The first night was quiet. Upon arriving at the Bunker, Sam went straight to his room and closed the door, after only a quiet "'Night, Cas" offered in Castiel's direction.

In lieu of spending the night sleeping as Castiel had done as a human only a few short weeks ago, Castiel drifted out to the library and seated himself at one of the long tables. He stared blankly at the bookshelves across from him, thinking about the events of the last few days, seeing Dean's stony face as he listened to Gadreel's torture, seeing again the needles being pulled from Sam's bloody forehead. An hour ticked by of introspection before Cas' cell phone began vibrating in his coat pocket.

He did not pause to look at the screen. "Hello, Dean," he said.

"You get back alright?" Dean asked, as usual not bothering with any preamble. "That pimp mobile of yours still functional?"

"We arrived without incident," Castiel confirmed.

"Well, that's good," Dean said. His voice was at its sandpaper roughest with fatigue.

"Have you 'got back okay' to where you are?" Castiel asked.

Dean paused. "Yeah," he said shortly.

Castiel waited for more, but none came. "Where did you go, Dean?" he asked.

Dean cleared his throat. "Listen, Cas, I don't…I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine. Doesn't really matter where, right? I don't want…"

"You don't want Sam to know your whereabouts?" Castiel was slightly surprised, and then chided himself for being so. Dean thought leaving Sam was protecting Sam, and Dean always went to full lengths to protect Sam, as the last few days had proven.

"I just don't want him getting the wrong ideas about following me," Dean said. "Listen, Cas, I gotta go. Catch a few hours before I go Abbadon-hunting. You, uh…keep your cell on." And he hung up. Castiel returned the device to his coat pocket, and continued to wait out the night.

When morning did come, Sam came out with it. Early in the morning, he came padding out of the hallway into the library. Castiel had picked up a book at random from the shelves out of absent boredom, and was halfway through Ovid's Metamorphosis when he noticed Sam's presence.

"'Morning," Sam said.

Castiel stared at him in shock and laid the book down on the table. "It has only been four hours since we arrived here," he said. "I know for a fact angels do not sleep for their vessels, which means your body has not rested for approximately two weeks. You should be exhausted."

Sam shrugged. "I'm not," he said.

It took Castiel four seconds of analysis to determine he was lying. "You are lying," he said. "You have bags under your eyes, you are leaning on that chair for physical support, and you can only have slept at most, four hours. I must insist you go back to sleep."

Sam looked amused. "You're not my doctor, Castiel."

"No, but I am responsible for your return to health in the coming days, and-"

"Right," Sam said, almost brightly, and Castiel had the distinct impression he had just performed precisely as Sam had wanted and expected him to. "You are healing me, so how about instead of me going back to bed, you just heal me up and get me a little energy back that way." He sat in the chair closest to Castiel's and scooted it forward a bit, expectantly. "Go ahead, 'doc.'"

Castiel squinted at him. "I do not think this a wise course of action," he said. "I must insist you sleep a few more hours until I heal you. It helps a human withstand angelic touch and one needs normal, human sleep to function, Sam, I remember. It was very annoying when I was human"

Sam's eyes had lost their glint of humor. He lent back in his chair a little. "Look Cas, I just don't want to sleep right now, alright? I'll sleep tonight, but now…" he avoided Castiel's eyes, tapped a finger on the table. "It's morning, it'll mess up my schedule if I sleep all day. I will tonight." He repeated.

Castiel examined Sam for a moment, and then relented. "Alright," he said at last, and pressed two fingers to his friend's forehead. "This will only take a moment."

He concentrated, and began to heal.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of productivity. Sam was always doing something; cleaning his room, making himself meals, filing old case files, even clearing a bedroom formerly used as storage to now be used for Castiel's bedroom.

"But I don't need a bedroom, Sam," Castiel said as he examined the small space Sam had dubbed "Cas' Room" on the door with a neatly printed sticky note.

Sam looked up from the last broom pan of dust he had emptied into a large black trash bag. "I know you don't sleep, Cas. But now, when you just stay up alone for hours at a time, you can have a nice personal space to do it in. Look, that's why I took out the bed, which you wouldn't need anyway - and just replaced it with the most comfortable couch in this place. And look, here's Dean's," he cleared his throat. "Uh, a TV that you can watch if you get bored." He set a hand on the television which Castiel had seen him lug out of what he believed was Dean's room.

