Cass was glad that things were okay between Bobby and the Winchesters again. Really, she was. She had felt terrible that her convincing Bobby to keep secrets about the future had caused a rift between them. It eased her guilt to know that they seemed to have come to an understanding sometime during the Luther Garland case.

Unfortunately, though, this meant that Bobby was mentioning Sam and Dean every day, giving her quick updates about where the boys were headed next on a hunt or making casual, off-hand remarks about Sam taking one of his books or leaving something-or-other behind. They were all totally normal things to say that should not have made her flinch and stop what she was doing, but she couldn't really help it. She'd been trying so hard to carry on as normal and not think about Sam that hearing his name out of nowhere was jarring. She'd had a few blissful weeks where Bobby had hardly mentioned them, but now it seemed like he was bringing them up all the time.

That probably wasn't true, of course. Bobby was probably mentioning them a normal amount, and she was just hyper-sensitive to it now. After the first few days she managed to become accustomed to hearing Sam's name, though she still couldn't help grimacing if Bobby caught her off guard. At least Bobby hadn't seemed to notice—or if he had, he had the grace not to mention it.

Bobby had been back for a week when he emerged from the kitchen after a phone call and said, "How do you feel about a road trip?"

It took her a moment to process the words. She'd been having a little more luck with the tablet rubbings lately, but reading it put her in a weird headspace and it always took her some time to switch back to normal human language once she'd been staring at it for a while. "Where are we going?"

"We're not going anywhere," said Bobby. "I've got a customer coming in tomorrow and I'm expecting some calls from a hunter out in Wyoming. But Sam's been hexed by a witch and it'll be quicker for you to deliver the ingredients for the counter-spell than to send 'em on a goose chase looking for a local hoodoo shop."

Cass flinched minutely, then frowned, her concern over the thought of Sam being hexed overwhelming her other feelings. Witches, she knew, could be nasty. "Is he okay?"

Bobby waved a careless hand. "It's not life-threatening. But he won't be of much help on the hunt when he can't stop burping up slugs."

Cass grimaced at that visual and tried very hard not to think of what that must feel like. "Okay, yeah, point taken." And then she realized exactly what Bobby was asking her to do, and she said, "You sure they couldn't use your help? I'm happy to man the phones—"

Bobby was already shaking his head. "Like I said, I got a customer. Sam and Dean can handle it, once Sam's back in fighting shape. Do whatever you need to get ready to hit the road—it's about a four hour drive, so I'd suggest you pack a bag unless you plan to drive back through the night. I'll put the ingredients together for you."

Cass sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no getting out of this.

She spent the four hour drive alternating between determinedly not thinking about what she was driving towards and reassuring herself that everything was going to be fine and she was worrying over nothing. She was just playing delivery girl—she'd drop off the spell ingredients, Dean would heal Sam, and then she'd be headed back to Sioux Falls while they headed out to finish off the witch. At Bobby's urging she'd packed an overnight bag, but she had no intention of actually using it. She'd just deliver the ingredients and hit the road again as soon as possible.

This was what she repeated to herself as she hopped out of Bobby's truck in the motel parking lot, lugging the brown grocery bag of spell ingredients with her and seeking out the room number Bobby had given her. Just hand it over and leave, just hand it over and leave, the mantra a comforting repetition in her mind as she knocked on the door and held her breath.

It took long seconds for the door to open, and when it did Cass flinched. She'd been expecting Dean, for obvious reasons, but instead Sam stood in the doorway, looking very confused and giving no indication whatsoever that he had recently been barfing up slugs.

"Cass?" Genuine surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh—" She said, frowning, because she was starting to get the feeling that she was missing something. She held up the bag in her hands. "Bobby sent me? With the ingredients? For the… counter-spell?..." There was no recognition at all on Sam's face. His brow was furrowing, and he looked more and more baffled with each word. Cass sighed wearily. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Sam shook his head mutely. Cass looked over his shoulder into the motel room, where Dean was leaning against the couch and watching this exchange with apparent amusement. Cass's frown deepened. "Neither of you have been cursed by a witch?"

"Yeah, that was a lie," Dean said shamelessly. "We haven't dealt with a witch in ages."

"Dean?" Sam turned to his brother. "What—you knew about this?"

Sam was still confused. Cass had skipped past bafflement and proceeded straight to anger. "Then why the hell am I here?"

Dean pulled his keys from his pocket and pushed away from the couch. "I'm gonna leave, and you two are gonna talk."

Cass blanched at that, eyes going wide. Dean, seeing the expression, gave her a grim little smile. Sam glared. "What did you do?"

