fae-and-night:

The ways you say I love you – When we lay together on the
fresh spring grass.

Sam sniffles, running away from John’s endless admonishments
and Dean’s looks pleading for Sam to just take
whatever John sees fit to give him. Sam just can’t take anymore, not tonight.
The only time John pays any attention to Sam is when he’s scrutinizing whatever
event or report card or essay he can find in Sam’s bag. Sam learned long ago
that John didn’t care to ask him about his life, but instead to investigate on
his own.

Nothing he finds seems to meet his satisfaction. All those A’s?
Sam’s a brownnoser. Soccer? Why not wrestling or football? Forensic camp or
debate trips? It’s not the lodge and not a job. Sam gets a job working weekends
at the drive in? Is working in the shop with his old man and big brother not
good enough?

Sam’s usually glad Dean decided to stick around for a while
before going to his favored trade school, if only to keep John and Sam civil.

Not tonight, though.

Dean had finally asked Cassie to marry him, having saved up
enough money to buy them a small house. Cassie told him no, not yet. She’s
gotten accepted into college, and she’s not going to give that up, as much as
she loves Dean. Dean gets it, but it stings having the love of your life turn
you down flat. When he came home from their drive to find John and Sam’s
shouting match, he’d snapped and pushed Sam against the wall once things
escalated. It wasn’t hard for Dean to do, with Sam being a scrawny 15-year-old,
but the look on Sam’s face had him recoiling like Sam had slapped him.

Sam bolted. Sam runs and runs, ignoring Dean’s calls, and
finally lands in the grass by a fountain at the park. He rolls onto his back,
looking for answers in the starry sky. His breathing slows eventually, and
hazel eyes drift closed. He wonders how he’s going to face his family after
literally running away from his problems tonight.

He hears the ticks of a bike rolling up next to the fountain
and skidding to a stop near his feet.
“Sam? Are you alright?” It’s the choir boy from his English class, Castiel. The
one who Sam has been quietly, shamefully mooning over all year. Sam wipes the
sweat and tears from his face, and rolls up onto his elbows. He cracks a fake
smile, for once dreading seeing the other boy.

“H-hey, Castiel. Yeah, I’m okay. Just- enjoying the night
air.” Castiel frowns, but jumps off his bike and settles next to Sam on the
grass, stretching carefully out in his white button-up and black slacks.
Castiel always looks like he’s going to choir no matter what day of the week
Sam sees him. He stretches out beside him.

“What are you doing on this side of the tracks, Cas? Don’t
ya know it’s not safe for socs at this time of night?” Castiel chucks a little,
a brittle noise.
“Are you going to jump me, Sam? And here I thought you were a good boy. Ya
know, for a greaser.” Sam does laugh at that. He’s as much a greaser as Castiel
is a soc- only by the neighborhoods they live in. Dean’s never even left Sam
within 10 yards of a rumble, and Cas thinks they’re stupid.
“Nah, not tonight. Still didn’t answer my question, though?”
Castiel sighs.
“My father, he’s, ah, being quite difficult. You know how city council members
can be.” Sam doesn’t, but he does know about overbearing fathers; he nods. “Well,
I thought I would- run away. For a little while.” Castiel doesn’t look at Sam
all the while, staring at the deep sky with longing.
“Me, too.” Sam confesses.

They lay in silence for a while, just appreciation the
feeling of understanding radiating from the other.

“Sometimes I wish I could run away for real. If Dean wasn’t
around, I might just do it.” Castiel finally looks at Sam, jolted by the raw
sincerity in his voice. Castiel tentatively reaches out his hand and brushes
his pinky against Sam’s, heart pounding and eyes shifting around. In the soft
new grass under the night sky, Sam realizes that his pining probably wasn’t as
subtle or one-sided as he’d imagined.

“Not without me, Sam,” Castiel murmurs. Sam wiggles his
fingers closer and entwines them with Castiel’s, hidden from the rest of the
world between their bodies.
“No, not without you.”

They lay like that long into the night.

fae-and-night:

The ways you say I love you – In a letter.

Sam grips the rolled parchment in his fist and feeds the
raven a little something. The carrier pigeons, while more numerous and perhaps
faster in tight corners in the cities, would have been taken by a wild falcon
long before ever reaching Sam. The ranger smiles, giving the raven’s feathers a
light scritch.

Weeks away from the Citadel has meant weeks away from Sam’s
sweetheart, the paladin renamed in the holy light of the gods as Castiel. Sam
had met Castiel when they were both quite young; Sam had been in town studying
lore from books much too large for him to carry to a reading desk, and Castiel,
made a member of the order at the tender age of 5, was tending to the library. Sam’s
ranging would bring him around the Citadel from time to time, and always
Castiel would escape his rigorous training for the day and join Sam on tiny
adventures to the market or nearby stream.

One day, two years prior to completing his training, Castiel
had realized that Sam had grown into a strong and righteous young man where he
had only seen a wonderful play companion before. Castiel, feeling much to old
and disillusioned at the grand old age of 23, had been hesitant to approach Sam
about courting, as Sam had only recently seen his twentieth summer. He had
mustered up the courage make an attempt, offering Sam a beautiful quill with
blue ink (a luxury for a boy who could have been a scholar in another life) and
a new lambskin bound journal.

Sam had only stared at the gift, and Castiel had been seized
by the sudden certainty that ranger courting customs must be completely
different. Castiel had held out his hands to take the offending objects from
his friend, praying to all the gods that he could still call Sam friend, but
Sam curled the book tightly to his chest. One hand curved gently, but fiercely
over the inkskin. Suddenly cowed by Castiel’s gob smacked expression, Sam ducked
his head.
“I’ll give them back if this doesn’t mean what I think it means,” Sam muttered.
Castiel quickly nodded, then slowly brushed Sam’s hair away from his cheek.
Sam quirked a quick smile, then stowed the items in his satchel and withdrew
from it a small knife and a small, but fine handkerchief Castiel had helped him
pick out at a merchant’s stall.
Sam swiftly cut a lock of his hair off and secured it in the handkerchief,
twisting it into a neat little pendant, which he tied off with a long bit of
leather cord.

It’s been nearly two years since then, but Sam’s just as
enamored by Castiel as he was when they first met. The feeling seems to be
mutual. Sam will make his way back to the Citadel in a few months, ready to
witness Castiel’s final commitment ceremony and whisk him away on an adventure.

Until then, Sam will content himself by hiding away from the
rest of the party for a short while, feeding the raven and hanging on the
beautiful script and sweet sentiments contained therein. After his reply, he
will fold the letter close to his heart, as he has all the others and count the
days until “I love you,” will be more than blue words on a page.