Dean was looking at the ceiling. Cas glanced up at it as well, wondering if perhaps he'd missed something. But the ceiling was the same as it always was, whitewashed and slightly cracked in the corner.

"What are you doing?" Cas finally asked Dean. Dean twitched slightly, looking startled.

"Watchin it," Dean told him. "To make sure it don't try anything."

Cas didn't think that ceilings were the shiftiest of household fixtures, but at this point he thought it was best not to argue with Dean. Not ten minutes before, they'd gotten embroiled in a heated discussion about how many fingers Dean had, and if he had too many. So Cas just nodded sagely, casting a wary glance at the ceiling.

"Why're you lookin at the ceiling?" Dean asked him, and Cas blinked slowly at him, completely unsure how to respond. He was just about to try the potential distraction technique of discussing one of Dean's favorite movies when Sam reentered the room.

"Sammy," Dean said happily, squirming slightly against the mound of pillows he was propped against.

"Hey, Dean." Sam crossed the room to Dean, sitting on the couch beside him. "You wanna go to bed?"

"No," Dean answered, sounding utterly exasperated (and much more like his usual self). "I wanna play a game."

Sam shot Cas a long-suffering glance, and Cas shrugged slightly. If Dean didn't want to go to bed, Cas wasn't sure what they could do about it.

"C'mon Sammy, pleeeaaaaase?" Apparently, Sam didn't answer him fast enough, and Dean turned to Cas. "Cas, cn we play a game?"

"Yes?" Cas answered helplessly.

"Alright," Sam told Dean. "We can play a game. But then you gotta go to bed, okay?"

"Okay," Dean agreed, breaking out into a grin.

"What game do you want to play?" Sam asked, and Dean's brow furrowed in thought.

"The facts one," he announced.

"Trivial Pursuit?" Sam asked, clearly shocked. Cas frowned. Once, when the Winchesters were both slightly tipsy, Sam had taught him how to play the game, which had ended abruptly with Dean hurling the box across the room and swearing never to play it again. It hadn't appeared to be an experience that he'd enjoyed, and Cas couldn't imagine why he'd want to repeat it when he was barely able to remember his own name, much less the mayor of NYC in 1985.

"How 'bout...Candy Land?" Sam suggested.

"Candy Land. Awesome," Dean whispered.

There were a lot of things about human culture that Cas still didn't quite grasp the nuances of, but he was fairly certain that Candy Land was a game for very small children. He had never seen the Winchesters play it before. He wouldn't be sure that they even had the game, expect that the bunker was surprisingly well-stocked with a variety of board games from the 50s, and he thought he remembered seeing colorful green box amongst the other games.

"Isn't that for children?" Cas inquired.

Sam met his eye and shushed him with a frantic motion of his hand. "No, Cas, Candy Land is a good game for everyone, it's not too complicated but that makes it better…."

Luckily, Dean seemed to be completely ignoring Cas. Unluckily, this was because his attention had been drawn back to the wound in his belly, and he seemed to be unsuccessfully trying to peel up the edge of the bandages with clumsy hands.

"Dean!" Cas exclaimed, and Dean startled for a second but then went right back to picking at the dressing.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh before going to kneel in front of Dean. "Stop that," Sam said, voice gentle but firm. Dean looked up at Sam for a split second, but then his eyes drifted away from Sam and he started fiddling with the bandage again.

"Don't you want to play a game?" Sam said, sounding a little desperate. "Do you want to play Candy Land still?"

Dean made a soft huffing noise and continued to ignore Sam. Sam grabbed his hands and physically pulled them away from the wound, which caused Dean to whine with distress and attempt to pull away.

"Dean, you just had surgery. I know you're on a lot of medication, but you cannot fuck with your bandages, okay?"

Dean mumbled something too low for Cas to hear and tried to pull his hand away from Sam again.

"Cas, can you get it? I think he'll be distracted once it's in front of him."

Cas nodded and went to the library, retrieving the game quickly and heading back to the room Dean had christened "the Deancave." Sam was still sitting beside Dean, holding his hands and looking harried.

"Do you want to play Candy Land?" Cas asked Dean, displaying the box and noting with some displeasure that the game contained a lollipop forest. The logistics of that seemed highly impractical.

