AN: another sastiel fic! Another one-shot! Actually it could kind of be a sequel to Stay. It's your decision :)

So, yup - just imagine that Cas doesn't get kicked out of the bunker post-9x03. Enjoy!

"Most people wouldn't agree with you there, Cas," Sam chuckled, as they left the grocery store through automatic sliding doors. Cas looked over his shoulder at the shop, a look akin to wonder – the same one he'd been wearing since they stepped in – adorning his face.
"Perhaps those people haven't experienced what it is like to not have money, and be presented with tantalising baked goods. Shopping for food really is a lot of fun when you have the means to buy it," He explained thoughtfully.

Sam didn't say anything, simply smiling at Cas by way of hiding the concerned frown trying to break across his face. The casual way in which the former-angel referred to being homeless and hungry and . . . Alone, was worrying.

"Sure," He agreed amiably. Suddenly, Cas' words ran through his mind again, and he remembered: "Baked goods – crap, the pie," He sighed, looking back at the store, which was now half way down the block. Dean wouldn't stand for this: he was across town stocking up on ammo and gun-oil, while Sam had elected to go on a food-run. Cas had insisted on going with him – Sam didn't know if it was because he loved shopping, or because he actually wanted to spend time with him, talking, and laughing, and just . . . Yeah. He hoped it was the latter.

He shook himself, and began: "Uh, we'll have to-"
"I'll go back for it. You put the groceries away," Cas reassured him, heading back down the street with a smile before Sam could agree.
"You got enough money?" Sam asked.
"Of course," Cas called back.
"And you know what flavour-"
"Apple or cherry, mainly. I know, Sam," Cas smiled back at him over his shoulder, his journey.

Sam stood for a moment, torn about what to do: on the one hand, he knew Cas was independent; he knew where Sam would be, heading back to the Impala. It was the logical thing to do, but . . . But what if – well, he didn't know what he expected to happen. Angels, to appear out of thin air, and snatch Cas away? It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Plus, there were the shenanigans that Cas could get up to all on his own, simply due to lack of experience. But then again – he was an adult. This would be good for him. He'd feel useful, too, which Sam knew was a big concern of his of late.

So, Sam turned around, and headed around the corner to the quiet street they'd parked on.

Meanwhile, Cas had already entered the store, and was letting his nose guide him to the pie. It smelled so fresh, and appetising – like he could taste it already, strangely enough. He now understood the phrase 'mouth-watering' to its full extent.

Fishing in his pocket for the dollar bills he'd brought with him (the Winchesters had called it 'pocket-money', though he understood it could actually be carried in many receptacles – the name was merely a colloquialism), he stared at the shelves: there were an array of pies . . . And cakes. He knew Dean preferred pie – Sam had told him to get pie – but Sam preferred cake.

Looking down at the notes in his hand, he decided to get both.

Snatching the two boxes from the shelf, he made his way to the same cashier who'd served them before.
"Back already?" The older woman asked with a smile.
"Yes," Castiel replied calmly as she scanned the items. He leaned in, and expanded: "We forgot the pie. A fundamental error,"

She just chuckled, and shook her head.
"Mine's got a sweet tooth, too," She confided. "That it?"
". . . Yes, thank you," Cas replied, handing over the money – though he didn't fully understand her meaning. Surely she didn't also live with a pair of brothers? He was given to understand that the arrangement wasn't the norm in human populations.

Potentially, she could have been referring to him and Sam? Though he didn't really think of Sam as – well, Sam wasn't – wasn't his.

His stomach began to feel funny, and he looked down at it quizzically.
"Honey?" The cashier asked, frowning. He looked up at her attempting to hand the bag of food to him.
"No thank you," He misunderstood her question. "Have a nice day," He took the bag, and made his way quickly out of the shop. Every day, there was something different about being human to learn, and experience, and try desperately to understand (with wildly varying degrees of success). He understood, now, that humans could not help but be flawed: they had so much to deal with, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. It was completely different to be a human.

And that was why he admired the good ones all the more, now. The ones who did their best to make the world a better place; to be selfless, and help others for no personal gain – indeed, some even suffered great loss to help others . . .

He thought of being killed by Lucifer in Sam's body. When he had returned, reborn and put back together, Sam had been gone. He'd missed arguably the biggest sacrifice a human had ever made for their species – well, aside from the obvious one of his Father's first human son. He supposed all the angels were His human children, now.

But Sam was willing to do it all over again – Dean had told him so, explaining what had happened at the church, when he'd almost cured Crowley – and that was exactly why Castiel believed he was one of the most special human beings alive. Now that he was human, he appreciated Sam's sacrifices on a completely new level, and was in awe of them.

He was in awe of Sam.

With that thought in his mind, he turned the corner, and spotted Sam at the end of the quiet street, about half way to the Impala. He appeared to be standing still: Castiel craned his neck, and saw that he was conversing with someone. He frowned, and made his way closer. Neither of them was positioned in such a way that they could see him: they faced one another, with Sam's back to a wall, and the other man's back to the road.

Sam had dropped the groceries, and was making gestures at the other man – holding his palms flat out and down-facing. He had a blank facial expression. The other man, however, was tense: he was holding out a hand – no, it wasn't just a hand – a – a knife. He was holding a knife.

Cas approached quickly; he could hear them now.
". . . stay calm. Okay?" He half-heard Sam say earnestly.
"I am calm! Just – shut up. Get your wallet," The other man replied, his voice shaky and unstable.
"Okay, okay," Sam replied quietly, keeping his eyes on the weapon, and cursing internally that he hadn't been prepared for this. It was an area they'd visited many times while staying in the bunker: their most local town. They'd never had any trouble, and besides: who thinks they need to be packing on a trip to the grocery store?

