"What's wrong with Cas?" asked Sam.
Dean's bottle struck the table hard enough to make it rattle. He wished Sam would be quiet. It felt like his brother never stopped talking these days. Knowing that he was probably just worried about him, like Cas, didn't soften the frustration, either. If anything, it pissed him off more. He had been through Hell and back. Literally. He could handle a few bad breaks.
"He's bent out of shape because I went hunting without him last night. I swear, it's like having a fucking second shadow these days."
"You should let me talk to him. I'm not trying to get on your case, but you've been kind of strung tight."
Dean went to take another swallow of beer, felt a spike of resentment when he found the bottle dry, but then the anger sputtered and faded, dying soft and quiet as an ember. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. You two should talk. Maybe it'll clear things up. He just doesn't get it, Sammy."
He rose to leave, but Sam called to him as he turned his back.
"Dean. Take it."
Dean paused, his eyes settling uneasily on the slip of silver in Sam's hand. He had given it to him before going hunting a few nights past, worried about what Castiel might try while he wasn't home. But despite that…
"You want us to be one big happy family again, don't you?" Sam pressed. Dean thought he might be smiling.
Lips tight, Dean ruffled Sam's hair in a way that was reminiscent of their childhood. but Sam didn't protest the affectionate gesture.
Meanwhile, Castiel leaned outside the door to Dean's room, out of sight, his breaths quick and tight as he listened to the one-sided conversation.
Thirteen days. Thirteen days since Sam had passed, and still Dean wouldn't allow Sam's body to be put to rest.
The blade in Dean's hand glinted, bright as the lost look in the man's eyes, as he stepped into the hall.