Dean, however, seemed not to notice. He nodded enthusiastically, and Sam let Dean's hands drop with an air of relief.

"Let's choose our tokens, okay?"

"Blue. No. Red," Dean mumbled, then reached out and grabbed the yellow token. Cas frowned at it, but decided not to point it out.

"Cas has to be blue," Dean announced.

"Why?" Cas asked, obediently picking the blue token.

"Mmmm, heaven. Sky," Dean said vaguely. "An' Sam, be red. 'S a tall color. Big."

Sam laughed, putting the red token on Start. "Okay, Dean. Hey, wait, no don't, Dean…."

Dean was playing with his bandages again. His right hand was holding the token, but his left was free and was now occupied with picking at the gauze. Sam sighed and reached over, grabbing Dean's hand.

"Nooo," Dean protested, pulling weakly at his hand. "Give it back."

"Not if you keep picking at your bandages," Sam insisted. "It's for your own good. Now spin the wheel."

By the middle of the game, Dean had made it all the way to the Gumdrop Mountains. Sam was at the Peanut Brittle House, and Cas was stuck way back in the Peppermint Forest. This wasn't really due to any skill (or lack thereof) on their part. Dean would occasionally move pieces a random amount of spaces, without any corresponding spin, and the pieces usually weren't his. In fact, whoever was playing the green token had won some time ago, without ever spinning the wheel, or, for that matter, existing.

They'd been playing for about an hour. Dean was also moving pieces backwards. And this was all despite the fact that Sam had been holding his left hand tightly in between turns, while Cas held his right. If Dean was left alone, his hands drifted inexorably towards his wound, and Sam really didn't want to take Dean back to the hospital. For one, they probably wouldn't let him leave as quickly this time.

Sam spun the wheel absentmindedly and moved his piece forward with his free hand. Dean sat quietly in between him and Cas, apparently no longer upset about not having his hands free.

"Um," Dean finally announced. Sam waited patiently for more, but it did not seem to be forthcoming.

"What is it, bud?" Sam asked.

Dean made an irritated hum, and grabbed more tightly to Sam's hand. Sam looked up at him, and really studied him for the first time in a while. Sam could have kicked himself for not paying more attention. It was clear that Dean was completely exhausted. His head was drooping towards his chest, his eyes half-lidded and glassy.

"Oh," Sam said. "You're really tired, aren't you?"

Dean mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that?"

"You always know," Dean whispered. He sounded almost irritated, and Sam had to smile. In Dean's mind, Sam was probably being like an overbearing babysitter, making him go to bed instead of staying up to play games.

"It's time to go to bed"

"I don't feel good," Dean muttered. Sam felt Dean's hand tense in his again, drifting towards the bandages again, but Sam didn't think it was just to mess with them. It had been enough hours since the surgery for the meds to begin to wear off. And Dean had been sitting up and moving quite a lot for the majority of it; his wound must be starting to ache.

"I know," Sam said, and the sympathy was genuine, Dean was probably too high to catch onto it anyways. "It's really time for you to get some rest, okay? You're so tired, I can tell you'll be able to fall asleep even if it hurts some. And you'll feel a lot better tomorrow, alright?"

This was probably a lie. He'd feel less high tomorrow, certainly, but he would likely be in a lot more pain. The first day after surgery, when Dean was on the heavy painkillers from the hospital with some of the anaesthesia leftover too, Dean was never bothered. He was too high to be, and the drugs completely erased the pain. But once those meds wore off, Dean was going to be achy and stiff at best, and he would be lucid enough to know he was high and be annoyed by the lack of clarity. But what Dean needed to hear now is that it was time to go to sleep, and so that's what Sam would tell him.

"Mkay," Dean whispered. He then folded into Sam, sagging against his shoulder, head dropping into the hollow of Sam's neck. The movement was so sudden that Cas was dragged off balance by the hand he was still holding, and had to quickly let go.

Sam heard Dean breathe a few soft words into the region of Sam's collarbone, but Sam didn't ask him what they were. He knew he they didn't matter, it was probably just Dean reaffirming that he was tired, maybe some gentle praise.

"Let's get you to bed, huh?" Sam said, letting go of Dean's hand and wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. And if he held him a little tighter than was strictly necessary, well, Dean was far too high to realize it.

