A/N: I know there's a lot of Sammy-knows-they're-a-thing-even-if-they-don't fics out there, but this was what I imagined would happen if he didn't. Dean and Cas have always acted that way around each other, so he thinks its pretty much normal, but then when it hits him, it's just like...oh. Oh. O.O

"So...any word from Cas?" Sam asked as casually as possible as he sat down at the table across from Dean, sliding another beer over to his brother. The angel—who had stubbornly kept to his decision to become a hunter now that he was human—had gone off the map as far as the Winchesters were concerned. Every now and again, one of them would get a text that could only come from Castiel, usually along the lines of: I am alive or Not dead. It was still a touchy subject to Dean, though, and there was no telling whether or not mentioning their feathery friend would set off the elder brother's temper.

"No," Dean replied without looking up from the laptop, the single word coming out short and clipped.

End of discussion. "Alright then." Sam looked back down at the open pages in front of him. It was hard to believe how much stuff there was in this bunker. The Men of Letters had certainly believed in covering all bases. It was like taking Dad's journal and multiplying it by a thousand. Man, Bobby would've loved it here.

The sound of Dean's phone blaring AC/DC's "TNT" made both of them jump in surprise, it was so quiet. Sam saw Dean's face change in an instant, and before he could ask why, Dean had answered the phone, switching it to speaker. "Cas, you alright?" he asked.

"Hello, Dean. It's good to speak to you again as well," came the arid reply, and Sam was just the littlest bit proud that his surreptitious coaching about sarcasm hadn't been lost on the angel. "Are you and Sam in the bunker?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Would you be so kind as to let me in, then? The front door is locked, and I would prefer not to be killed by whatever warding is installed by picking the lock."

For a moment, they both stared at the phone, exchanging a disbelieving look over the table. "Wait a minute, you're here?" Sam clarified.

"Obviously. Need I remind you that I am human now, and it is raining quite heavily outside at the moment?"

"Right, right, sorry. I'm coming." Seeing as how Dean looked to be quite frozen in his chair with shock, he jumped to his feet and took the stairs two at a time, putting his long legs to good use. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, and indeed, Castiel was standing on the other side, hunched in the doorway with his back to the rain, which was practically coming down sideways. The former angel ducked inside, and he shoved the door shut again, having to force it against the wind.

"Thank you," Castiel said through chattering teeth, shaking himself like a dog and flinging water everywhere. He had about a day's worth of stubble shadowing his jaw.

"Wow, Cas, you look...different," Sam admitted after getting a good look at the other man.

Castiel's hair was longer than he remembered, plastered down with water, and he was wearing several layers of clothing: a leather motorcycle jacket over a dark grey hoodie, a plaid shirt unbuttoned over a black t-shirt, and a pair of jeans with ladders in both knees, and hiking boots. There was a long-ass knife strapped to one thigh, and unless Sam was mistaken, there was a gun holster under those layers, and in his free hand, Castiel held a heavy-duty crossbow. When he noticed Sam staring, the former angel explained, "I had an angry fey chasing me. It is very unwise to let them near enough for hand-to-hand combat, and they do detest iron."

"Right. Here, come on in, I'll get you a towel. You're gonna catch a cold standing around in wet clothes."

"Yes, I will. I find that I don't mind being human as such, but your petty illnesses are...distracting."

Sam let out a little bark of laughter. He hadn't realised how much he had missed that unique brand of Cas-humour until now. "Tell me about it." They went back downstairs—Castiel dripping a trail as he walked—and Dean hadn't moved from his chair, still holding his phone in one hand and staring at their friend with wide eyes.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted, pushing his wet hair back out of his eyes with one hand, though the end effect made him look like a very damp and disgruntled hedgehog.

"Dude...you look like crap," Dean replied at last, though the jibe lacked its usual enthusiasm. "Looks like you're a real hunter now. Got yourself a plaid shirt and everything."

The corners of Castiel's mouth turned up slightly. "Indeed. I see why you wear them so often now. They're quite comfortable."

"Yeah, not to mention easy to get more of. Here, these should fit you," Sam added as he returned with a towel and a change of clean clothes from the laundry room. "So you've been hunting?" he asked.

"Thank you. And yes." Castiel peeled off both his jackets in one movement, then the plaid shirt, draping them over a chair before proceeding to dry his hair with the towel. He must've been out in the rain for a while, as he as soaked all the way through his layers. "I have even found other angels. Most are scared and confused, but they are adjusting to being human quite well. Some are...very angry," he said, a distant look coming to his eyes, but before either of the brothers could ask, he'd shaken the look away and asked, "Are you both well?"

"Yeah, we are. For the most part, anyways," Sam answered; Dean didn't look like he was up for speaking at the moment, still in his chair with that distinct '404 Error' look on his face that meant he was mentally stalled at the moment.

"What do you mean, for the most part? Has something happened while I was gone?" Castiel queried, taking the towel from his head. His hair was mostly dry, but now stuck up in every direction known to mankind, increasing that hedgehog look.

"Well—" Sam was cut off by an abrupt noise from Dean that sounded like a cat trying to bring up a hairball, which was probably made because Castiel had pulled the t-shirt off over his head, adding it to the pile of sodden clothes on the chair. The angel was surprisingly fit, but then again, the life of a hunter kind of demanded it, and there were even a few scars, proof that his healing mojo was gone. But Dean was staring at the tattoos, the anti-possession symbol inked on his collarbone and the Enochian letters that curled around both biceps and stretched across the back of his shoulders, other angelic symbols on his back.

Before Sam could think of anything to say, a set of keys was being dangled in front of his face, so close that he went a little cross-eyed trying to see what it was before leaning back. It was the keys for the Impala. "Drive," Dean ordered in a hoarse voice. "Just drive. Anywhere. For a long time."

"In this weather? Dean, what are you—?" Sam asked, but snapped his mouth shut when he saw the look that his brother had on his face. Last time Dean had looked at anybody like that, Sam hadn't seen him for the rest of the night and he'd shown up the next morning with hickeys all over his neck. Baffled, he looked back at Castiel, mouth open to ask what the hell was going on, but he closed it again without uttering a word. Castiel was still standing there, a dry shirt in hand, though he didn't look at all in a hurry to put it on, staring right back at Dean, the smallest of smiles playing at the corner of his mouth.

"O-oh. Oh," he gasped in realisation, the pieces falling together in his head as he looked between them, back and forth. "Oh, my God. You guys are— Holy shit."

"Sammy, either drive or go in your room and don't come out," Dean warned.

"Oh, my God," Sam repeated, making a face because the idea of his brother and his best friend having sex was just...gross.

"I suggest you stop taking my Father's name in vain and leave, Sam," Castiel said in a voice that was more of an order than a suggestion.

And that was his cue to leave. "Yep. Leaving. Got it," he muttered, leaping out his chair and bolting for the stairs, because no way in hell was he going to sit his room knowing very well what was going on outside his door. At least in the car he could go somewhere else without worrying about going blind. "Any surfaces where food is eaten or prepared is off-limits!" he shouted over his shoulder as he yanked on his jacket, nearly putting it on inside-out in haste.

"Get out!" Dean and Castiel shouted back in unison.

"Gone!" Sam ducked out the door, head bowed against the rain as he ran for the Impala. He scrambled into the car, forcing the door closed against the rain, sitting in the driver's seat and shaking his head for a moment. He hadn't seen that one coming, that was damn sure. As he started the engine, he cringed a little and made a mental note to disinfect the table when he got back.