"Won't Dean miss his television?"

Sam shifted and his voice grew barely tenser, like the tightened string on a guitar. "He's not using it now. And he seems to have no plans to use it in the future." He looked down at his wrist and checked his watch. "Oh, wow it's almost seven. No wonder I'm getting hungry. I think I'll go make myself a salad or something." And he slipped out of the room, clapping Cas' shoulder on the way out. "Hope you like your room, Cas" he said.

"I do, Sam, thank you," Castiel said. He looked around his room after Sam left and dropped onto the couch. "This is quite comfortable," he said to himself.

After Sam's salad and an evening of movies in Cas' new room, wherein they watched several Star Trek movies, Sam and Castiel were sitting in the library, Sam drinking a cup of coffee and Cas telling him about what he appreciated in Metamorphoses. Sam was just nodding along to Cas' analysis of the study of Dionysus and the historical inaccuracies Ovid introduced, when Castiel's phone began to ring.

Sam stiffened immediately and brought his coffee cup up to his lips. Cas examined the screen this time, considering for a couple seconds. "It's Dean," he said, looking up at Sam.

Sam nodded. "I know."

Cas waved at the phone and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I need to…I'm just going to-" he hit accept on his screen. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas," Dean's voice issued from the phone. He sounded even grimmer than last night. "Just checkin' in."

"We are well," Castiel said. "We discussed Ovid."

Dean huffed a soft chuckle. "Sounds like a good time," he said.

"We also watched Star Trek."

"Oh now that really does sound fun," Dean said. "I'm guessing Sam's asleep and you're sitting around, starin' at the walls?"

Cas let his eyes drift over to Sam, who was resolutely avoiding looking at Cas, opening his laptop on the table in front of him. "No," Cas said into the phone. "Sam is right here, awake. He said he would sleep later tonight though."

Dean was silent a moment. "It's one in the morning," he said.

Cas pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time. "That is true," he affirmed. "When do you normally retire to bed?" He asked Sam.

Sam shrugged, avoiding Cas' eyes. "Oh, around three."

Cas turned back to the phone. "It's not yet three, Dean."

"What? What does that matter?"

"Well, that's when Sam…" Castiel squinted suspiciously at Sam, who squirmed slightly in his seat. "When do humans, in particular your brother, go to sleep?"

"Like, midnight, Cas. And one of the symptoms of possession is severe fatigue, isn't it? He should be totally wiped out."

"I…" Cas watched as Sam surreptitiously pushed his coffee cup behind a stack of books next to him, hiding it from Cas' view. "That is usually a side effect, yes. But Sam has appeared energetic all evening, so I assumed perhaps with Gadreel's unusual method of placing Sam's consciousness into a resting, dreamlike state that would have altered the usual symptoms."

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, sure, Cas, whatever you just said. Just, I mean," Dean's voice lowered. "Make sure he sleeps tonight, huh?"

Sam slammed his laptop shut with a snap. Cas jumped slightly. "Alright, Dean. I have to go now." He noticed Sam's hands start shaking as he gripped his coffee cup and stood to leave the library. "I will have my phone on."

"Bye, Cas," Dean said, and hung up. Sam was gone from the library, and Castiel could hear him going down the hall towards the kitchen. Cas got up to follow but before he got to the kitchen, he heard a sharp tinkling crash, followed by a loud thud. Rounding the corner hurriedly, he saw the cause of the commotion; Sam's coffee mug lay in pieces on the floor, and coffee dripped from a large splatter on the wall. Sam stood a couple feet in front of the mess, looking at the scene and breathing heavily.

"Did you throw that cup?" Castiel asked, confused.

"Yes," Sam said. He breathed in deeply, and then he let it out in a whoosh. He went to the corner of the room for the broom and pan leaning there. He crouched on the floor by the glass and began to sweep it up.

"Are you tired, Sam?" Castiel asked.

Sam sighed as he emptied the tinkling bits of glass into the trash bin. He went to the sink for a wet rag. "Yeah, Cas, I'm pretty tired, but…I don't think I can sleep."

"May I ask why not?"

Sam twisted a rag over the sink, releasing water from it, and then shook it out. He carried it over to the wall and began wiping the coffee off the wall. "Because, Cas, I know how possession works. Intimately." He tossed the washrag in the sink and leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. "Possession sometimes damages your body, and always damages your subconscious. I mean, after all, possession is when another presence seizes your mind. And that kind of trauma takes a while to recover from." Sam sighed heavily and brought a hand up to the back of his neck, in a gesture that reminded Cas forcibly of Dean. He squelched the thought, "In the meantime, the dreams are…horrific."