Sure enough, Dean didn't even stir. His head was still against Sam's neck, his muscles relaxed.

"I think he's already asleep," Sam told Cas. Which meant it was going to be nearly impossible to get him into his bedroom.

"I can carry him," Cas offered, and Sam nodded.

"Yeah, that might be best. He's really out of it anyway, and now that the pain meds are wearing off some walking will be a lot harder."

Cas nodded and gently lifted Dean into his arms. Sam let go of him, stifling a yawn of his own as he did so. As Cas shifted Dean's weight slightly, Dean's head fell against Cas's chest, and he gave a small, contented, half-awake mumble.

Sam hauled himself to his feet, fighting a small rush of dizziness. He hadn't realized just how tired he was until Dean wasn't requiring every single second of his attention. But now that his brother was quiet and not at risk of hurting himself, the exhaustion was hard to fight.

But he couldn't let himself sleep yet. Dean would likely wake in the night, and he might need more pain pills, or some food, or an extra blanket, or…. The possibilities were endless. No, Sam wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon.

"You need to rest," Cas said, glaring sternly at the younger Winchester. They were in Dean's room, both waiting beside the bed. Dean was carefully arranged in the middle of the mattress, hemmed in by pillows on either side to stop him curling up and aggravating his wound. He'd stayed fast asleep for the entire process, only occasionally making happy, soft sorts of sounds. Sam, meanwhile, was fighting back yawn after yawn, and looked dead on his feet.

"Dean might wake up," Sam protested. "I really should keep an eye on him."

"I don't sleep," Cas pointed out reasonably. "You, however, require it to function. I can check in on Dean occasionally, and make sure everything is alright."

Sam wavered. Cas upped the glare slightly, wondering whether or not he should threaten to just knock Sam unconscious. He didn't think his grace was too drained, but it was something of a bluff.

"Alright," Sam agreed, reluctantly, but agreeing nonetheless. "Just, wake me if anything, I mean anything-"

"Of course," Cas promised. "It will be fine. Go."

Sam nodded uncertainly, then finally lost the battle with his exhaustion and yawned heavily all the way to the door. It swung shut gently behind him, and his footsteps receded in the distance.

Cas looked down at Dean, who shifted slightly and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "pie." Then he settled again, and Cas pulled up a chair and put it in a good watching position. He was determined not to take his eyes off Dean until Sam came back in and relieved him of his duties. But he was not going to let anything happen to Dean on his watch. Whatever Dean needed, Cas would be there. He was going to pay the utmost attention. He….

An hour went by. Watching Dean wasn't particularly interesting. He wasn't very deeply asleep, and he would sometimes stir and mumble, but it was never loud enough to make out exactly what Dean was saying. Cas adjusted the pillows a few times when Dean threatened to send them over the side. Once, Dean got all tangled up in his blankets, and Cas had to gently free him and arrange them over his sleeping form again. He started to look a little pale and cold, so Cas went to the thermostat in the corner and adjusted the heat up a few degrees. He decided to start checking Dean's forehead every thirty minutes to make sure he didn't develop a fever.

Another hour went by, and then Dean's eyes slitted open. They bounced dazedly around the room and finally settled on a spot that was certainly near Cas.

"Hey," Cas said. He tried to make his voice gentle and soothing, the way Sam's had been. It didn't seem very natural. "What are you doing awake?"

He groaned softly and started to curl into himself. His shoulder hit one of the pillows, and he huffed in confusion, trying to lift one arm so he could move it. He didn't seem to have any of his fine motor skills back yet, but using his arm like a flipper, he managed to hit it off the bed and start to curl onto his side before breaking off with a hiss of pain.

"Stop that," Cas said firmly. "It hurts because you've been stabbed. You need to lie still."

This time, Dean's attention actually seemed to catch on Cas. He looked up at the angel and frowned, eyes still unfocused and glassy.

"Cas?" he asked. To Cas's relief, he seemed to be distracted enough that he had stopped struggling.

"Yes? I'm here, Dean."

Dean giggled slightly. "You're in my room."

"Yes."

"I'm in my room."

"Yes, Dean," Cas sighed. He knew it hadn't even been particularly long since the surgery, and he truly couldn't imagine Sam dealing with weeks of Dean like this all on his own. "Go back to sleep."

