"You've got to admit it's getting better, huh?" Sam threw his brother a glance from above Impala's hood he was washing. ACDC's Back in black blazing from wireless speakers and echoing in the bunker's garage drowned out his words.

"Can't hear ya!" Dean straightened up and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing lather on his hair. He smirked at Sam, jiggling to the rhythm and expressing no intention to turn the volume down. The younger Winchester gave Dean a half-angry, half-teasing grimace and reached for the volume control.

"I said it's getting better, isn't it?"

"Yeah, baby's almost clean. I tinkered with the exhaust and it doesn't splutter anymore. I was thinking about new floor mats for her and, yeah, she'll be as good as new," Dean went on, swinging a sponge across Impala's windscreen in time with the song's lazy beat.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"I was thinking more about everything. Like here and now, being back in business. I don't know why, but this time I've got a feeling that it's gonna be all right."

Dean froze somewhere halfway Sam's utterance with an expression that conveyed are you kidding me?

"Dude, the darkness is out there. Rowena is out there. We haven't been in so much shit since forever. Ever. And you're telling me it's getting better?"

Sam squinted and looked at the garage's ceiling, pondering on the answer. Dean had a point, but Sam was convinced that this time his hunch wasn't off base.

"Yeah," the younger Winchester concluded, "It is. Look. For the first time in forever neither of us is crazy or damned or cursed or soulless or under a spell..."

"...or mind controlled by a Glenn Close for that matter," the older horned in with a bitter sneer. Sam decided to pretend he didn't get the sarcasm. He was glad to hear that for Dean us apparently included Castiel again.

"Exactly. Maybe you and Cas can finally... You now. Sort it out."

"Sort what out?" The older Winchester barked so tensely that Sam had to stifle a laugh. It took him only a second to assess the level of his brother's anger and decide he could push his luck.

"You know, this profound bond..." he purred.

An angry snort was the only answer. Sam sighed, observing Dean's face with a quizzical expression on his own.

"Look, man," he began more cordially "I'm not implying anything. It's just that you two were through much together. Cas done some crazy shit, but I guess he's finally learned his lesson. Perhaps you... We could trust him again."

Dean straightened up.

"Some crazy shit?" he challenged, gesturing widely like he was pointing on a banner spread somewhere above Sam's head and reading from it "Pul-ling a Cas-ti-el should be officially included in the dictionary as an idiom for doing crazy shit. Dude nearly destroyed the world. Fucking twice."

"Look who's talking." Sam retorted and after an instant of puzzlement Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. By the way I'll go check on him. Baby needs to dry before waxing anyway."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The hunt did not go as planned. Nothing went as planned. They had neglected to the subtlety of demon's politics and ran into a fraction of renegade demons pursuing Rowena for their own purposes, and there was no bargaining with them. Apparently the demons were smart enough to fool Crowley and during the fight they lived up to their reputation. Whatever they did to Cas, it worked.

Winchesters had to retreat; the angel stayed behind to cover them. One gunshot and two minutes later Dean was carrying his unconscious, bleeding friend to the car, shouting to Sam to start the engine. The younger brother hopped onto the driver's seat and the Impala rode off into the night, peeling rubber.

Sam drove as if he was in a trance, darting at the rear view mirror from time to time. He saw his brother frantically tearing the angel's shirt open and ghosting shaky hands over three wounds in his chest.

"Bunker or hospital?" he snapped.

"I don't know," Dean's voice was brittle and guttural, but it melted into a strangled sob when he repeated "I don't know, Sammy."

They had reached a main road when Cas came to; Dean was cradling him and trying to stop bleeding from the deepest wound. The angel must have whispered something Sam did not hear; the older Winchester nodded and demanded:

"Pull over when you see a side road or something."

In a few minutes the Impala rolled onto a parking bay of an old, neglected rest area. Dean pulled the angel from the back seat and laid him on a bench illuminated by the car's front lights, growling:

"Sammy, med kit!'

When the younger Winchester brought the large metal box and placed it on the ground next to the bench, Cas had passed out again.

