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It’s not a fight so much as a disagreement. Sam thinks of it as a falling out, but he’s convinced that Castiel has come up with some elaborate term for it in his spoiled-brat princess mind.
They don’t raise their voices, or use their hands. They just sleep on opposite sides of the bed and glare at each other through breakfast. (And if Cas sometimes ends up tangled up in Sam, and if Sam sometimes wakes up early on purpose just to hold him before pushing him away at the first signs of Castiel stirring, who has to know?)
Dean seems to notice that something’s wrong, because he orders them to suck each other off on the third day of their ‘fight.’ Neither of them would dare disobey, but Cas uses teeth and Sam pulls off just before Cas comes even though Dean gave them both permission to orgasm, which happens so rarely that it’s a shame to waste it.
At first, Cas blames Sam and Sam blames Dean, but as the week wears on, Cas starts to blame himself and Sam starts to blame Cas. Castiel’s anger dissipates fairly quickly, but Sam’s only lingers and grows.
It gets to the point that Castiel cries himself to sleep every night and Sam is too angry to rest before Dean does anything about it.
“This has gone on long enough,” the demon snaps. “I gave you a week to work it out by yourselves. Now you’re doing it my way. You will both be sorry if I get back here and you’re still having your little pissing match.”
Sam and Cas look down incredulously at the handcuffs connecting them. They’re the real deal, and Dean has the keys.
Cas starts bawling almost as soon as Dean leaves, and Sam tries his best to stay angry, he really does, but seeing Cas so upset just from being near him does strange things to his stomach, so he lays a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Cas flinches away.
“Cas, what’s wrong?” Sam asks, slightly offended that Cas won’t even let him touch him, and massively upset that things have fallen this far apart between them.
“You don’t love me anymore,” Castiel wails. Sam swallows. It’s so easy to forget, sometimes, that Cas is broken, and needs a gentle touch and a soft voice and a sturdy shoulder to lean upon. Sam’s supposed to be the owner of that voice and the provider of that touch, no matter what Cas might have said in a moment of childish ignorance about Dean loving him more.
Sam wants so badly to sit down and pull Cas onto his lap and hold him forever, but right now he knows that Cas needs words, not touches.
“Cas, I’m sorry,” he tries.
“No!” Cas shouts. “You... You said that Dean loves you better, that he doesn’t even love me at all, and that you didn’t either and no one did and no one ever had and no one ever would.” He collapses onto the floor, pulling Sam’s arm at a strange angle until Sam is forced to sit down beside him.
“I didn’t mean it, Cas, any of it. I’m really sorry.” Sam puts his hand on Castiel’s knee, and Cas jerks but allows the contact, so Sam counts it as progress.
“It doesn’t matter, Sam,” Cas says wearily. “I know it’s true. I’m unwanted. Unloved. Unneeded.” Another sob escapes his lips.
“I want you. And I love you. And I need you,” Sam insists. He gives into the temptation of hugging Cas, and gathers the smaller man into his arms. “Cas,” he breathes, because Cas feels so right in his arms that he’s not sure why he’d have given this up over a stupid spat. “Please forgive me. I love you. I’ll do anything to make this up to you.”
Cas takes a while to consider this, and Sam gives him all the time he needs because he knows Cas, and because he will do anything to make sure he can hold Cas again, to kiss him and to touch him and to love him.
“Will you treat me like a princess every night for a week?” Cas asks, shyly, and it’s so Cas – silly, sweet, childish Cas – that Sam just has to laugh.
“I’ll treat you like a queen.”