"Cas?" Dean's voice actually sounded serious now, a bit more lucid than before. "I need some water."

Cas got to his feet hurriedly, sudden visions of Dean trying to get to his feet and get himself water springing into his head. "I'll get it," he told Dean.

Cas got the water, and was about to go back to Dean's room when he realized that Dean hadn't eaten anything in...probably longer than Cas had ever seen him go without food. It seemed like Dean was always eating. He had to be hungry by now. He had seemed nauseous earlier, but that had been hours ago.

Cas looked around frantically for something that wouldn't be too hard on Dean's stomach, but still fulfilled his rules for acceptable sustenance - as far as Cas could tell, these seemed to be limited to "greasy" and "cheap."

Cas finally made a turkey sandwich, and it didn't feel quite right but he'd probably left Dean alone too long as it was. He had no idea what Dean could be doing, and judging from the way he'd been acting, Cas would never be able to guess.

He hurried back through the bunker to Dean's room and slipped quietly through the door. The mound of blankets was still. Maybe Dean had fallen asleep again. Cas made it to the bedside, looked down at the pillows, and froze.

Sam awoke with a jolt, fingers reaching for the gun on his bedside table before his brain told him that he recognized his visitor.

"Cas...what are you doing here?'

Cas paused, and Sam wasn't sure if it was just the light, but Cas looked almost...guilty.

"Sam."

"Cas," Sam replied, staring at the shifty angel. "What is it?"

Cas paused again, then looked at the floor. "I- I seem to have...misplaced...your brother."

"You did WHAT?" Sam yelped, suddenly no longer asleep at all. "How can you misplace a whole PERSON?"

"He was thirsty," Cas explained, and Sam wasn't the slightest bit sympathetic to the abject misery in the angel's tone because somehow Cas had misplaced Dean. "I went to get him water, and when I came back he was gone. Sam, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have left him."

Sam looked at Cas, and he really did want to feel nothing but anger but Cas looked so sad and Sam couldn't quite manage it. Besides, it wasn't really Cas he was angry at. Sam knew that Dean on painkillers was even more unpredictable and erratic than he normally was - and this was the man that had once driven them eleven hours out of their way to see the World's Largest Ball of Twine for no apparent reason. There was really no way Cas would have been able to know what Dean was going to do. And Dean really did need water. Sam should have been awake. Dean after surgery was really a two person job, especially if they were somewhere big like the bunker.

"Where have you checked?" Sam asked.

"Um, many places," Cas said. His eyes drifted back, and Sam could see that he was trying to accurately recount all the places he had checked. "I looked through his bedroom fairly thoroughly, I didn't expect him to have gotten very far. I-"

"Did you check under the bed?" Sam asked. Dean was the opposite of claustrophobic, and if he was drugged up and lost Sam had known him to crawl into rather small spaces.

"Yes," Cas said. "I checked everywhere. I checked his bathroom, but he wasn't there either."

"Shower?" Sam asked. He'd never known high Dean to try to take a shower before, but it wasn't something that he would put past him.

"Yes," Cas said again. "And I checked the hallway and the kitchen and the living room. He wasn't any of those places. Sam, where could he have gone?"

Sam closed his eyes for a second. He tried to think like Dean. Or, perhaps tried was an overstatement. Thinking like Dean came as naturally to him as breathing, and even when Dean was high out of his mind he still knew his brother better than anyone else in the world. He wasn't in the kitchen or the bathroom, which would have been Sam's first two thoughts. Maybe he was in the library? But no, that didn't sound like Dean. But Sam simply couldn't think of that many more rooms the bunker even had, and he didn't think any amount of drugs could get Dean to explore the dungeon or the archives in the basement. Cas could have missed something, Sam supposed, or maybe….

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. He knew exactly where Dean was.

"Garage," Sam whispered.

"What?"

"He's gonna be in the garage. I'm sure of it. Come on, if we catch him before he goes back to sleep he'll be easier to move…."

Sam was already pulling on socks and shoes. The garage was full of bits of broken glass and ceramic, and Sam probably would have brought an extra pair of shoes for Dean if he hadn't known Cas would be there to carry Dean back inside in a worse case scenario.

"What's in the garage?" Cas asked, trailing Sam as he hurried to the door.

