As it turns out, the human body was not really meant to imbibe copious amounts of alcohol.

Castiel had been helping Kevin with the angel tablet research—to the best of his abilities—since he'd come to the bunker. While he couldn't read the tablet himself, he did what he could. Kevin was initially a little cool towards him, resenting their last conversation when Cas had essentially told him that he couldn't escape his destiny as a prophet and to just get back to work. But in virtually no time they got on like a house on fire. The interaction actually seemed to do them both some good. Castiel had a wide range of background knowledge to draw from, and was fairly good with most human languages. He also acted as a kind of buffer from the Winchesters who, let's face it, could be pretty demanding. Sure, they needed the research or the spell or the monster lore all done now, and there were always lives on the line—still, a little more acknowledgement of how much effort all this took wouldn't be remiss, every now and then.

Last night had been difficult. Kevin seemed to have run into a wall with the tablet, grumbling about how it didn't seem to want to be translated. Castiel suggested that they should take a short break to rest their eyes. This turned into a long break where they took turns mocking Metatron's prose. This turned into an even longer break when Cas got some beers to better fuel the "creative juices." The rest of the night was kind of a blur. By the time the Winchesters got there, the prophet and the ex-angel were quite roaringly drunk. Kevin's initial dabbling into cuneiform had devolved into crude stick figures doing anatomically impossible things to another stick-figured marked with an 'M.' Castiel kept trying to teleport, and looked thoroughly confused at every failure. When he discovered the reason for this, he drunkenly threatened them all to give him back his wings or he'd toss them into Hell. Except Kevin, who was apparently his very best friend now. And Dean, because Dean was actually his very best friend. And not Sam, although Sam was not his best friend and never would be. Stop trying, Sam. His best friend was, and always would be, alcohol.

Well, they were both of them feeling the effects from the night before. A pot of coffee sat between them, already half consumed. They cringed when one of them turned a page too loudly.

Dean very helpfully carried a stack of books over to their table and slammed them down within easy reach. "Morning, sunshines!" he boomed. "And how are you both on this lovely day?"

Kevin groaned, still wincing from the sound of impact. "Hello, Dean," Castiel said, gravely. "We are both doing terribly."

"I want to go back to hugging the toilet," Kevin agreed, slumping over the table.

"Well, suck it up, buttercup. Charlie's going to be here soon, and we might need all hands on deck to get this weird-ar up and running. How's it going on your end, with the God-rock?"

"Terribly," Castiel repeated.

"Hence the interlude in drunken minor, I guess. You know you two are a couple of lightweights. You drank, what, five beers between the two of you?"

"There was also the whiskey. And the bourbon," Cas said, helpfully, while Kevin started groaning in a more worrying fashion. "The bottles were hidden all over the library and kitchen areas. I can only surmise a few of the Men of Letters were raging alcoholics."

Dean hastily nudged the trash bin within Kevin's reach and changed the subject. "Well, we need to restock supplies, not least of all to replace the beers. Sam's heading out. I figured you'd go with him?"

"Where is Sam?" Kevin asked, blinking owlishly. "He used to be a little more helpful with this."

"Well you've got a new assistant, now, don't'cha?" Dean tried to deflect.

"Sam does seem to spend a lot more of his time alone than he used to. And he's sleeping more than usual."

"Please tell me you're not still creeping on people when they're sleeping, Cas. I've told you: It's weird."

"He looks sick, Dean," Castiel continued, not to be dissuaded. "He's lost weight. His color's off. Judging from the shower drain, he seems to be losing more hair than is normal."

"He's had a rough time, all right?" Dean snapped. "Those trials were hell on him."

"But Dean… didn't you say that the angel, Ezekiel, was going to heal him?"

"Wait, who? What angel?" Kevin asked, sitting bolt upright.

Cas looked from Dean to Kevin and back. "You didn't tell him? About when Sam was in the hospital? About Ezekiel?"

"Dean?"

Holy hell, how was Dean supposed to keep cool with them both looking at him like that: trusting and concerned and confused. The panic was back, seeming to move inside of his chest like a moth caught between windowpanes. He knew he should come clean, but that wasn't really a viable option. He knew how the expressions would shift, to distrust and distaste. They couldn't understand the choice he'd been faced with in that hospital. It wasn't that he didn't want to let Sam go; it was that he couldn't. And anyway, it was too late now. It was done. No use bitching over it. Sam would get better. He'd have to get better. And they could just forgive him for this later; or not. So long as they were all reasonably happy and healthy by the end of this, Dean was counting it as a win.

