Take Out The Gunman

11

Castiel was standing at his kitchen island, cutting fruit into bite-size chunks, when Sam entered the kitchen.

"Morning, sunshine," he greeted with a pleasant smile.

Sam graced him with a shy smile of his own and returned, "Morning."

"Sleep well?"

The younger man nodded yes as he approached. Castiel noticed the dark circles beneath the boy's eyes, and doubted if he had, indeed, slept well (or at all). Still, he didn't speak it aloud. He noticed also the wariness etched in the other's features, the way he moved: careful, as if he was prepared for some kind of attack, be it physical or verbal. He didn't comment on that, either, and kept his eyes on the fruit he was cutting as Sam moved closer.

"Like to cook?" he asked, using the flat side of the knife to scrape the fruit onto a large serving plate. He laid the knife down and then raised his eyes to his houseguest. Sam's eyes shifted from the knife to Cas's face. He wasn't certain what the boy saw there, but Sam relaxed, suddenly and visibly.

"I'm not really good at it," the younger man answered his question, moving to lean on the counter, "but I like it so far."

"Dean tells me you make some tasty eggs," Castiel placed the place of fruit on the counter and, scooting it toward Sam, motioned to it, "Help yourself, please."

"He seems to like them, but maybe he's just being kind," the younger man replied, "He's – he's really kind to me."

Sam studied the fruit for a moment before snagging a piece of pineapple off the plate and popping it into his mouth, "Do you need some help?" The young man nodded toward the supplies for breakfast, laid out on the counter.

"That would be nice," Castiel gave him a smile, "I would love to try some of those eggs I've heard so much about."

He was sitting on the garden patio an hour or so later, a cup of coffee in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. He shifted his attention between the crossword puzzle he was studying and the young man whom was roaming his gardens, a fluff-ball of a kitten at his heels.  As his eyes flitted from the paper to Sam, a frown touched Castiel's features. He couldn't understand how anyone could trap another human being in a room for years and treat him like Sam had been treated by John Winchester. He had seen similar incidents, and far worse ones, during his time on the force. Still, it perplexed him that humans could treat others so poorly.

Cas placed his coffee cup on the table and reached into his pocket as his cell phone began to vibrate. He swiped a thumb across the screen, unlocking it: the man smiled and shook his head as a text message popped up:

   How's Sammy?

"He's fine," he sent back a response, "He's in the garden again."

   Ok, thanks for looking out for him.

"No prob. Don't worry, I'll keep your boy safe."

   Know you will. Thanks Cas.

"How's the case going?"

Eh, dragging along. Of course no one knows where our suspect is. Like we don't know they're covering for him. Garth is pulling out the Everybodys Friend persona so maybe we'll get info today.

"Good luck. Be careful."

Will do. Gotta run, talk later.

Cas pocketed the phone and turned his attention to Sam, who was approaching him. He gave the young man a smile, which was returned as Sam took a seat at the table.

"I love your garden," the younger man said with a sheepish grin, "I guess that's obvious, huh? It's beautiful, though. Haven't really ever seen anything like it before, except on t.v."