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"You need a shave," Sam explained, flushing a little bit when both Dean and Castiel turned to look at him. Dean's expression was exasperated, the same kind of no-my-baby-brother-did-not-interrupt-an-angel-to-make-a-stupid-comment kind of expression that Sam had really come to hate over the past couple of months.
"He's fine," Dean said, rolling his eyes.
"What do you mean?" Castiel asked. He tugged at the sleeves of his new suit, which was sleek and Armani and had required a hell of a lot of credit card fraud and some minor blackmailing to obtain. He looked uncomfortable without his trench coat.
"Uh," Sam said. It occurred to him that it might have been kind of rude to point it out in the first place -- but Cas always looked like he'd had a long, hard day at the office and was just waiting for the train to take him back to his nuclear family and 2.5 kids. The five o'clock shadow wasn't off-putting, but it definitely would make him look a little strange if they wre going along with Dean's half-baked plan to pretend to be a foreign diplomat (plus bodyguards, of course). "I mean -- you ---"
Castiel looked at him, intently because Castiel did everything intently. His intensity increased, almost painfully so, as he very slowly tipped his head to the side, studying Sam as if he'd done something interesting. "Samuel," he said, the exact same inflection to his voice as the hundred of thousand of times he'd said "Dean," and it felt like Castiel was trying to say a hundred other things, all of which Sam was too stupid and inconsequential to understand.
Freaking angels.
"You need to shave," Sam said again, trying to not feel like a giant awkward lump of shit as Dean and Cas both stared accusingly at him. "Well, he does," Sam said defensively, which made Dean roll his eyes and then head for the door.
"Whatever," Dean said, grabbing his jacket. "You girls have fun, I'm gonna grab a beer or some shit," and scooped up his keys from the floor on his way out.
"What," Sam said, feeling a frantic need to not be left alone with the angel.
"I already taught you to shave, Sammy," Dean yelled over his shoulder. "I taught myself to shave, I taught you to shave, this time it is your turn!" and he slammed the door behind him.
"Fuck," Sam said.
Cas blinked disapprovingly, his head tilting slowly to the other side.
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"It's not that hard, actually," Sam said, even though Cas hadn't said a single word yet and was mostly letting Sam babble to himself like an idiot. Not, of course, that Sam didn't appreciate a good opportunity to make an ass of himself, but for the love of Christ -- turning around, Sam stared at Cas who had a sad, disappointed expression on his face. "Are you listening to my thoughts?" Sam asked suspiciously.
Cas continued to look sad and disappointed. "You should not take my father's name in vain," he said.
Sighing, Sam handed Cas his spare razor and a can of shaving cream. "There you go," he said, lifting Castiel's arms and making sure he was holding on to them before he let go.
Cas looked at the armful of shaving supples, and then up at Sam, and then back down at the shaving supplies. "Thank you," he said carefully.
"Oh, fuck it," Sam swore. Cas looked disapproving.
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"No -- you can't -- okay," Sam grabbed Cas by the shoulders and tried to manouvre his way around so that they could both fit in the fairly small motel washroom without accidentally killing each other. "Stop moving."
Cas stopped moving obediently, instead staring around the room and apparently resisting his need to look sideways at everything he encountered. "Why do I need to shave?" He asked.
Sam paused, a little surprised that Cas had asked a question all on his own. "Because you need to look -- polished," He said. "Distinguished."
"And my physical appearance alters this," Cas said, slowly.
"Trust me," Sam said, turning the water on as hot as it would go. "It makes a difference."
Castiel looked curiously around the room, blinking when his eyes lit on the mildew-covered shower curtain. He paused and then continued his surveillance, stopping again at Sam, who was giving suspicious glances at the towels and making a mental note to not use any of them. Of all the motels they could have stayed at, Sam thought, disgusted, Dean had to choose the one with the lowest standards of hygiene.
"Okay," Sam said, "Hop up on the counter."
Castiel looked at him. "I do not hop," he said, a wry twist to his lips that might have been amusement, but in a blink of the eye he was sitting on the counter beside the sink, instead of standing near the doorway, so Sam didn't argue the point.
"Best thing," Sam said, "Is to shave right after you shower. Since you don't eat or drink or, I guess, take a shit --" and then he mentally apologised for swearing, although Castiel didn't really look mollified. "Just -- hot water, okay?" and he pointed at the sink that was still running. (Thankfully, the water was clear.)
"Hot water," Castiel repeated obediently.