"I never knew that," Cas confessed.

"I learned that seven years ago, after…" Sam flushed. "After Meg."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. "I had forgotten about your…history with Meg."

"Yeah." Sam stared down at the floor, and then his shoulders began shaking. Castiel, horrified, thought for a moment that he was crying, but then noticed Sam was laughing. "God, my life is messed up. I've been possessed by Satan, the angel who let in Satan, and your girlfriend."

"Oh, Meg was not-"

Sam waved away Cas' protestations. "Yeah, okay. Either way, it's weird."

Castiel smiled drily and chuckled. "That it is."

Their laughs petered out until they were standing in comfortable silence. Castiel noticed Sam sagging against the counter, his long blinks, and the bags under his eyes. "You really should get some sleep, Sam," he said gently. "Maybe with your dreams…Well, what helped you after, after Meg and Lucifer?"

Sam was silent, and kept staring at the floor, and Castiel made the logical conclusion. "Dean would help you."

Sam rolled his eyes. He dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. "Sometimes we would go out to some 24 hour diner at three in the morning. Sometimes we'd watch some dumb movie, sometimes, I don't know. I would just try to talk it out."

"Would you like – to talk it out? Now?" Castiel asked.

Sam smiled wearily. "That's nice of you Cas, but…" he hesitated. "How about this. I'll go to bed and if I…if I wanna seek you out, well, I know where you'll be, right?"

Castiel smiled at him. "Yes, I have a room now, that I will put to much use."

"Ha…right, Cas," Sam pushed away from the counter and clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Night."

"Good night, Sam," Castiel said. "Oh, Sam?"

Sam turned at the door. "Yeah?"

"Why did you throw that coffee? Did you hear Dean on the phone?"

"Yeah, he's always been a loudmouth,' Sam said flatly. "And bossy. I can't believe he was trying to control my-my sleeping patterns, after…" Sam sighed. "Expect some more thrown cups, Cas, is all I'm saying."

Cas nodded. "I'll be on the lookout."

Three hours later, nothing much had happened except for the one time Sam had come out of his room and asked Cas to discuss Euclid with him ("It'll bore me back to sleep," Sam said). Cas sat alone now in the library and cradled his phone in his hand. He hit speed-dial 1.

" 'Lo?" Dean asked groggily.

"Dean I have a question to ask you."

"Yeah, Cas-uh, shoot," Dean.

"You aren't irritated I called you at 4:30 a.m.? I remember you saying if I ever called you before seven you would take an angel blade and shove it - "

"Yeah, Cas, that still stands usually, but uh, I haven't spoken to any other person in two days so I could stand a little conversation."

"Well, I was wondering what I should do – well…" Castiel petered off, thinking of the smashed coffee mug in the kitchen, the irritated snap of Sam's laptop closing. "Never mind, I have no further need of your assistance."

Dean sounded annoyed. "Cas, what the hell did you call me for – " He stopped. "Is this something about Sam?"

"No," Castiel said quickly.

"Is something wrong?" Dean asked. He sounded wide awake now.

Castiel almost denied everything, but then he thought of Sam's pale, clammy face when they had been discussing Euclid, his shaking hands. "Yes. I believe Sam is having rather strong nightmares."

"From the possession."

Cas nodded. "Yes. I discussed Euclid with him tonight-"

"Wait, what?"

"He said it would bore him back to sleep."

Dean laughed softly. "Right. He has me talk cars."

Castiel paused. "Perhaps you should come back, Dean."

"No," Sam said forcefully. Castiel turned from his seat at the library table to see him standing in the doorway. "I don't need him here."

"That's him, isn't it?" Dean asked.

"I can't believe you, Cas!" Sam gestured angrily. "I trust you enough to tell you about my freakin' nightmares, and then you go running to Dean-"

"Cas, put him on the phone."

Cas thrust out the phone towards Sam. "He wants to talk to you."

Sam stared at him incredulously. "You can't be serious."

Cas returned the phone to his ear. "He doesn't want to talk."

"Tell him if he doesn't, I'm going to get Bobby's medieval collection out of storage and sell them online for fifty bucks."

