer, he’s come to find.
“I’m fine, Sam.” His smile is barely noticeable, there and gone, but he knows Sam will see it. And now he has the perfect chance to give voice to an old observation.
“You haven’t been sleeping.” Not often, and definitely not well.