"The Impala," Sam said simply, and hurried towards the garage without waiting for the angel.

They made it to the garage in record time, and Sam held his breath as he opened the door, bracing himself for what might be on the other side. But the scene was undisturbed.

For a moment, Sam was worried, thinking perhaps he'd been wrong, and high Dean had wandered off elsewhere. Maybe he wasn't in the garage at all, maybe he'd somehow wandered outside to collect leaves or something equally bizarre.

And then, just as Sam was beginning to get really alarmed, he heard the snoring. It was the thick, heavy snoring that Dean sometimes had, usually as his body struggled to process drugs or alcohol. The snoring signalled that Dean was out for the count, usually past even tossing and turning. The snores tended to be loud and annoying - Sam had even considered earplugs - but right now, Sam would have gladly had it played on loop. All he cared about was that he'd found Dean, and he didn't seem any worse for wear.

Sam approached the Impala, not bothering to be as cautious as was normally necessary when approaching sleeping Dean. High, Dean wasn't likely to have the same reflexes, and was therefore unlikely to punch Sam directly in the nose upon being awoken.

Sam peered in through the driver's side window, and sure enough, Dean was curled on the seat, one hand gently gripping the leather. Softly, Sam opened the door.

"Dean?" Sam said gently, touching Dean's shoulder. Dean's eyes flickered open, and, after a few false starts, focused on Sam.

"'Lo," Dean whispered softly.

"Hey, bro," Sam responded. "Whatcha doin here?"

"Couldn't find anyone," Dean mumbled. "No one but m'baby. Thought you'd find me if I found her."

"You were right," Sam said, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "We found you. Now, do you wanna go back to bed?"

Dean considered, then nodded. "Tired."

"I know." Sam gave Dean's shoulder one last squeeze, and then shifted to trying to heave him to at least a sitting position. It took him about three seconds to realize the attempt was completely useless. Dean was probably still a little high, but more than that, he was clearly exhausted. His body had been abused in a thousand different ways in the past twelve hours, and to Sam, it was honestly a miracle his eyes were even still open. There was no way he could walk back to his own room.

"Cas, can you…?"

"I've got him," Cas said, and he reached into the Impala to scoop Dean out. Dean squirmed for a split second, clearly confused, but then he relaxed into Cas's arms, his head lolling against the angel's chest.

"Tired," he whispered again.

"I know, man," Sam said. "Don't worry. We're bringing you back to your bed now."

Cas carried Dean back to his room, and by the time Cas had set him down in his bed, it was clear he was almost asleep.

"Wait," Dean said suddenly as Cas laid him gently in the bed. Dean curled up slightly, grabbing onto the collar of Cas's jacket with weak, uncoordinated fingers.

"Wait. You...you're leaving again?"

"No, Dean," Cas said solemnly. "I'm sorry I left before. But I won't do it again."

Dean focused on a spot that was certainly close to Sam. His fingers convulsively tightened their hold on Cas's jacket, like by gripping tight to the fabric he could keep Sam there too. "You're not going anywhere either, are you Sam?"

"No, Dean. I won't leave either."

Dean sighed contentedly. "Mkay. You can sleep, but you can't leave."

"Alright," Sam said, already settling himself in a chair where he would have easy access to Dean, where even the slightest change in his brother's breathing would wake him. "I won't leave. But I am going to sleep."

"Sleep," Dean said, nodding agreeably. "You should sleep."

"I know, Dean," Sam whispered. He propped one arm on the edge of the chair. It wasn't a great angle for him to rest his head on, but it would do. He was so tired, anything would do at this point. "I will go to sleep, just as soon as you stop talking."

Dean mumbled something, then patted the bed next to his shoulder.

"What was that?" Sam whispered. God, he really was tired. The hour nap he'd taken before Dean had escaped had only made his exhaustion worse.

"Head there," Dean whispered. "Sleep."

Sam blinked. Somehow, Dean had recognized that Sam was uncomfortable, even while exhausted and in pain and high out of his mind. He was offering Sam a spot to rest his head. Tentatively, Sam leaned forward. It really was much more comfortable. Sam swallowed hard.

"Yeah," Dean said. Sam felt his hand thunk gently against the back of his head. Not particularly coordinated, but clearly meant to be affectionate. "Yeah.
Sam closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.