"He said-"

"I heard him!" Sam almost shouted. "I'd rather drive to New York and pick up Bobby's collection myself than talk-"

"Tell him I'm closer! They'd be sold within two days" Dean shouted from the phone.

Sam growled and snatched the phone. "What." he said.

In a Connecticut hotel room, Dean sat up in bed when his brother's voice came over the line. "What."

"Sammy. Cas told me about-"

"It's Sam. And I know, I heard him."

Dean gritted his teeth. "Well, alright, sunshine. I have an idea on how to deal with them, if you'd like to hear it."

"I wouldn't, actually," Sam said. "Good talk. We done now?"

"I'll sell his Lovecraft original volumes too," Dean threatened. "All of them."

Sam was silent. "Fine. Go on."

"Well, after your Wall broke, you still had nightmares even after Cas took the crazy from you, remember?"

"Yeah Dean, somehow I remember the nightmares about Satan possessing me."

"Alright, wise-ass, well do you remember the night Crazy Cas zapped you to sleep cause he thought you wanted some time with 'Orpheus in his hall of wonders,' or some shit like that?"

"Yeah…" Sam said.

"Well, you didn't dream at all that night, and you conveniently have that same angel there in the Bunker, right now."

Sam was silent.

"'Wow, great thinking, Dean,' 'You're the best, Dean,'" Dean provided hopefully for him.

"I'm sure you've got some lone wolf type business to get to," Sam said. "And don't touch Bobby's books. He left those to me." And with that, the phone went dead.

Dean looked at his now blinking screen, and then tossed the phone to the other side of the bed. "Yeah, good talk," he said. He feel back on his pillows with a groan.

Sam hung up on Dean and then placed the phone on the table next to Cas. He didn't turn to face the angel. He was thinking about what Dean had suggested, that dreamless sleep could be as easy as Cas tapping his forehead.

And dreamless sleep sounded like bliss just then. Sam had only slept six scrapped-together hours in the last two days, but they had been riddled with dark, shadowy wings, angel blades sliding through ribs, and Kevin's eyes being burned out of his skull. That last one was the worst. Sam had already dreamt of it twice, and the second time, he had turned to Dean and killed him too, by sinking his hand in Dean's chest and squeezing his heart until it burst. Sam had woken from that one stifling a scream into his pillow. He'd laid in bed, shaky and sick, until his heart began to slow down. Then he was only shaking with rage.

Kevin was dead because of him and Dean. Because Kevin had gotten caught up in their selfish relationship, their brotherhood that destroyed everyone else that came into contact with it. Just because Dean couldn't let Sam go, Kevin's life had gone in a flash of golden light. And Sam had wanted to go, he'd known this would happen again if Dean found a way to bring him back. He'd told Death; No one else gets hurt.

He was glad Dean had left. This was worse than Dean choosing Benny over Sam, worse even than Dean killing Amy. Sam couldn't stand to be around his brother, who had tricked Sam, who had known Sam's horrible past with possession and opened the doors for a strange angel anyway.

But at the same time, he was furious Dean had left. He'd left Sam mentally traumatized, shaking and gagging from dreams in the middle of the night. He'd done this and then didn't even stick around to see the effects. He'd left Sam alone with them.

"Sam?" Cas asked tentatively. "I'm sorry I called Dean, but I just wanted to help you. And I know the lecture on Euclid didn't help as much as you said it did."

"It's alright, Castiel," Sam said absently. He was staring at the bookshelves where the Lord of the Rings trilogy was set. He remembered reading them as a pre-teen, Dean teasing him mercilessly for lugging such a huge volume around. It weighs as much as you do, man. "I understand."

Cas was silent. Sam looked down at him, only to see him looking bemused. "What?"

Cas shook his head. "I sometimes forget just how different you and your brother are."

Sam went over to the bookshelf and pulled down Fellowship of the Ring. "I don't," he said. "Good night, Cas. Or good morning, I guess." He took the book back to his room and read until midmorning.

Sam snapped shut his book and sighed. He had liked the novel as much as he had when he was twelve, but this time around he had kept nodding off every other page, only to jerk awake in panic. He couldn't remember what happened in the last couple chapters, even though he had seen the movie at least twelve times. (One of the few movies that Sam and Dean loved with an equal passion; Sam for the story and characters and Dean, he claimed, for the sword fights and the "the hot elf, you know, Steven Tyler's daughter.")

