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by PixieLeigh1234

Sam desperately hopes to find a cure from the MoC for Dean. When Sam finds it, Dean refuses, until circumstances leave him unable to refuse any longer. But with the cure, consequences follow. Consequences Sam, Dean and Cas could never have foreseen. But will the knowledge they seek in the aftermath provide answers, or will it leave them all once again facing an uncertain future.

9. Chapter 9

A/N - Thank you to all those who have reviewed, favourite'd or followed my story. You feed me fuel and inspire me to continue writing this, so please keep it up :). All mistakes are my own. All right, enough from me, on with the story.

#SPN#

Chapter Nine

Leaning half against the passenger side door and the back of the rear seat, Sam yawns before swinging his legs down into the footwell and sitting up straight. He had switched to sitting mostly lengthways across the backseat an hour ago when Dean threatened to pull the car over after Sam kicked the back of the front seat for the sixth time. Like it was Sam's fault his legs had become restless and cramped. And, yeah, maybe the last few kicks had been on purpose, but that's Dean's own fault for telling Sam off like he's five just because Dean's grumpy.

Which granted is probably Sam's fault, too. He doesn't know exactly how much sleep his brother and Cas have managed to fit in over the past few days, but he doubts it's all that much. Dean, however, has been insistent they get as far into the journey to Olympia as possible before they stop for the night. They've stopped once for gas, a bathroom break and to grab the snacks out of the trunk in the space of four hours and nearly three hundred miles, and that was only a ten minute rest stop, if that. And it's only when Dean swerves onto the verge for the third time that Cas finally snaps, telling Dean he either finds them a room for the night or Cas takes over the wheel.

Needless to say just over twenty minutes later Dean's swinging the Impala into the streetlight lit parking lot of the first motel they come across; The Dove Creek Motel.

Sam covers a yawn behind his hand, though clearly not enough as Dean's keen eyes find his in the rear-view mirror. Thankfully, Dean makes no mention of it and instead opens his door, stepping out of the car. Sam follows, along with Cas, and shivers in the cold November air of Wyoming. He reaches back into the car, snagging his winter jacket and throwing it on, immensely grateful to Dean for remembering to bring it with them.

"Cas, you wanna do the honours?" Dean says, holding up his wallet, before sliding it across the car roof.

Cas snags the wallet before it can topple off the roof and heads for the motel reception at the far end of the two storey straight block of rooms. It looks pretty decent from the outside. But it's also a motel that doesn't offer parking directly outside each room which Sam knows his brother hates. Dean's never afraid to be vocal about that either, but still has to put up with having the Impala a few extra feet away from the room when a town or highway offers no other accommodation. As it is, there are only two other cars in the lot. And both are parked a good seven or eight spaces away from where Dean's parked the Impala.

Sam scrubs at an eye before resting his elbows on the roof of the Impala so he can talk to his brother better. "You know, I still think this is a bad idea," he comments not for the first time today since waking up at the market.

"Stopping here for the night?" Dean raises an eyebrow. "I ain't crashing my baby 'cause I can't keep my damn eyes open, Sammy."

Sam stares at his brother, refraining from rolling his eyes; now Dean is willing to admit he needed to stop for the night. Just when Cas isn't in their vicinity. Typical. Plus his brother knows full well that wasn't what Sam was referring to with his statement.

Dean's eyes roll heavenward as he sighs. "All right, don't get you're panties in a wad, Samantha. Haven't I promised I won't gank Rowena the second we find her? Like a thousand times already."

"Yeah, but what about the second after? Because Cas is right, Dean. Rowena could have some useful information on the spell and you know killing her won't get us anything."

"I know that, Sam. That's why I agreed to this frigging hunt in the first place."

"Right. But I'm just saying …" Sam pauses, knowing what he's about to suggest may not go over well with his overprotective big brother, but he has to try. He's been stewing on the idea and they do need whatever Rowena could give them. "Maybe, you know, when we do find her… Cas and I should approach her."

"That's not happening, Sam," Dean immediately shoots down, moving around to the trunk as he does.

Sam follows him. "But Dean …"

"Sam," Dean places strict emphasis on Sam's name to stop him talking, "It's not happening. Whenever we catch up with that bitch, we're going after her together, end of. And if she does offer up some helpful insight then maybe afterwards I'll just cut her tongue out so she can't piss me off anymore."

"Dean …"

"Sam …"

"They only have one room free," Cas' voice interrupts from beside them. Sam and Dean turn to see the ex-angel holding up a key, the man's blue eyes roving over the all-but empty lot in an exaggerated manner before looking back to them. "Number one-twelve. Apparently a small room with a queen and a twin."

"Great," Sam grumbles, snatching up his duffle from within the trunk, knowing where he'll be sleeping tonight. Which added with Dean's unwillingness to listen just pisses him off.

"Its fine, Cas," Dean cuts off what Sam's about to say next which is probably just as well. "Sammy's more than capable of sleeping in a twin. He'll just have to keep his fidgeting to a minimum so he doesn't fall out."

"Well you two better keep the sex non-existent so I don't THROW you out!" Sam snaps and stomps off, clearly catching Dean's next sentence.

"I swear to god that kid's gonna get a proper ass spanking before we're done with this search, Cas."

Sam glares at the floor, kicking at the gravel as he heads towards the room. He swings his duffle down from his shoulder and lobs it at the door of one-twelve in frustration. The bag hits the door with a thud before hitting the ground. He feels the hand on his butt not ten seconds later; the noise of the swat sounding as loud as a gunshot in the open air, before the sting sweeps across his right butt cheek.