That couldn't happen by spilling the beans, now. Castiel and Kevin would only try to intervene. And if Zeke left before Sammy was ready…

"It's nothing," he said, giving a reassuring smile. It almost hurt his face, keeping it fixed like that. "That angel dude helped but, come on, this isn't a quick fix. I mean, Cas, you said yourself there was something going on with Sam down at, like, the atomic level. Zeke mojo'd him, but his body's still gotta recover on its own."

"Sam didn't mention any of this," Kevin said, slowly.

"I didn't tell him. Look, he was in a bad way. I did what I had to." His voice almost choked on the words before he forced himself to laugh, saying, "I just didn't want to worry him about how bad it got. He's getting better now. All right?"

Kevin asked, "Well what did this angel want in return?"

"What? Nothing."

"Come on, Dean. These deals always have some sort of price tag."

"Well not this time," Dean said, firmly. "This guy was… just a real cool dude. I mean, you knew him, right, Cas?"

"Ezekiel was an… honorable sort," Castiel agreed. "He was always well thought-of. When Raphael was attempting to wrest control of heaven, Ezekiel was one of the more vocal moderates. He believed in a lasting peace. His faction had some sympathies with mine. I distinctly remember deciding not to smite him when I was cleaning house in heaven."

"Well, there you go. Even Godstiel didn't want to smite him."

Kevin still looked suspicious. He had every reason to be. Dean just had to hope that he'd keep it to himself as Sam came in to see what the hold-up was with Cas.

"You coming or not?" Sam asked. His expression was friendly enough, but he hadn't come into the room all the way. He lingered in the archway, as though unconsciously he would just as well leave Castiel behind. It was at odds with his words as he urged, "Come on, you should get out and enjoy the sunshine."

"I think I would be of more use here…"

"I'll be fine for a few hours," Kevin waved him off, frowning at the mess he'd made of his notes in his drunken fugue. "It'll take at least that long to repair the damage."

"Yeah, and anyway, you might learn something useful," Dean added.

"Like what?" Cas grumbled, probably still cranky from the hangover. "I understand the concept of grocery shopping perfectly well. I remember when you all used to use animal carcasses as currency. The move to iron and precious metal as representations of the physical wealth was an interesting process. Of course, at its root, you are still trading 'bucks' for other desired goods."

"Is that where that comes from? Anyway, I meant something a little less History channel."

"Like practical frugality," Sam chimed in. "And maybe some lessons on basic nutrition requirements."

"Beyond the White Castle food pyramid."

"If you're sure my assistance is not needed," Castiel said, doubtfully, trailing after Sam.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Sam said bracingly as they disappeared from view. "I'll even let you pick out dinner."

Dean could just faintly hear Cas asking about noodles with jam sauce when he turned back to Kevin, tapping quickly on the prophet's notes to get the kid's attention. "So with this spell, you still stuck on the Water Temple?" Preemptively he added, "It's slow-going and tortuous, I mean."

Kevin looked around at the stacks of papers and research pointedly. "Clearly. Metatron made it nearly indecipherable."

"But there are some parts you can read easy, right?"

"I wouldn't call it easy, but—"

"You got anything in there about suppressing angels?"

"What, like banishing them or killing them, like the demon-bomb recipe?"

"Or just weakening them."

"I'm… not sure. Why?"

Insurance against dick-head angels. Plan Save-a-Sam. Take your pick.

"Emergency measures, Kev. We've got angels coming out of the woodwork out there. I mean more than ever before. We don't have a whole hell of a lot of holy oil left to throw around, and it's not like Cas can just zap off to get some more. We need to think of some new strategies. It could be useful to talk to the hosts. You know, clue them into this mess so they can eject the angels themselves."

"Saving the vessel," Kevin agreed, pulling the tablet closer to himself again, but shaking his head wearily. "I don't know, Dean. I mean there might be something in here somewhere, but…"

"Okay, just… backburner idea, okay? Just tell me you'll get around to it."

"Sure, Dean."

Dean felt another pang of guilt as Kevin didn't make any more inquiries, quietly shouldering more work. Here they were all worried about Sam, while Kevin still didn't look in top form. Kid should've been unnecessarily giving himself ulcers at university, not stuck in this little cave with a slab of rock. Hell, Kevin should've gone with Sam and Cas just now. If only to get out of the bunker for a few hours. How long had it been since he'd let up on the kid?

He'd just have to make it up to him, later. When all of this was over. When he was sure there was a back-up plan for if—when—shit hit the fan again. Until then Kevin would just have to understand. Knuckle down. Get the job done.

"I'll get you some more coffee."


Okay, okay, I know I said I was trying to move this along, but then I got stuck in the cuteness of Team Free Will all being together again! Also I've been having some major Kevin feels ever since that mid-season finale. I really will get into the action sequences just as soon as I get my ducks in a row, but it's hard when the ducks are so adorable.

Also, I'm used to writing loooong stories just on my own time, so my pacing might infuriate some.