"Start with hot water," Sam said, scooping up some water and splashing it carefully on Castiel's cheeks. He carefully wetted his skin, ignoring the hard steel-like bristles that scraped against his fingers. Castiel looked impassive. "Um," Sam said, and then he grabbed the can of shaving cream and squirted some onto his hand. He carefully smoothed it onto Cas' cheeks, wishing that the angel wasn't staring at him with that silent, intent expression on his face. "Shaving cream next," Sam told him.
"Shaving cream," Cas repeated.
Sam let out a little huff of amusement. "You know you don't have to repeat everything I say."
"But how will you know I've been listening?" Castiel asked.
Sam laughed out loud, holding the razor and running it under the hot water. "Look," He said. "Here's the thing, shaving's pretty easy if you're not an idiot like Dean."
"Dean is a thoughtful and intellig---"
"I know," Sam interrupted, rolling his eyes and tilting Cas' head to one side so he could see what he's doing. "But he's also an idiot and he shaves against the grain. When you do this for yourself, there are two more things you need to remember --" he scraped the razor down Cas' cheek, leaning over to rinse the razor in the stream of water. "One, always shave towards your chin. Don't be an idiot and shave against the grain, that way lies some discomfort and possibly embarrassing rashes."
Castiel attempted to tilt his head to the side, but Sam's hand on his chin stopped him. The shaving cream was kind of slopped messily on his face, a missing patch of bare, smooth skin where Sam had already got him. "Uh, yeah," Sam said. "Also -- rinse the razor every stroke." he demonstrated and swiped again with the razor.
Holding Cas' chin firmly, Sam said, "Will you stop trying to nod," and Castiel obediently stopped, although he frowned instead. After he finished shaving his cheeks, Sam tipped Castiel's head upward, rinsing the razor once more in the sink. "Look up," he instructed, and Cas blinked slowly at him.
"Very well," Castiel said, tilting his head all the way back and shutting his eyes.
Sam grinned to himself, a little surprised at Castiel going along with him. It was a little ridiculous, and a little little bit childish. As childish as a several-millennia-old all-powerful being could be, that is, although the blank, unworried look on the angel's face was almost smugly satisfied. Sam carefully shaved the dark stubble from Cas' neck, running the back of his hand over the newly shaven skin to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
"All done," he said, patting Cas absently on the cheek and tossing the razor into the sink.
Castiel opened his eyes, tipping his head back down so that he could look straight at Sam. He was sitting on the counter, but he still had to look up to meet Sam's eyes. "Is my appearance now satisfactory?" He asked.
To be honest, he looked like he could start kicking his his legs at any moment like a child whose legs didn't reach the floor. His mouth was turned up at the edges, not quite like his usual scowl. He did, however, have a nice, smooth shave. Probably one of the better jobs Sam had done, he'd been very careful not to nick him.
"Uh, yeah," Sam said, grinning at him. "You look fine. Come on," and he offered his hand to Cas, which he belatedly realized was kind of a dick move. Cas wasn't actually that short.
He was about to drop his hand when Cas surprised him by grabbing onto his hand, gripping him tightly as he hopped down from the counter, raising his free hand to touch his face experimentally.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Castiel nodded, an expression of intense concentration on his face. "I believe so," he replied. "The sensation is a pleasant one." He ran a hand thoughtfully over his bare chin.
"Uh," Sam said. "Okay?" He grabbed a clean towel from his duffel and handed it to Cas. "Just -- wipe off the extra shaving cream," he said. "And I think I've got some aftershave in here, somewhere."
Turning his head so he was viewing Sam from an angle, Castiel hummed appreciateively. "Thank you, Sam."
-
"Hey," Dean said, walking into the room and slamming the door behind him. "How you doin, Sammy?"
Sam quickly changed the channel and tried to look innocent. "You bring any beer with you?"
"Later, Sammy," Dean waggled a six-pack in front of him and then dropping it on his bed. "We've got work to do. Where's Cas?"
Castiel stepped out of the bathroom, a comb still clenched in his hand. He looked mildly frustrated, a wrinkle of concentration beween his brows. "Dean," he said. He dropped the comb onto the desk with an expression of distaste.
"Holy shit, Cas," Dean said, choosing that moment to let out a highly inappropriate wolf-whistle. "Lookin' good, Huggy Bear."
Castiel scowled at him. "Now is not the time for your crude hu--"
"Who's joking?" Dean joked, throwing an arm around Cas' shoulders. "You cleaned up good. Nice work, Sammy." Castiel looked back at him with the same, vaguely satisfied expression Sam remembered from when he'd been shaving.
Sam shrugged. "Whatever, Dean," he said, turning his back on them and awkwardly fixing his tie.
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