Sam got off his bed with a groan and staggered his way over to his dresser. He pulled out his least rumpled shirt, least stained jeans, a pair of boxers and then ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't want to look so sleep-deprived that the gig was up as soon as he stepped out of his room. Castiel had become much more adept at understanding human frailty since his stint as "Clarence" and would no doubt pick up on Sam's fatigue if Sam wasn't careful.

He opened the door quietly, holding his clothes under his arm, and snuck into the bathroom across the hall. Two shower stalls made up the far wall, and he headed to one wearily, stripping his pajamas as he did, leaving them strewn across the tile floor. Usually he would pick them up and fold them, leave them on the bathroom counter - but not today. He was too tired today.

He knew rationally that he would have to sleep eventually and he knew rationally that he had an easy way of doing it in the form of the angel down the hall, no doubt sitting on his couch and staring at a wall. But every time he thought of letting Castiel prod him into unconsciousness, he felt a jerk of resistance in his chest. After everything – Gadreel, the angels falling to earth, even after Lucifer and Michael - after everything, all the manipulation he'd had at the hands of angels, he didn't want any more of them, even Castiel, controlling his body. It was different somehow when Cas healed him; that was helping to erase the side effects of an angel's control. But letting Cas force him to sleep - he couldn't do it. It was too far.

And, a guilt-drenched part of him whispered, he didn't deserve to sleep peacefully. Even though he had not done it while in his own mind, it had been his hands, his body that had scorched the life out of Kevin. Kevin deserved having his death memorialized in the dreams of the man who killed him, however second-handedly. Sam wouldn't let his death just be wiped from his head at night – he needed to remember. Out of penance, respect – and as a reminder. A reminder of what suffering his and Dean's relationship could bring to their friends.

Sam stepped into the shower and turned the water to as cold as it would go. He needed to shock himself into looking like he'd slept at least an hour.

Castiel heard the shower start from where he sat in his room. He was surprised, again, that Sam was awake at all before noon. He remembered Dean telling him once about the period after Sam's time in the psychiatric ward, when he hadn't been able to sleep for two weeks due to his hallucinations of Lucifer. After Cas had transferred the hallucinations to himself (a rather uncomfortable memory) Sam had apparently slept on and off for 36 hours. While this was a different situation, he surely needed more than the few hours he had been in his room tonight.

After a few minutes, the shower shut off, and Castiel heard Sam moving about in the bathroom, turning on and off the sink, brushing his teeth and getting dressed, all the same tedious morning rituals Cas did not miss now that he was an angel once again. He waited for Sam to emerge, to begin another day of healing.

That night, Cas was expecting the call from Dean and had his phone ready around one a.m. He answered before the first ring had ended.

"Hello, Dean," he said.

"I – wow Cas, nice hustle. You waiting by the phone or what?"

"I was, yes."

"Oh…kay. Well – how's it goin'?"

"Today was fine. Sam napped," Cas said.

Dean was quiet a moment. "Did he," he said flatly. "How long?"

Cas hesitated. He heard something in Dean's tone he couldn't quite identify. "I suppose about an hour."

"Like, at around three in the afternoon?"

Suspicion. That's what was in Dean's tone. "Yes. How did you know?"

He could imagine Dean rolling his eyes. "Because Sam never naps Cas, unless he's planning on staying up all night. He gets a little power nap around three in the afternoon and he says it helps him stay up."

Cas shook his head. "No, Dean, he is asleep. He went back to his room an hour ago, at midnight on the nose."

"Yeah, he did that because he knows that's what you expect now. He's playing you, Cas."

Cas was silent. "This is proving difficult," he said at last.

Dean snorted. "Let me talk to him," he said.

"I told you, he's back in his room – "

"No, he's not," Dean interrupted, just as a voice behind Cas said, "No, I'm not." Cas turned to see Sam standing in his doorway.

"Ears of a bat," Dean said.

"I can hear you from my room, Cas," Sam said.

"How did you know he was here, Dean? Can you see us?" Cas asked.

"No, I just know Sam better than I know myself. He knows I call around now every night, he probably listens."

"I don't listen," Sam said, annoyed.

"He definitely listens," Dean said smugly.

Sam strode forward and wrenched the phone from Cas' hand. "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean stood from his chair at the motel room's one small table and started pacing. "I want you to stop being an idiot, Sam! What the hell?"