Dean shook his head, utterly unaffected by the look. "Something's up with you, man. You don't wanna talk to me about it? That's fine. But you're gonna have to talk to her. And as for you—" Dean turned to point at Cass. "Bobby wouldn't have sent you if you didn't keep wincing every time he says Sam's name."

She couldn't help wincing now, even though it only proved Dean's stupid point and made his eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head again. "I'm getting a drink. You two sort out your shit."

And then Dean was gone, the door slammed shut behind him and leaving Cass and Sam avoiding each other's eyes in awkward silence. To distract herself she put the brown bag down on the motel room's tiny little table—and then, because apparently there had been no hex and no need for a counter-spell in the first place, she tore open the bag to see just what she'd driven four hours across state lines to deliver.

An assortment of travel-sized liquor bottles, some beef jerky, and a bundle of dried sage. Cass pinched the bridge of her nose and cursed under her breath, already fantasizing about what she was going to do to get back at Bobby for pulling this shit.

Behind her, Sam cleared his throat softly. "…You wince when Bobby says my name?"

Cass didn't turn around. "Apparently." She sorted through the tiny liquor bottles, considering each one in turn. "It's not like it was a conscious decision on my part."

"Oh."

Cass squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. She might as well say it. She was already here, anyway.

"I'm sorry."

"What?" said Sam, sounding genuinely surprised. Cass finally turned around, leaning against the table and crossing her arms.

"I said, I'm sorry." She couldn't meet Sam's gaze, but she watched him out of the corner of her eye as she let the words flow out of her. "I know you and Dean deserved to know the truth, and I should have told you sooner, but I was so worried about what might happen and how you might react that I was afraid to tell you everything. And I know that's not an excuse—I'm not trying to make excuses, Sam, but you gave me this big speech about us being on the same team, and then you kissed me and I asked you to wait because I was afraid you'd be angry with me once you knew everything, and now you do, and you are, and I'm just sorry, okay?"

"Cass, I'm not—" Sam stepped forward with one hand raised, then quickly dropped it. He swallowed and said, "I'm not angry with you."

Cass finally looked at him straight on, disbelieving. "You're not?"

"No. I'm not." His eyes were wide and sincere, his palms held out in a non-threatening stance. He really wasn't angry.

Cass was beginning to be. "Then what the hell, Sam?!" Her voice rose, and she didn't bother to temper it. "I told you everything, and then suddenly you won't even touch me, let alone—" She cut that thought off with a shake of her head. "And the next morning you take off for a hunt with barely a word, and then you don't talk to me for weeks! If you're not angry with me, then what the hell, Sam?!"

Sam swallowed hard and looked away. "I… shouldn't have kissed you."

Cass closed her eyes against the sharp pain that caused. Voice shaking, she ground out, "You're going to have to say more than that."

Sam let out a breath of frustration. "Cass—I'm dangerous. I mean, I knew that already, but especially now… Being around me, it gets people killed. People I care about."

"So, what, you're trying to protect me?" Her tone was too mocking, too sharp, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was wounded, and Sam was stupidly twisting the knife while simultaneously trying to tell her it was for her own good. "By not talking to me? By not caring about me?"

"I'm not talking to you because I care about you," Sam said earnestly. His jaw was set stubbornly and Cass couldn't decide if she wanted to kiss it or punch it. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Cass barked a humorless laugh. "It's a little late for that."

Sam's expression became, if anything, even more stubborn. "Better late than never."

"Yeah?" She said, feigning interest. "And what exactly do you hope to accomplish by cutting me out? I'm not some civvie with a normal life to go back to, Sam—I'm a Prophet of the Lord. I've already pissed off at least two archangels, plus most of Heaven and Hell. I'm in danger all the time. I really fail to see how you could make it any worse."

"But all of that's my fault, isn't it?" said Sam. "Summoning you here, forcing you to help save Dean—"

"You didn't force me—" Cass interrupted, offended. Sam spoke over her, nearly shouting.

"I got you stuck here! I pressured you to change things, and ever since then you've just been in more and more danger. Hell, the Witnesses, Raphael—what if he'd captured you? Or Cuthbert Sinclair? What if he hadn't let us in so he could save Henry? What if he'd just kept you?"

"I'm not seeing your point, Sam."

Sam shook his head, his eyes dark, his lips twisted. "My point is, I need to stay away from you. Before I get you killed."

Cass paused, letting all of that bullshit sink in for a minute. Then she laughed again, and there was no kindness or amusement in the sound. Sam twitched a little, then watched her warily.

"Wow," she said, bitterness thick in her voice. "You know that not everything is about you, right? I didn't save Dean because you pressured me, Sam. I helped because it was the right thing to do. I've known better than you this whole time exactly how dangerous my actions were, and how many enemies I'd make, and I still chose to do it all because it's the right thing to do. Because people will die if I don't, and I have the knowledge to do something about it."