"A bullet recast from an angel blade, that's why he can't heal the stab wounds" Dean explained; now that he knew what was wrong, this childish helplessness was gone from his tone. He was tense, but collected.

Sam handed him long forceps, but Dean shook his head.

"You do it. I'm a bit squeamish..."

The younger brother immediately recognized the only bullet wound and knelt next to Cas to a closer look. He patted his Dean's arm.

"Look..."

"Oh shit..." there was the same whimpering, choked back panic in Dean's voice again "Fucking sonsofbitches..."

For a moment they both watched in horror as soft blue light was weeping from all three wounds, getting brighter and more alarming every second.

"Sammy, hurry up!"

To cap it all off Castiel woke up again; Dean immediately cradled his shoulders and head, immobilizing him and comforting at the same time. He was whispering softly against Cas's temple and holding Cas's hands in a tight grip the whole time Sam was trying to pull the bullet out. Dean groaned when Cas's fingernails dug into his forearm. The angel convulsed and yelped, then slackened in Dean's embrace. He wasn't moving.

Dean froze too.

Sam tore a packet of celox open and poured the content onto the wound; fresh blood was gushing from it so he did not even check for pulse.

Dean did not seem to notice. He kept staring blankly at Castiel's pale, lifeless face. When the younger Winchester was done with his job, he noticed that Dean's lips were moving. His whisper was almost noiseless, yet ardent and frantic:

"No, you sonofabitch... Cas... Baby, don't do this to me... Please..." he pressed his forehead against Castiel's and kissed this fervent prayer into the angel's cheek. Sam's breath was caught in his chest.

"Hey..." he croaked after a while, fighting the knot in his throat, "hey, Dean," Sam repeated, patting his brother's shoulder, "He'll be ok."

Dean's head turned slowly; his misty, unseeing eyes focused on Sam after a while.

"You know how it looks like when an angel dies," the younger Winchester insisted, "He's ok. Give him some time."

"Ok..." Dean replied in a feeble, dead voice. He was still distrait when he was carrying Cas back to the car. Sam did not even ask if he'd like to drive.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was 7 AM when Sam finally managed to talk Dean into leaving Cas's bedhead and eating something. After all, his predictions proved right. The angel was still out, but his breath was regular and healthy. After a few hours the wounds looked almost healed. The younger Winchester concluded that Cas simply needed a couple of hours of good, sound sleep (or whatever the angelic equivalent of sleep was) to regain his strength.

He knew his brother well enough not to offer cereal or yogurt for breakfast, though Dean did not look like he could stomach anything more stodgy, so Sam just placed a big cup of coffee in front of him. Dean was staring ahead blankly; when Sam's chair scraped against the floor sending an echoing screech through the bunker, Dean snapped out of it and threw his brother a quick, uneasy glance.

Sam heaved a deep breath, resting his elbows on the table and leaning in to look at his brother. Trepidation coiled in his gut, but he knew that it was the only possible moment. They had to talk.

"Dean," he began; concern was giving his voice an ugly rasp, "what's up with you and Cas?"

"Nothing." Dean asserted woodenly.

"It's not nothing. You went bonkers last night. You called him baby."

Dean's jaw tensed up. Having taken one big swig of coffee he stood up and snapped:

"I don't have to talk about it. Thanks for the coffee."

Sam turned in his chair to call out to his brother, who was already heading towards the wooden staircase.

"No, Dean. Wait. It's not like that."

The older Winchester stopped, but did not turn to face his brother.

"Please, you don't have to say anything. Just hear me out," Sam coaxed, waiting patiently at the table. Finally, his brother returned to the table and sat down with his stare firmly fixed on the wooden surface. It took Sam a while to find the right words and he was not exactly sure where he was heading when he began:

"Like I said, you've been through much together and by much I mean..." he stuttered and sighed "much. I can see it."

He rose his hands in a calming gesture when he saw Dean bristle again.

