"I believe it's your turn," Cas solemnly informed Dean.

Dean bit back the acidic words that he wanted to spit at the man in front of him and moved a piece.

The angel silently stared at the board game as if he was pondering the major questions of life.

Dean figured that now was the only chance he'd get. "Hey, we're really gonna need your help taking out Dick," he tried.

Cas showed no sign that he'd heard Dean as he moved his piece. He had to go back to the home spot.

The hunter absentmindedly moved one of his pawns. "Cas? Did you hear me?"

"You can't go there."

"What?"

"You moved your pawn to the wrong spot. It's supposed to be over there," he said, gesturing to the correct spot.

Dean impatiently placed his pawn where Cas had told him to. "Cas, we need you to fight. I need you to fight."

Cas finally looked at him. "I can't do that. I apologize."

"Can't or won't?"

He watched Dean take a turn before answering. "Both, I suppose." He noted, but did not particularly register, the way that Dean's eyes flared.

"Why the hell not," he growled.

In lieu of an answer, the angel moved his blue game piece with painstaking precision. He smiled gently.

"Dammit, Cas, answer me!"

Dean wished that he could stop using that nickname but he couldn't. Castiel was the angel that blindly followed orders. Castiel was the angel that had declared himself to be god. Castiel was the angel that broke Sam's wall.

"I don't believe in violence any more," Cas said.

"Why not?"

"Do unto others what you would have them do unto you," he muttered. He tapped his chin as he thought about what he could do to win the game.

The gesture struck Dean as warped and fundamentally wrong. He didn't miss the irony, however. Before, he would've been grateful if Cas had enacted some human gesture. Now it was just went against everything he knew about the angel. Cas wouldn't do that. Not his Cas.

"Are you quoting the Ten Commandments at me?" He felt vaguely insulted and he didn't know why.

"No." He offered up no further explanation. "Your turn." He looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean stared at him for what was really less than a minute but felt like forever. His Cas was gone. This... he didn't even know what this was. He did know that he didn't want it. He preferred the arrogant bastard that had dragged him out of hell to this shadow of Cas.

He felt a war of conflicting emotions stir up in him. Anger, loss, confusion... Dean ran his hand across his face. He was so, so tired of this.

The whole time, Cas was just staring at him with those wide blue eyes. "Dean," he said gently, as if Dean was the damaged one. As if he was the crazy one.

Did he believe that? Did he think that he was sane and that Dean was crazy?

"Dean," he said again, just as gently as before. "It's your turn."

Dean snapped. He barked out a harsh laugh and swept the stupid game onto the floor. "Fuck my turn! Fuck your turn! Do you think this is important? Do you? We have bigger problems."

Cas looked at him calmly. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not! You're not sorry at all. You're more batshit than I thought, you know that?" He laughed again. "Do you know that," he screamed. Dean wanted Cas to do something. Get angry, hit him, fight him, anything would be better than this placidity.

But instead of responding, Cas got on the floor and began picking up the game. He held each piece and each card as if they were the most precious thing in the world. Kind of like the way he used to hold Dean.

Dean glared down at Cas from his chair. He felt a brief flash of hatred for the angel, followed by a long bout of familiar self-loathing.

Good job, Winchester, he thought to himself, verbally abuse someone who doesn't want to defend himself.

Dean let his gaze wander towards the wall. It was decorated with art from the other patients.

He wanted to apologize, he really did, but he didn't know how or where to begin.

I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I'm sorry you're crazy. I'm sorry I fell in love with you.

He looked back at Cas and felt his stomach drop. He was still on the floor and he looked like a child. It was yet another thing about this Cas that was just fundamentally wrong. His Cas stood with the posture of a soldier; he wouldn't get on his hands and knees over a board game.

Dean wanted to shake him until he regained his sanity but he knew it wouldn't work. His throat constricted as he got down and helped him pick up the game. "Jesus. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." His hands were shaking, he absently noted. "I didn't mean to mess it all up."

A hand on his wrist made him pause. He looked at Cas and felt a brief glimmer of hope when he saw a flicker of awareness in his eyes.

"Cas?" he whispered.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. "Did you know that it's actually the lioness does all the hunting?"

Dean bit down on his lip to keep himself from screaming and blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep himself from crying. Tears still fell.

"No, Cas, I didn't," he murmured as he closed the box.

Cas tilted his head. The gesture was so familiar that it was all Dean could do to keep from outright sobbing. "Does this upset you?"

"No."

Cas smiled, pleased. He reopened the box and started to set up the game again. "Let's play."

Dean leaned over and kissed his forehead. "Bye, Cas." He stood up and walked out of the day room.

Cas frowned and looked at Dean's seat before he resumed playing Sorry! by himself.

"What happened," Sam asked as he slid into the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean stared straight ahead. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."