"What the hell, what? I'm not doing anything."

"Yeah, that's right, you're not doing anything! You're not sleeping, you're not leaving the bunker! This isn't healthy."

Sam scoffed incredulously. "Healthy?! You want to talk about healthy? You let a strange angel take my body for a joy ride Dean, that probably wasn't too healthy either."

Dean squeezed the bridge of his nose and reminded himself to not get sidetracked. "So, I'm guessing you never asked Cas to put you to sleep?"

"Screw you, Dean, I don't need your condescending tone. No I fucking didn't, I don't need him to."

When Sam started swearing in an argument, that's when the gloves came off. "Well excuse me for assuming someone who's getting no sleep probably could use some help! Just ask him, Sam, he's right there."

"No."

Dean growled. No one could make him as angry as his brother could. "Give the phone back to Cas."

"Why, so you can confer with my babysitter? Stop calling, Dean, you don't need to check up on me."

"Give him back the phone, Sam."

"No, you don't get to do this. You don't get to bail and then keep calling in to check in. You don't get to try to control me from afar."

"I can just pray to Cas you know. Not handing over the phone isn't going to stop anything."

There was a pause and then static fumbling noises as the phone was passed along. Then a harsh slam of a door.

Cas' voice came back over the line. "I believe that could have gone better."

Dean huffed over the line. "Gee, ya think?"

The next day began and passed, and during it, Cas started to observe Sam more carefully. Dean had told him to expect Sam to ask for help getting to sleep, but it never happened. Sam was tense and annoyed most of the day, and, Cas was troubled to see, seemed extremely weary. He stopped straying much from his seat in the library, and read and researched most of the day, his head propped on his fist.

Another day came and went, then another, and Sam's progress started to stall. Cas watched him anxiously after each healing session. Early on in the week, Sam would visually perk up after Castiel healed him; he would seem to gain energy, sit up straighter. But now, he stayed slumped with fatigue. He was pale and got quieter each day, talking less and less to Cas, and staying more and more in his room. Cas paced; he read Metamorphoses three times, he thought about what to do. And then he decided to call in an expert.

Dean stood in front of the door to the Bunker, hesitant. He'd never hesitated before going in before; he'd always loved coming back, couldn't wait to get back to his own bed, his own TV, his episodes of Dr. Sexy MD saved on his DVR. Now, though. Now things were different.

But Sam needed him, and whenever that was the case, Dean didn't let himself hesitate. He turned the heavy, antique handle, cracking open the door Cas said he would leave unlocked for him.

There was no one down below in the map room or the library. He set his duffle bag down gingerly on one of the tables and headed towards the hall of bedrooms. Once he got closer, he could hear the faint sounds of a TV playing down the hall, from a room they'd only ever used as a guest room and storage. Once he got closer, he noticed a sticky note on the cracked-open door that read "Cas' Room" in Sam's neat block letters. Dean smiled slightly to himself.

Bracing himself, he opened the door wider and looked in. The room had been cleared out and instead of the assortment of boxes, weapons, and ledgers that had taken up its space before, now there was a small table, a bookshelf, a long couch, and, Dean noticed, slightly affronted, his TV. A stack of DVDS sat on the floor in table in front of it and on the screen played the first Lord of the Rings movie.

That's when Dean knew. Lord of the Rings for them was one of their movies, an "I've had a rough day/week/hunt" movie, a "let's hang out" movie. He knew then Sam missed him at least a little, despite what he said over the phone.

Sam was on the couch, slumped with his eyes closed. Cas sat next to him, watching the screen with intent concentration. Dean had to stop himself from grinning. He'd missed them too.

He opened the door wider and Cas turned to look at him as light from the hallway spilled into the room. Dean jerked his head for Cas to follow him out, which Cas did, careful not to jostle Sam when he got up.

"Dean," the angel said as soon as they were at the end of the hall. "You're here earlier than I expected."

"Yeah, I didn't make many pit stops." Make that any pit stops at all. He'd hauled ass from his motel in Maryland as soon as he'd gotten Cas' last call about Sammy's declining health. He jerked his head towards Cas' Room. "How is he?"

"Fine, now, but he has only been sleeping for about half an hour. His nightmares seem to start after an hour or two."

Dean nodded briskly. "Good. Then do your angel thing now while he's still asleep."

Cas blinked. "What are you referring to?"