"Just listen to me, okay? I don't care what you two do or don't do. What I mean is that you care for each other. Really. And now... You're right. There's a shitstorm brewing and we gotta be at our best to take the fight head on. Each of us. We've just waded through an ocean of shit and blood, and... more blood. We need every little thing that makes us strong. Every little grain of happiness and hope."

Dean looked at his brother askance, then went back to trifling with his cup and swirling the remains of coffee. He seemed nonplussed, but not angry anymore. Sam continued, weighing every word:

"He used to make you happy. Later, when the shit hit the fan, I know how it hurt you. I understand that you'll have a hard time trusting him again, but maybe it's high time you tried? He's there for you, you have time to work it out. Maybe it's worth a shot. You can't go on keeping him at bay like he's a porcupine..."

Dean huffed a quiet laugh. Sam took it as encouragement.

"Stop shaking your boots. Really," he pressed.

"What do I do, Dr Phil?" there was a hint of challenge in Dean's jest, but overall he seemed much less piqued than Sam had expected.

"Like I said, it's up to you. I just want you to understand that he's not here to torment you. He wants you to be happy just as much as I do."

The older brother looked energized for a while; he straightened up, excitement gave his cheeks a slight touch of blush. He pondered on something, then let out a long breath and slouched again.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll think about it. Thanks."

"Dean, just pull your head out of your..." Sam clammed up, having heard footsteps somewhere behind his back.

Dean started up towards Cas and before Sam knew what was going on he heard his brother running off at the mouth and scolding the angel for not staying in bed, allowing himself to be nearly killed and doing or not doing hundreds of other things. He babbled while steering Cas gently towards the table and helping him sit down. Then, still nagging, Dean sat down sideways to the table, facing the angel, so close that his knees almost pressed against Cas's thigh.

Castiel patiently waited the rebuke out, then croaked:

"Sam, Dean. Hello. How are you?"

Dean choked back a second surge of the need to reprimand the angel. Sam snickered under his breath.

"Why did you get up?" he asked, still smirking.

"I needed to check if you two were all right. Unfortunately I don't remember much from last night."

"Of course you don't. You nearly got yourself killed," Dean grizzled, rolling his eyes. Sam had an impression that his brother was inches from taking Cas's hand in his.

"I apologize for that. I imperiled you both."

"What?" the Winchesters exclaimed in unison.

"Are you nuts?" Dean added on his own accord.

The angel explained:

"I remember that you have almost made it out of the warehouse when I was shot," he went on, ignoring Dean's grim stare "I'm here, which means you came back for me running the risk of getting hurt which, of course, wouldn't be necessary if I had been more careful."

"Cas, I swear one day I'm gonna beat your brains out for bitching like this."

Sam noticed how Castiel shot a fleeting look down the hall where the floor was still discolored by gasoline and where, a few months back, Dean had nearly killed him.

"Look, these things happen. You stayed behind to cover us," he opposed "In any case, there's no need for a justification. We help each other and that's it."

"I don't think I'm that useful," Castiel insisted. It took the Winchesters a while to decipher what he meant. When they finally did, Sam furrowed his brows and Dean hit the table with an open hand.

"Goddamnit, Cas! You think we dragged your ass outta there because we need your mojo? You fucking idiot!"

For the first time that day Cas looked at his friend and his lips budged in a faint, uneasy smile. Dean gaze darted down to Cas's mouth.

"We need you, Cas," Dean continued softer "I need you. Yes, I need your help, your knowledge, your mojo, skills and whatever, but in the first place I simply need you. I just want you to be around."

Castiel's smile faded.

"You've cast me aside so many times. And I..." he closed his eyes for a moment and even when he lifted his eyelids again, he couldn't bring himself to look at his friend "I deserved it. Every time."

Dean let out a sharp, angry breath, but then he rose his eyebrows and cocked his head as if he's got a brilliant idea; he cupped Cas't face, making the angel meet his gaze.

"Exactly. We've both crapped out many times. But we're here. It means something, right?"

Dean kept looking at Castiel until a glimmer of hope brightened up the angel's weary blue eyes. Having achieved this he nodded and clapped his friend's shoulder.

