Twenty minutes later found the three of them around the dinner table, ladling out second helpings of chili each. Dean opened another pair of beers, passing one to Sam.
Sam smiled at the two of them. "I'm glad to have you back at the dinner table, Cas."
Castiel returned the grin, clinking bottles with Sam. "I'm glad to be back up and about. I was starting to go a little stir-crazy in my room."
"I bet."
Dean cleared his throat. "I think we're gonna take a few days off from traveling, do some research around the bunker to see if we can get any intel on Metatron."
Cas frowned. "You guys don't have to stay here on my account. I've been getting by on my own. And every day I'm healing more, getting back to normal. Or human normal, at least."
"It's not just for you," Dean sighed, a sound Cas could tell came from deep in his lungs. "I'm tired, man."
Sam glanced at Cas. They all knew he meant more than that he needed a good night's rest. That was the thing about Dean. He was the strongest person Castiel knew, standing steadfast in the face of everything like an ancient, unyielding tree. But year by year, life's winters came and stripped his energy and vibrance, piling more worries, more grief on his shoulders. Sooner or later, there would be a time where the load became unbearable, and Dean would be forced to yield or break. Cas dreaded when that day came. All he could do now was try to lighten the load, but Dean would never be the type to burden anyone else for his own relief.
Dean broke the silence by clinking his beer down on the table, rather more forcefully than necessary. "What do you say we play a game? We bought a few new additions for the Men of Letters collection. I can get us set up in the den while Sam cleans up in here."
"Hey, I cooked!"
"Sorry, Sammy. I've got a patient to tend to." Dean winked toward his brother as he helped Cas stand up and steered them out of the room. Cas could have managed on his own, but he let Dean hold him, fingers lightly placed on Cas' arm and waist, all the way down the hall.