A.N.(June 2012, Sam is 29, Dean is 33)
It had been a week since Dean and Cas had spoken about healing Sam. Dean could feel Sam's distress after a disastrous attempt by Castiel to be sensitive. He had looked at the angel speechless for a long time before spluttering "Cas… I'm gonna need to think about this, okay?"
Dean had come back from a food run to find Sam sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at footage of Dick Roman's newly opened cancer research centre.
"…and we will, someday soon, cure cancer!" blared the television. Sam had obviously found the elusive motel TV remote, because horrendously out of sync closed captions were displayed on the bottom of the screen with a bunch of non-textual symbols that didn't belong from the outdated TV's caption decoder.
Sam hadn't heard him come in. Dean stood in front of the TV, taking out the salad, and Sam mumbled "Thanks." They sat on the edge of the bed, saying nothing as they ate and pretended to watch the news.
"So, uh, Sam," Dean started, but Sam shook his head.
"I know what you want, Dean. Yes, I have considered Cas' offer. It's too suspiciously generous. Can we really trust his motives?"