Dean gestured down the hall. "Put him to sleep, Cas. Do your whole forehead thing and – bam. No nightmares."

"He is already asleep."

"You know what I mean, put him in that crazy-deep angel sleep."

Cas shook his head. "There is no guarantee that would work. I don't know if my powers affect nightmares."

"They do. Didn't he tell you? You whammied him once when you were cuckoo for cocoa puffs and it worked. I think it'll work again, and at the very least if it doesn't, he's sure to get a few hours in tonight."

Cas seemed skeptical. "I'm not sure Sam would want me to. If he did, why would he not ask before now?"

Dean looked up at the ceiling briefly and then back to the angel. "Cas…please. This insomnia, his nightmares, they're tearing him apart. You know they are, that's why you called me. Please, man. I don't think Sam would ever ask you to for his own reasons, but I'm asking to so he can just rest."

Cas thought of Sam late self-confinement to his room, of the depressed, blank state he had been in for days. "He'll be angry with us," he said finally.

Dean laughed once in a way Cas didn't find very humorous. "Yeah well, what else is new. He'll mostly be pissed at me, Cas. I'll tell him I held an angel blade to your head or something."

Cas nodded. "That would be helpful."

He hesitated, then turned and went back to his room, to Sam still asleep on the sofa. He was starting to mumble and twitch. Cas reached out and lightly pressed a finger to Sam's forehead. Sam immediately slackened; he stopped twitching and sank into the couch cushions.

Behind him, Dean breathed out in relief. "How long will he be out?"

"About nine or ten hours if I were to guess." Cas picked up Sam's legs and moved them onto the couch. Dean hastened forward and pushed Sam's chest down and over so he was laying outstretched. Dean fetched a blanket from his room and draped it over his younger brother.

"Looks like I got about nine or ten hours to kill then," Dean said, stretching his arms above his head and groaning. "I might just join him in some shuteye."

"You're staying?"

Dean looked at him guardedly. "Only to talk to Sam when he wakes up. We got some things to discuss but after that…I'm leaving again."

Sam woke up after twelve hours and from the rumpled, blurry-eyed state of him, he could use another twelve. Dean watched him as he came stumbling out from the hallway of bedrooms, hair tousled. He tripped a bit on his own feet and Dean was painfully, forcefully reminded of when Sam had been depleted from the trials, stumbling and sick.

Sam didn't notice him at first, perched as Dean was in one of the armchairs in the corner with the bookshelves. He only saw Cas, sitting calmly at one of the tables. "Cas?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "How long was I out?"

"I," Cas' eyes flickered to Dean, and Sam's followed suit. "Dean!" Sam said, and Dean was surprised to hear Sam sounded pleased to see him.

"Hiya Sammy," he said softly.

He was encouraged when Sam didn't correct the nickname, but his optimism quickly faded as Dean watched dawning comprehension close off Sam's face. Sam flushed slightly and Dean realized with a jolt that in Sam's sleepy state, he'd forgotten what Dean had done. Now he remembered, and worse than that, he was adding something new to add to Dean's list of sins. He looked between Dean and Cas and gingerly seated himself at the table. "You knocked me out, didn't you?" he asked Cas calmly. He avoided looking at Dean.

"I thought it might be best," Castiel said carefully.

"Oh you did. I don't think you're usually the one deciding my life for me, so I somehow doubt that."

"Knock it off, Sam," Dean said. He got up and went to the table. "Cas was only being a good friend."

"To you. He was listening to what you wanted. I didn't want to be knocked out, Dean!" Sam's voice cracked and Dean looked at him sharply. He still must have been exhausted to let his emotions show like this.

"Cas, can I talk to Sam, please?"

"No," Sam said, sitting up. "I'm going."

"No," Dean said. "Sammy, man – please. I just want to talk."

Sam sat back down reluctantly as Cas got up to leave. The angel touched Sam's shoulder before he disappeared down the hall.

Once he was gone, Dean sat down across from Sam and leaned forward. "I'm calling a time-out."

Sam looked up at him. "What?"

"A time-out. Just – can we put the brakes on all this crap, please? For ten minutes."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Time-out, Dean, really?"

"Yes, Sam, really. We did them when we were kids, I don't see why we shouldn't do them now."

"Because this is too big for a time-out – "

Dean shook his head. "Nothing is too big for a time-out. So I'm calling it, and by the rules of time-out you have to not be pissed at me for ten minutes."

