They return to the bunker about an hour later, and are greeted by Sam, who had been reviewing angel lore in the library all afternoon. Upon hearing them come in, the taller Winchester puts his book down, rubs his tired eyes and stretches before heading over to help them carry groceries to the kitchen. However, when he catches sight of them, he stops dead. Castiel's dress shirt is un-tucked and missing a few buttons, and his hair is messier than usual. Dean's hair is half-sticking up and the other half looks as if it had been tamped down hurriedly. Sam's first thought is that maybe they'd been attacked while they were out, but once Sam gets a good look at their bright red faces and small guilty smiles, he figures the rest out pretty quick.
"So," Sam straightens up with a smirk and crosses his arms over his chest in mock-accusation. "What took you so long?"
Their twin smiles turn to almost identical looks of panic and Sam struggles to keep up the facade.
"Well, we... ran out of gas and had to walk a few miles to get some..." Dean mentally kicks himself for thinking that Sam would believe that he'd let his baby's tank run empty. He wracks his brain for any excuse they could give for why they were late. He nudges Cas in the side with his elbow. Cas, who has never been able to grasp the concept of improvised lying, merely looks at Dean like he's the strange one. Dean tries to give him a pointed look, but it doesn't seem to resonate. Sam clears his throat to get their attention and when Dean reluctantly turns back to his brother, Sam is giving them both a wide, teasing smile.
"Dean, it's okay. I meant what took you so long to get to..." He gestures at the two disheveled men, "this."
Dean turns brick red for the hundredth time that day and glowers at Sam, but visibly relaxes. Castiel gives Sam an appreciative smile and takes the groceries down the hall into the kitchen.
Before Dean can escape to the kitchen as well, Sam clasps a hand on his shoulder and nods, "Seriously, Dean. I'm happy for you." Dean flashes him a grateful half-smile and then plasters on a faux-macho expression and adjusts the bags in his arms and mumbles, "... thanks, Sammy," before practically running out of the room.
As Castiel methodically puts away the contents of the bags in their various homes around the kitchen, he starts thinking about the conversation that transpired earlier in the car. Dean wants him to stay. Castiel is more certain now than ever that he wants to stay with Dean, but he can't help feeling like he should do something to help his fallen brethren. His internal debate is interrupted when Dean enters the kitchen with the rest of the bags. They share a fleeting glance and return to putting away groceries until the task is finished. Dean flattens the paper bags for the recycling and then grabs two beers from the fridge, popping the caps, and beckons Cas to follow him into the next room. Dean passes a bottle off to Castiel before taking a seat at one of the chairs around the map table. Cas sits opposite him and wonders if this is going to be another trying conversation, though if he's being honest, he didn't at all mind the outcome of the last one. He feels a grin coming on, and takes a swig of beer in an effort to hide it. He suspects Dean noticed though, or is thinking the same thing he is, because he sees a smile pulling at the corners of Dean's mouth and it makes it harder to conceal his own. Before they are carried away with themselves, Dean clears his throat and says, "So. What's the plan?"
Castiel considers this. He still feels as if he ought to do something to help the angels, but certain recent events have swayed his once steady determination. "I don't know anymore," is all he can offer. "I still want to help, but I need to... rethink my strategy, perhaps." Dean still looks concerned, so Castiel tries to placate him further, "Perhaps it would be best to... to try and help them without leaving, this time." He sees the wave of relief flood Dean's features and tries not to feel guilty about his selfish decision to stay.
Sam loves his brother, and he's glad that he and Cas finally figured their shit out. That said, he doesn't want to walk in on anything that may scar him for the rest of his adult life, so he vacates the library, taking as many books as he can carry, and shuts himself up in his room. A few hours later and he's not making any headway. He closes the heavy book with a demoralized sigh, and it's then that he notices his stomach growling. He decides to take his chances and heads to the kitchen, holding one of the old tomes high in front of him, ready to block his vision at a moment's notice. He finds the kitchen mercifully empty, and sets about making a sandwich. It's curiously silent in the vicinity of the kitchen, and he decides to go back to the library to grab a couple more books before turning in. Sandwich in tow, he sneaks down the hall to the library. Dean and Castiel are sitting at one of the tables, each avidly reading a book from the stack between them that Sam had left behind. "Hey," he sets his plate down at an empty spot opposite them, "thought you two would have been off..." They both look up from their books to cast matching aggravated glares at him, and Sam leaves it alone and sits down, "never mind. What's the word?"
"I'm trying to figure out a way to help the angels," Cas says, eyes back to carefully running over the ancient text, "Without leaving this time." If Sam catches his brother's contented little half-smile at that last part, he says nothing. "Alright, sounds good," he takes a bite before reaching across the table to snatch one of the books off the pile. He opens the dusty cover and starts to glance over the script, but before he gets too far, he begins to feel like someone's gaze is burning a hole through his forehead. He glances up to see his brother staring at him with a very direct expression that screams 'go away'. Sam clears his throat and closes the book, piling a few more on top before grabbing his food and telling them he's going to turn in for the night. As he turns down the hallway back toward his room, he muses, "I wonder if there are any ear protectors in the shooting range."
After Sam goes to bed, Dean finds it increasingly difficult to focus on reading. Castiel is half-hidden by the stack of books that separates them, but every so often, when he finds something of note, he lets out a quiet, knowing hum. When he's not humming, Cas appears to have developed the habit of tapping his fingers on the table top to some indiscernible rhythm. With these distractions, and memories of that afternoon filling his mind and causing it to wander, Dean quickly decides that he's not going to get anything done tonight. He slams the dust-covered tome shut and leans back in his chair. Castiel, deep in concentration, appears not to have noticed. Dean almost doesn't want to disturb him. Almost.
"Cas," he rises and manoeuvres around the table to stand in front of his friend. "I'm going to bed." Castiel looks up finally, and squints at Dean, eyes wearing out. Dean waits expectantly, as what seems to be a flicker of recognition appears on Cas' face, but is gone just as quickly. "Goodnight, then," Castiel says blankly, and returns to his readings. Dean huffs an exasperated sigh and moves around to Castiel's side, reaching down to carefully close the book. Cas jerks his head up indignantly before he sees Dean's sly grin, and swiftly forgets why he was annoyed. Dean holds his hand out to Cas, who takes it cautiously, "You're coming with me."