"C'mon. You need a few more hours of beauty sleep. You look awful," the older Winchester teased, gesturing towards the private wing. .

He helped Cas up, wrapped an arm around Cas's waist and carefully walked him to his bedroom. When he came back to finish his coffee, Sam sent him a warm grin.

"Bravo!" he jested, rising his eyebrows.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Shut your cakehole. We've gotta clean my baby. Sucker bled all over the upholstery..." he muttered, trying to sound angry, but there was a tentative smile he could not wipe off his face.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They had no trouble removing all the bloodstains from impermeable surfaces, but the absorbent parts of the interior seemed to be ruined beyond repair. Especially seams on the upholstery retained an ugly, maroon shade. Despite all the relief, Dean was still somewhat sulky, though he kept singing along with Kiss's Heaven's on fire under his breath at the same time. It was Dean's unique characteristic: when he pouted about things that were not really important, he did it in a merry, playful way.

The music must have drowned out the whoosh of angel wings, but Sam was sure he hadn't seen Castiel walk towards the car a moment before he greeted the Winchesters, which meant he must have flown there.

"Heya, Cas," he replied and nudged his brother, who had dove head first to fumble under the front seat. Dean snaked out and stood next to the car.

"Hi there. Your color's back" he said, casually grazing Cas's cheek with the back of two fingers. Sam cleared his throat. The angel tilted his head and cast his eyes down.

"Yes. I am back at full capacity. I figured I should help you with the car."

Sam got off the back seat as well and let Castiel get in. The angel glanced around Impala's interior and pursed his lips.

"I suppose you are lucky I didn't die here last night," he remarked, running his hands over the most persistent bloodstains to remove them "I'm not sure if you could get rid of the wing print..."

Dean cocked his head; muscles knotted in his jaw and neck.

"Cas, it's the most ridiculous thing you could ever say,"

"I think it was intended as a joke," the younger Winchester defended.

"Well, it wasn't funny."

"It was a bit."

"No!"

"It was."

"Shut your..."

The Winchesters stopped arguing when they heard Castiel's soft chuckle. They looked at him in astonishment. It was rough and awkward as if the angel's vocal chords were not used to producing this kind of sound, but it made both brothers smile. It was the first time they heard Castiel laugh for years.

"All right, huggy bear," Dean poked his head into the car "Let's see if you cleaned up your mess. Heeeeere's one more stain," he pointed at it with his finger, leaning over Cas with the other hand on the seat's back just around Cas's neck.

Sam sent his friend an apologetic nod over Dean's shoulders and waved before exiting the garage.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam has just finished composing his work out playlist when he heard voices in the kitchen. At last, he thought. He had decided to give his brother and his friend as much time as they needed, but spending four hours in the garage when the only excuse was the need to remove a single bloodstain seemed ridiculous.

The younger Winchester found them standing next to the fridge, leaning slightly towards each other. Dean was holding a beer; his other hand rested on the counter. Initially Sam didn't notice anything unusual until he realized Dean's hand was covering Cas's and their fingers were laced together. Sam shot his brother a teasing glance.

"You could hand me a brew if you're there," he asked, trying to sound casual and not stare at Dean's awkward attempts to keep a poker face when he was disentangling his hand from Cas's hold. He guessed that in these circumstances the angel's natural inability to express emotions was a blessing.

Having opened the beer Sam gave each of the men a quick once-over.

"You two OK?"

Dean and Castiel looked befuddled; they both nodded a bit absent-mindedly.

"Have you set things..." Sam purred and from indignation spreading on Dean's face he could tell that his brother guessed the innuendo before Sam even said it aloud "Straight?"

"Shut your face!"

The younger Winchester snickered.

"I'm gonna be in my room if you need me," he said, exiting the kitchen.

As he was walking away he heard Cas's low, gravelly voice.

"What did he mean?"

"Nevermind, Cas. Come here," Dean answered affectionately. For years Sam hadn't heard this velvety, lilting undertone in his voice; it was mellow and warm, and sounded like it was coming from somewhere deep in Dean's chest. It was how Dean spoke when he was happy.