Sam rubbed his forehead. "I have the right to feel angry, Dean."

"Yeah you do, Sammy. Just not right now."

Sam looked at him, surprised. "You think I have the right to be angry?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Course. You were hurt bad by this. I'd be pissed."

Sam deflated a little at that. He leaned forward and rested his head on one hand.

Dean chose to take that as a sign to move on. "Sammy," he said gently. "What's been going on with you?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing. I just…possession leaves you messed up. Makes it so you can't sleep, can't think. This isn't unusual, Dean."

"You weren't this bad after Meg."

"Meg was different."

"Why?" Dean scooted his chair around the table, set his elbows on his knees and studied Sam intently.

Sam looked at him, haunted. "I didn't kill anyone I knew with Meg. I didn't kill one of my friends, a twenty-year-old kid."

Dean felt himself go cold. "I told you, Sammy, Kevin isn't on you, it's on me."

Sam shook his head, obstinate. "They were my hands that burned the life out of him, Dean. I held him and I killed him. I don't care if it was just my body, I still remember it. I dream it –I dream it every single time I sleep. I see it every – " Sam choked. He wiped away a tear on his cheek. "Every day, I see him die and I can't – I can't – I don't know. I don't know what to do."

"Sammy, you can sleep. Did you dream about it last night?"

Sam shook his head reluctantly.

"There's your easy fix, man. Let Cas help you until you can deal with it better."

"No."

Dean struggled to hold onto his automatic frustrated response. "Why not?"

"I don't want more angels messing with my brain."

"Cas isn't just an angel, Sam, he's Cas. You can trust him."

"I know that," Sam said, irritated.

Dean spread his arms. "Well then, what?"

"I don't deserve it!" Sam blurted out. "I don't deserve to sleep after what we did to Kevin! And Kevin deserves his killer to pay, and since Gadreel is in the wind, that means me!" Sam spread his arms. "I need to pay."

"No you don't, Sam!" Dean said, horrified. "I'm not going to let you blame yourself like this!"

Sam scoffed. "You're not going to let me?"

"You know what I mean, Sam, c'mon. Man, please, you can't think this way. Kevin's death was not you. You have to know that. This is on Gadreel, and on me for not stopping it, but not on you."

Sam was silent for a moment. "I don't really want to fight," he said quietly. "Not right now. I'm too tired to fight."

Dean breathed out. "Then we don't have to fight," he said. He added, slowly, cautiously; "This time-out could stick around for longer, if you want."

Sam looked at him flatly. "Why? You're you're staying?"

"What?"

"Are you sticking around here? Is that how we'd keep our time-out?"

Dean studied Sam's face, and for once came up empty, no definition of Sam's mood springing neatly to mind. He couldn't tell if Sam wanted him to stay or go. But he knew either way, it wasn't changing anything. "I can't stay, Sammy," he said gently.

Sam flushed slightly and Dean realized his mistake too late. He'd said it like he pitied Sam, pitied him for being left. Dean wished he could snatch the words back, but before he could, Sam said, "Then why bother talking to me about any of this? Why do you give a shit, Dean, if I sleep or not? It's not any of your business."

Dean jerked back in his chair like Sam had physically pushed him. "Damn, Sammy, just because I'm not here doesn't mean I don't care."

"No, but it means you don't get a say – in any of it," Sam said. He stood from his seat and his chair screeched as he pushed it roughly back. "If you're leaving, leave. Don't keep calling Cas, don't come here like this. Just make up your mind and go."

He started out of the room and Dean sat in his chair, stunned. He felt anger at Sam starting to trickle into his chest when Sam stopped at the doorway out of the library, hitting his fist gently against the wood paneling.

"Just," he said at last, then stopped.

"What," Dean said shortly, like he was trying to reach his hand into a fire quick enough that he didn't get burned.

Sam turned and leaned against the wall. He looked down at the floor and then up at Dean. "Be careful," he said seriously. "If you get into deep shit," he shrugged and trailed off. "At least ask Cas for help, if you won't hunt with me," he finished.

"I'm protecting you, Sam – "

Sam waved him off. "I don't want to hear it right now," he said. He pushed himself off the wall and started down the hall. "Bye, Dean," he said quietly after him.

Dean waited until Sam's door snicked shut, until he'd heard nothing for a couple of minutes before he said it back.

"Bye, Sam."