SAM POV
Sam woke up suddenly to the sound of Dean shouting his name. He groggily looked at the time.
6:30 AM.
What the fuck. Way too early. He settled back down, snuggling in his covers.
Dean yelled his name again, this time more urgently. Sam couldn't ignore it. He sprang out of bed and ran towards his brother's voice, which guided him to the kitchen. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, panting. He was not in good shape and suspected he was never going to recover fully from the trials, although he hardly admitted it to himself, let alone to anyone else. In fairness, the only other person Sam knew was Dean. Everybody else was dead. He quickly derailed that train of thought, snapping back to reality as Dean yelled Sam's name again, unaware his younger brother was right there.
Relief washed over Sam as he saw that Dean was in fact fine, but that relief was soon replaced by anger. What the hell was Dean screaming like that for?
Dean switched off the gas cooker, serving up the still sizzling food on to two plates. Sam had to admit, it smelt pretty good. As Dean called out yet again, Sam said flatly:
"Yes, Dean."
Dean finally looked up and saw him standing there, but quickly averted his eyes.
"Ugh, dude. Put some clothes on."
Sam looked down at himself, too angry to feel embarrassed. In the heat of the moment he hadn't thought of putting pants on top of his boxers. Fortunately, they were a pair of his bigger shorts, so it wasn't too revealing. But that didn't make things any less awkward.
"Dean! What the actual fuck! I thought something bad had happened." 'To you' he added mentally, but didn't dare say it out loud. The Mark of Cain was a touchy subject in the Winchester bunker.
Not bothering to let Dean reply, he shuffled back to his room, fuming, but returned to the kitchen fully clothed in some sweats and a grey t shirt. He was starving.
"Oh, hey! That's better! Breakfast?" Dean offered, with his eyebrows raised expectantly and a big grin on his face. After a moment of hiatus, Sam decided he might as well sit down and eat and shoot daggers at his brother rather than stand in the doorway with his arms crossed like a petulant child. And just then, Sam noticed Cas sitting at one end of the island, his trench coat folded neatly in front of him, his long shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows.
'Castiel must have stayed the night' he thought.
This was just the icing on top of the cake. Well and truly.
"Seriously, Dean? I get woken up at this unholy hour for morning-after breakfast with your boyfriend?" Dean was in too good a mood to be fazed by Sam's outburst.
"No." Dean replied calmly. "I have a case, Sammy." Sam didn't bother hiding his surprise, partly at what Dean had just said, but partly at how good the fry up was.
"But what about Abaddon? And Metatron?"
"That bitch can go fuck herself. And Metatron ain't going nowhere." Sam was astounded. It seemed like he wasn't going to get anything out of Dean, so he turned to Cas.
"Cas, what the hell did you do to him?"
"I cannot say." The angel replied, smiling blissfully. Sam rolled his eyes and cringed. Ew.
"So, what about this job?" Sam asked, not really caring about the job but trying to distract himself and not overthink what Cas had been implying.
"It's in New York City." Dean replied breezily. Sam choked on his mouthful of toast.
"What?" He croaked, once he had finished coughing. In response, Dean just looked at him innocently.
"Dean, there's a reason we don't do jobs in big cities."
"I know, Sammy. But I think it would be fun." Sam was aghast. But then he realised Dean must be pulling his leg, so he got up, irritated.
"Yeah, whatever. I'm going to go back to my hours of useless research on Metatron, while you deal with Abaddon. Oh, wait. No. You're just going to play fetch with your pet angel." With this, Sam walked out the kitchen, not bothering to tidy up like he usually did.
"I've never seen anything like it before!" Dean called after Sam. At this, the younger brother retraced his steps and popped his head back round the door. Dean took that as his cue to go on.
"A nest of vamps."
"And?" Sam questioned, trying to act casually interested.
"I don't know. I've got word they've killed a bunch of people right near an NYPD precinct - a higher body count than usual."
"Uh, hullo? No way I'm going anywhere near an NYPD precinct, Dean. Cops will be crawling out of our ears."
"Oh come on, Sammy! Where's your sense of adventure?"
Six hours and many arguments later, Sam found himself sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, with Cas' knees digging into his back through the seat. For the first few hours of the long journey, Cas and Dean were chatting away. On this respect they amazed Sam; if he had tried to keep up a conversation with the angel, it would've been a race to who could fall asleep the fastest. Cas would have probably won .. and angels don't sleep.
The brothers took it in turn to drive. Apparently Cas could drive, although Sam had no idea how. Not that he was willing to test it on Dean's beloved Impala - if something had gone wrong, all hell would have broken loose. In the early hours of the morning the boys decided they would stay in a motel rather than drive through the night. They followed some dodgy looking neon lights, and settled for a restless night