is anyone else upset that the sastiel tag is full of vague-not-quite-bashing and things that have nothing to do with sastiel, or is that just me?

———

“Sam.” Cas says softly, placing his fingers under Sam’s chin and pushing up so Sam looks at him. Sam’s crying, and Cas doesn’t know why—-it’s so strange to see Sam cry, like a dream, unreal. “Sam.” he says again, “what’s wrong?”

Sam wipes his eyes, sets his face, turns his back. He walks away.

***

“Sam!” Cas yells after him, but Sam doesn’t respond.

***

A few days go by. Cas would’ve gone after Sam, but he’s needed in heaven. The next time he gets a chance to visit the Winchesters, Sam seems distant.

“Hey.” he says, when Dean’s gone off to get some beer, touching Sam on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Sam flinches away from his touch.

“Nothing.” he says.

Cas sighs.

“Alright—-alright! It’s nothing. I should’ve known. I should’ve known they wouldn’t understand, and I shouldn’t care! I don’t care. I don’t, because I knew it would be like this! I knew no one would understand and I knew once they heard about—-about… us, they wouldn’t be able to keep from talking about how they don’t understand and don’t like it and, and that they’d also want to tell us about the things peopletheydon’t like are doing wrong, as if we’re part of it! Nothing’s wrong! I knew!”

“Sam, what—-” Cas breaks off, because Sam’s crying again. And it doesn’t matter, he decides, that he doesn’t have the slightest idea what Sam’s talking about. All that matters is that he’s upset, no matter how much he denies it.

“Sam.” Cas says again, spreading his arms wide. “Please.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sam mutters, but then somehow his face is pressed against Cas’ chest and he’s sobbing, wet and messy and huge, shoulders heaving.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Cas murmurs. His fingers find Sam’s hair, knowing what to do better than the rest of him, and stroke it, quickly getting tangled in the thick locks. “It’s okay.”

Eventually the sobs die down to shuddery gasps, but Cas keeps holding Sam, arms tight around his shoulders. He finds there was nothing he ever wanted to do more.

***

“Whoa, what?” Dean bursts out, when he comes back to their motel room with a six-pack and a new hunt and finds his brother and his angel lying together in Sam’s bed, the covers on the floor and their limbs tangled up in each other’s so much that it shouldn’t even be possible. They’re wearing nothing but Sam’s ridiculously large tee-shirt, and the rest of it is skin.

“The fuck?”

Cas reaches past Sam and gives him the finger.

Dean just shakes his head, amused. He hadn’t even known Cas knew that gesture.

He leaves them be.