"So do we," Sam said, unaffected. "Me and Dean and Bobby—you've told us everything, right?" Cass nodded once, reluctantly. "Then you don't have to be involved anymore."

"I'm still a fucking Prophet, Sam," she reminded him sharply. "I'm involved whether I want to be or not."

"So go to the bunker, then," he said quickly. "Hide out where it's safe, translate the tablet. Stop putting yourself at risk."

"Are you serious?" His scowl told her that he was. Cass huffed in disbelief. "No. No, Sam. You don't get to give me orders. You don't get to sideline me because—because, what? You think I'm not useful anymore?"

"You're a liability," Sam said coldly. "I don't want to worry about keeping you safe anymore."

She couldn't breathe. The look on his face was hard and cruel and far, far removed from the man who'd told her that she was his friend, that he cared about her—the man who'd assured her that she wasn't alone, that they were on the same team and that whatever came, they'd face it together. The man she loved.

It was fortunate she'd had practice burying the hurt over these last few weeks. She might have broken down, otherwise. As it was, she shunted the pain to the back of her mind with all the rest of it and forced her eyes not to burn, forced her voice to stay cool and sharp and unwavering.

"Don't, then."

She slammed the door behind her.

She was dialing before she was even really aware of what she was doing. Through the rage and hurt she was rational enough to realize that it would be highly dangerous to try to drive in the condition she was in. She'd walked straight past the truck Bobby had loaned her, out of the motel parking lot and down the road, moving quickly and without purpose or direction. It didn't matter where she was going, it only mattered that she put distance between herself and Sam fucking Winchester.

The line rang three times before Jo answered. "Hey, Cass, what's up?"

"Hey." Cass swallowed hard, feeling the throat go tight. The tears she'd worked so hard to suppress back in the motel room stung at her eyes. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just—" Cass choked as she realized why she'd dialed Jo on instinct. "I just really wish I could talk to my sister right now."

"What happened?" Jo sounded alarmed. "What's going on?"

Cass would never quite remember exactly what she said. All the emotions she'd been holding back for weeks and months came pouring out of her all at once. Tears leaked from her eyes as she wandered down random streets and rambled about Sam and his stupid kindness and caring and how she'd stupidly fallen in love with him, how he'd gotten her hopes up and then ghosted her and told her to go away because caring about her was a liability he didn't want.

It wasn't really a surprise that she found herself sitting on a bench in a dog park when she'd finished her tearful diatribe. She had no clear memory of walking there, but with Forrest back at Bobby's house it made sense she'd somehow found the next best thing. Her tale finished, she sniffed and focused on catching her breath, watching a golden retriever proudly fetching a comically large stick.

"I'm gonna punch him." Cass let out a watery laugh and Jo continued, "Laugh all you want, sister, I'm dead serious. Where does he get off, talking to you like that?"

There was a loud beep in Cass's ear. She frowned and pulled the phone away from her ear to see what the cause of it was, then grimaced. "He's calling me."

"Ignore him," Jo ordered. "He doesn't deserve to talk to you right now."

Cass agreed, though she wondered aloud, "What if he's calling to apologize?"

"Is he?" Jo said, skeptically.

"No," Cass sighed. She wrinkled her nose and said derisively, "He's probably just worrying about keeping me safe. My car's still parked in front of their motel—he probably thinks I was abducted by demons or something."

"Good," Jo said immediately. "Let him sweat."

"Jo." It was supposed to be an admonishment, but it was half-hearted at best.

"What?" Jo said unapologetically. "He just said he doesn't want to worry about keeping you safe anymore."

"He did say that," Cass agreed miserably. Her phone beeped again—Sam, still trying to reach her.

"Exactly. So, fuck him." Jo paused, then added, "Not literally, obviously. Wait 'til he's apologized for that."

"Jo." This admonishment was more serious, but Jo disregarded it all the same.

"And no phone apologies, either, you hear me? He better grovel in person."

Cass's phone beeped a third time. She glanced at the screen and sighed wearily. "Dean's calling now."

"Do you want to answer?"

"Not particularly," Cass admitted. But Dean didn't deserve to worry about her, even if he had concocted this shitty plan to get her and Sam to talk to each other. "But I should at least—"

"Don't worry about it. Hold on a sec." There was a rustling on the other end of the line and some indistinct voices that Cass couldn't make out. Then Jo said smugly, "Mom'll let them know you're fine."

"Oh, god," Cass muttered. "Is that all she'll let them know?"