He retrieved his wallet slowly, completely focussed on the other man. His eyes were red and sunken, and he was dirty; he wore a hooded jacket, pulled up over his head to obscure most of his profile and face, but those tired eyes were still clearly visible. For a moment, Sam was almost completely distracted from the situation when his mind told him, this is what Cas would have been like. If you hadn't found him. If he had to be alone, forever, and hungry, and cold, and lost-

"Hurry up!" The other man hissed, lurching forward to snatch the wallet away from him. Sam flinched, and kicked himself mentally for not keeping a better eye on the situation. His emotions had clouded his mind.

At that moment, the other man grunted, lurching forward slightly, as if struck in the head: Sam's eyes widened as Cas appeared from behind him, kicking the man in the ribs, and causing him to drop his weapon. Dumbstruck, Sam watched as Cas bent down and grabbed the man by the front of his jacket, punching him in the face as hard as he could with untamed anger, over and over. Then he stopped, and pulled him up by his hair so he was kneeling; Sam saw a flash of silver as Castiel's angel blade appeared from his sleeve. His eyes grew almost as wide as the would-be thief's, as Cas' arm reared back, his face wrenched in rage.

"Whoa!" Sam intervened, throwing an arm out, to catch the arm that was gripping the blade. Cas' eyes, wild and somewhere between angry and scared, snapped up to him: they took in Sam's surprised look; the disapproval.
"Cas, please-" He pleaded, "It's okay – just let him go . . . It's okay," He kept his voice soft, like one he might use to talk to a frightened animal. Cas' chest was heaving with his panting breaths.

His eyes flicked down to the thief, whose Adam's apple bobbed with in a nervous gulp. His huge eyes begged for a reprieve.

Suddenly, he let go. "Go. Now," His low, gravelly voice growled at the other man, who didn't need to be told twice: setting off at a sprint, he made swift work of getting out of the area.

Silence fell between Sam and Cas in the wake of the thief's escape. Sam stared in stunned silence at Cas, who looked at the ground, unable to look the younger Winchester in the face.
". . . Cas?" Sam asked tentatively.
"He was going to-" Cas swallowed involuntarily, as he caught sight of the thief's knife on the floor, glinting at him mockingly.
"What? Take my wallet? . . . I hate to admit it, Cas, but it's mainly fake credit cards in there anyw-"
"He was going to hurt you. He could have – I can't heal you, and what if he had-" Cas found himself unable to breathe properly, his lungs expanding to a fraction of their normal size, as his breath became short, and his ability to form sentences became non-existent.

He wondered idly somewhere in the back of his mind at what horrifying new emotion could cause an episode like this, as he tried to control his breathing unsuccessfully.
"Hey!" Sam called to him, gripping him forcefully by the shoulders, and staring directly into his eyes. "No, c'mon – you've gotta get your breathing under control. Shh – now, copy me – in for three, out for five-"

Sam coached him through his breathing for about thirty seconds before it actually began to catch on; throughout, Sam's hazel eyes stared into Cas' blue, worried yet strong in Cas' time of need. "Okay, you've got it now – that's it," He confirmed, giving Cas a small smile in encouragement. He was surprised when Cas' reaction was to stop his controlled breathing exercises, and throw his arms around him.

Sam stiffened up at the feel of Cas pressed to his chest; his head resting gently against the side of his neck, and one hand fisted in the back of his jacket. His other hand was burrowing into the back of his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands for comfort. Gradually, Sam relaxed, snaking his long arms around Cas to hold him for a little while.

"He wouldn't have done it, you know," Sam whispered. "He just wanted the money,"
"I did not want to take the chance," Cas mumbled into Sam's neck. Sam found himself surprisingly okay with being this intimate with Cas – in fact, it was more than okay. He hated that this realisation had to come off the back of such a horrible event, but this – well, more than this . . . It was exactly what he wanted.

. . . Oh, fuck. He wanted Cas – Cas, the former angel, the guy who'd called him 'boy with the demon blood' when he first met him, the guy who just almost killed a man to protect him, the guy who was probably really naïve and was currently caressing the back of his head with his fingers – and he wanted him as more than just a friend.

"Please try and be more careful," Cas requested, stroking Sam's hair. It felt really good – Sam almost forgot to answer him.
"Sure, Cas," He murmured. He froze up as he felt Cas' lips, soft against his neck, give him a chaste kiss. He pulled away from the hug for a moment to look into Cas' eyes. There was a moment of uncertainty between them, in which Sam decided to just bite the bullet and impulsively do what he wanted, for a change.

So, just like that, he was kissing a guy who used to be an angel. And it only took a near-death, near-murder experience to get to that far.

When Cas pulled away, Sam studied his face worriedly for any signs of regret, or confusion – or, God forbid, betrayal or upset – but found nothing. Cas simply looked thoughtful.
"Well that certainly varies between genders. You are very talented, Sam . . . I would like to do that again. Where is your wallet?" He asked promptly, changing the subject at lightning speed, his hands still on Sam's back.

"Uh . . ." Sam's flustered mind hadn't even realised he'd been asked a question – he'd be damned if he knew how to answer just then. He shook himself, and reluctantly looked away from Cas, over his shoulder and at the ground. "There – hey, where's the pie?" He asked, remembering the reason they'd had to separate in the first place.

"Over there. I'll go and retrieve it," Cas smiled, and strode over to where he'd dropped his bag of food. Sam picked his food and his wallet up, too, smiling to himself in disbelief. He couldn't believe what just happened. Like, 'did-I-just-make-that-up' couldn't believe.

Huh, he thought: I'll have to send Cas for pie more often.

My blog is basically just a big mess of Sassy right now, including my fanfic and doodles. It's a tumblr, after all. itshellfiredean :)