Inspired by all of the excitement over Sam and Cas getting to spend some quality time in the Bunker soon.

Sam would've thought it to be more awkward.

Not that he's complaining, not in the least. No, this is great. He couldn't be more happy as he hunkers down into the squishy sofa cushions, Cas already seated at his side, nestled in close. Despite being one-hundred percent angelic again, Cas seems to have developed a penchant for being swaddled and nested in blankets, and likewise, showers were something the angel had decidedly not given up. Maybe it's a bit selfish of him to use up the hot water when he doesn't strictly need to bathe anymore-could just as easily zap himself clean with a bat of an eyelash-but Sam hasn't spoken up, and well, he doesn't really mind all that much, hasn't griped like Dean surely would once he returned.

Sam can't be bothered. Not when things between them are calm and easy and they can huddle in close without a fuss, tug the blankets tighter around themselves. Cas pulls his legs up onto the couch, curls them in and rests his knees against Sam's thigh, and it's oddly, perfectly comfortable.

This is much different than before; before Sam's possession or Castiel's fall and subsequent reacquiring of his Grace. Before, when they were strangers and then acquaintances, and then not quite enemies, broken allies with trust issues and the absolute understanding of where the other was coming from. Before, when they were defined by whether Dean had sent out a prayer or whether Cas needed to drop in and ensure they weren't about to fuck over the fate of the world. Before, with the aftermath of Hell and Purgatory looming over their heads as the perpetual shit storm of unaddressed emotional turmoil.

Sam doubts either of them would choose to go through all of that again, but...but it didn't turn out all bad, he supposes, everything considered. Clearly things had to be different now, because while Cas was greeted with a hug upon his return to the Bunker, a great, suffocating squeeze and a slap on the back from Dean that lingered and may have been threatening to drag out for longer than necessary, it was Cas that had shuffled over to him next, moving forward of his own volition to wrap arms around Sam's middle, hands floundering awkwardly at first behind Sam's back before settling somewhere between the small of his back and his shoulders. He'd been harassed and possessed within an inch of his life by angels, but never hugged, never the somewhat off-kilter embrace of Cas that had left him momentarily at a loss, before his hands found their way behind the angel and a grin to his face.

This right now certainly isn't bad, the quiet drone of the tv on in the background, more for noise than actual entertainment. Sam catches Cas's head nodding more and more to the side, until he has a head of hair against his neck. Sam smiles and leans into it, fingernails scratching into the soft material of his sweatpants in an effort to not give himself away, eyes just daring to flicker over briefly towards his companion.

Cas doesn't get tired, and he doesn't need sleep. He doesn't need to shut his eyes or sigh deeply, and yet the angel does, turns his nose into Sam's neck and huffs like he's ready to drift off for the night. He's more tactile, now, even with his Grace restored, an angel in every sense of the word, Cas was still changed by his time spent as a human, and it's become increasingly evident ever since he returned.

"Thank you for the socks, Sam. They are very comfortable." Cas is pressed so close that Sam can feel the vibrations of his voice rumble against his skin, a slight whisper of air as the angel's mouth moves.

"Don't mention it. Glad you like them, Cas."

It hadn't been a big deal, really. It'd been during his first days of recovery, just a little trip to get himself out and about, out from underneath Dean's wing (his brother a constant presence, ever finicky). It had almost worked too, but for the fact that Dean ended up accompanying him on the short excursion to the local thrift store. At least Dean had had the decency to let him cruise the aisles on his own, or rather, the decency to give Sam the illusion of privacy, though the fact that he was watching him from the coat racks had been poorly concealed.

Nonetheless, picking up the three pack of fuzzy blue-black-grey socks had been more of an unchecked impulse than a conscious decision to get Cas a gift. Dean had barely held off his snort when Sam showed up at the checkout with them, and then when he'd handed them over to Cas upon their return his brother's expression turned practically scandalized. Cas, on the other hand, had held them to him like a priest clinging to their rosary, had thanked Sam with such blatant genuineness, and it was Sam that time that had pulled the angel in for a brief one-armed embrace, arm slung across the back of Castiel's shoulders.

So maybe, they'd each grown a soft spot for the other. Sam's not quite sure what to name this, the way their shoulders are aligned or the way that Cas is okay with melting into him, almost half sprawled in Sam's lap like a lazy house cat, should he choose to scoot any closer.

"There's more soup on the stove. I could heat it up?" Cas shifts, head tipping up and nose bumping Sam's jaw briefly before he pulls back to catch his eyes.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks." Sam turns to him with a smile, the corner of his mouth pulled up, and then snuggles back in. He tugs his legs up and tries to situate them so that there's enough room, but Cas is having none of that, another small hum as the angel tucks his head back against Sam's neck. They're a pool of blankets and limbs in the middle of the couch, the old black and white Noir classic playing out on screen only somewhat obscured by the pizza boxes they'd let pile up on the coffee table. Cas is looking content as ever- Sam can't help but feel the same.

And perhaps this is something Cas has always craved, whether he was aware of it at first or not. The need to touch and feel and above all, exist in a safe space absent of the remnants of their past. If there's anything Sam can relate to, it's that, and so they don't question it, don't bring it up for discussion. It simply is, the two of them seated in the Bunker, pressed in close, mending slowly in between cans of chicken noodle soup and fuzzy socks and shared silences that speak more than they could ever express in words that fall short of how grateful Cas is for this sense of belonging, and how grateful Sam is in turn for having someone to build it with.

Thanks for reading, comments appreciated :)