"'Course not," Jo said brightly.

Dean frowned when he came back to the motel room. He'd texted first, saying he was headed back and asking if he needed to book another room—partly because it was his job to tease his younger brother, and partly because he was genuinely hoping that those two had finally stopped pretending they weren't crazy about each other and were finally acting on their long-unresolved sexual tension. Sam had texted back No, which was a disappointment, but not as much of a disappointment as coming back to find Sam alone, sitting on his bed and glaring at the carpet with enough intensity Dean was surprised it hadn't caught fire.

"Where's Cass?" Dean asked, closing the door behind him. Sam turned his venomous glare on him.

"She left."

"Talk didn't go well, I take it," Dean said casually. Sam's glare ratcheted up a notch, and Dean ignored it with practiced ease. "Well, she can't have gone far. Her truck's still here."

Sam's glare faltered. "What?"

Dean raised an eyebrow and pulled back the motel curtain to show Bobby's borrowed truck still parked in the motel's parking lot. Sam pushed off the bed and was out the door in the next second, heading for the truck and circling it with his eyebrows drawn together. Dean followed, watching as Sam pulled out his phone and dialed, presumably trying to call Cass and only getting more agitated with each unanswered call.

"She's not picking up." Dean wasn't particularly worried about that. There were no signs of a struggle and no sulphur around. Between that and the dark, stubborn look on Sam's face, Dean was pretty sure Cass's radio silence had more to do with Sam putting his foot in his mouth than her being in any sort of danger. His confidence increased when Sam turned to him and demanded, "You call her."

"What, you think she'll pick up for me, but not you?" Dean said, wondering just how bad Sam must have fucked up for that to be the case. "Seriously?"

Sam glared. "Just call her."

Dean shook his head, but tried it. A robotic voice informed him that the line was busy and then shunted him to voicemail. "She's not picking up for me, either," he said. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Sam denied sharply. "This is only happening because of the stunt you and Bobby pulled."

"You weren't talking to me, Sam," Dean said simply. "You weren't talking. What else was I supposed to do?"

Sam looked like he was getting ready to offer a few suggestions that might involve the words mind your own damn business or shove it, but Dean's phone buzzed in his hand and he quickly answered it.

"Cass?"

"Guess again."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Ellen. Hey." He shot a glance at Sam, who looked equally confused.

"Hello, Dean," Ellen greeted lightly. Too lightly? "Is Sam there with you?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said hesitantly, "But listen, we're kind of in the middle of—"

"Looking for Cass, yes, I know," Ellen interrupted. "Put me on speaker, would you?"

Bemused, Dean obeyed. "Okay, Ellen, you're on speaker."

"Ellen?" Sam greeted uncertainly.

"Sam," Ellen responded, a little tersely. "Firstly, Cass is just fine. She's been talking to Jo for the past hour. They're still talking now, as a matter of fact, which is why I'm calling."

"Cass called Jo?" Sam frowned. "Why?"

"Yes, she did. As for why—those girls have as good as adopted each other, which means Cass is as good as mine. Now, I don't know what all's going on. Jo didn't tell me. All I know for certain is that Cass isn't ready to talk to you, and that you're real lucky my daughter isn't there in person to give you the black eyes she's been talking about."

"Whoa, hang on!" Dean said. "I haven't done anything!"

Sam glared at him. "Really, Dean?"

"What? You two had to talk."

Sam ignored him. "Ellen, where is Cass now?"

"That's none of your business right now, Sam."

"Ellen, please. She might be in danger."

"Oh, yeah?" Ellen said, and Dean could practically see the unimpressed look on her face. "From what? Regular angels can't find her, and anything that puts her in real danger will bring down an archangel. So? What is it?"

Sam stared at the phone, jaw working silently but saying nothing.

"Yeah. That's what I thought," said Ellen. "You two stay safe, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, mostly on instinct. Ellen hung up and Dean tucked the phone back into his pocket.

Sam ran his hand through his hair, muttered "Damn it," and then set off across the parking lot. Dean jogged after him and caught him by the shoulder. "Whoa, where're you going?"

Sam shrugged his hand off roughly. "To find Cass."

"Dude, she made it pretty clear she doesn't wanna be found right now," Dean reminded him. Sam ignored him, pushing past Dean toward the sidewalk. Dean sighed and pointed out, "She's gotta come back for the car at some point. Why don't you just wait for her to cool off? And just what the hell did you say to piss her off so bad, anyway?"

"Stay here in case she comes back," Sam called over his shoulder.

"Sam—"

Sam turned, and Dean cut himself off at the look of sheer desperation on his brother's face. "Dean, please."

Dean held his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you when she punches you in the face again."