He turns swiftly, his hands flying back to cover his bottom as the embarrassment of being swatted in public like a naughty child for the second time in one day sweeps through him. Even if there is no one currently around to have witnessed it like there had been in the supermarket earlier. He meets the sharp gaze of his brother with a glare; Cas moving passed them to open the motel room door, expression clearly disapproving.

"I get you're tired, Sam," Dean says sharply, "but if you don't quit it with these displays of attitude you're gonna be facing some time in a corner …"

"I don't need no frigging time out, Dean! So go screw yourself!"

Dean grabs him by his left bicep, dislodging that hand from his butt, and turns him swiftly to the side before Sam can protest. "Move your hand," Dean demands, voice full of steel.

Sam gulps, horribly aware he isn't getting away from this and drops his right hand from his bottom. Then his hips are shooting forward from the five hard swats Dean delivers him, his jeans shielding him from very little of the sting. Tears well in his eyes and fall unchecked down his cheeks. A second later he's being hauled through their motel room door and Sam barely gets a glimpse of the room before he's staring too closely at miniature birds decorating two intersecting walls.

"Ten minutes, Samuel," Dean says firmly, while Sam feels his brother's fingers at his wrists, giving a tug at the sleeves of his winter jacket and the item of clothing slides down Sam's arms and off his body. "And I better see a little boy who can behave himself by that time."

Sam yelps as Dean's hand lands another sharp swat to his bottom before he hears his brother moving away from directly behind him. Sam swipes at his eyes. This is really not fair. Why do I have to be stuck with a big brother that treats me like I'm still fucking three years old? He thinks snidely as he sticks his thumb in his mouth.

Nine minutes later he's itching to be released from the corner and not just because he needs to pee. Outside of a spanking, being put in time out is the punishment he hates the most. Whether it's in a corner, on a step, the floor, or on a chair, he despises it. There's a whole bunch of other things he can think to be doing with his time instead of wasting them away on a punishment like this. He sighs, guess that's why Dean knows it's effective on me. Maybe if I act like I love it …

"Sam, turn around."

Sam just manages to stop himself from jumping at the sound of Dean's gruff voice in the silence of the room even though he had been expecting it. He turns around, heat covering his face as he's confronted with his brother and Cas' scrutinising gazes. And the motel manager really hadn't been kidding when he'd told Cas it was only a small room.

The queen bed is practically sitting on top of the two-chair table squashed underneath the one window situated in the same wall as the room door. The twin is crammed against the far wall, only a thin slab of wood separating it from the queen, creating only a small aisle between the two beds. The bathroom door has to be only five feet away from the end of the beds, a dark wood armchair sitting next to it in the corner. A long, matching wooden eighties-style bureau runs along the outer bathroom wall, an old and bulky television set perched atop it. An almost non-existent kitchenette stands right next to the bureau. They are definitely going to be stepping on each other's toes, but they've stayed in worst places.

At least it's clean.

Dean's staring at him from his position seated on the edge of the queen closest to the door. While Cas sits at the table before Dean, their knees practically touching. "You about ready to be done with your time out, Samuel Dean?"

Sam nods vigorously from where he's planted in the corner between the window and the queen bed. "Uh-huh," he mumbles around his thumb, forgetting it was there, and slips it from his mouth. "Yes sir." He really wants to ignore this whole situation, just get passed both men and go to the bathroom, but he also wants Dean's strong arms holding him; comforting him.

"Then c'mere, Sammy," Dean instructs taking the choice away from him.

Sam quickly steps forward and Dean immediately pulls him down onto a knee, wrapping strong arms around him. Sam sags, wrapping his own arms around his brother, gripping tightly at the back of the man's shirt.

"'M sorry," he mumbles against his brother's ear, tears once again rising.

"I know, kiddo," Dean's voice ghosts over Sam's ear. "But you gotta try curbing the attitude, okay? And the tantrums." Sam nods through a sniffle, though he's really not sure he can do either. It all just sprouts out of him before his brain kicks in, whether because of anger, frustration or a whole gamut of other emotions, and by then it's too late and he's in trouble. "We're asking that you try, Sammy, that's all," Dean adds as if sensing Sam's inner turmoil.

Sam nods again. "Can try."

"Atta boy." Dean pats his back lightly.

Sam sits back after soaking up the comfort of Dean's arms for another minute. He swipes at his eyes before leaning over to give a surprised Cas a hug and an apology as well. He feels the former-angel's arms wrap around him to return the embrace. Clearing his throat self-consciously as he pulls back a moment later, he rises from Dean's knee and snatches up his duffle from the table, where Cas and Dean's bags also reside. He gives both his brother and Cas a small shy smile before he crosses the room to dump his bag on the twin bed before hurrying into the bathroom.

Coming out a moment later with both an empty bladder and a washed face, Sam grabs up the television remote from the bureau and flops down on the end of the queen. Dean takes his place in the bathroom without bothering to close the door. Sam rolls his eyes and kicks off his boots with two dull thuds against the carpet. He shifts onto his tummy, absently kicking his feet back and forth behind him as he switches on the TV, flicking through the channels. Maybe if he can find a movie or a cartoon that requires very little in the way of brainwork it'll perk him up enough to get back to his research.

Dean walks out of the bathroom, curls an arm around Cas' waist as the former-angel moves to head into the bathroom, and kisses him. Sam rolls his eyes again and coughs, loudly. Dean waves a hand at him and continues kissing his boyfriend, until Cas pulls away with a small laugh, a blush coating his cheeks. Dean shoots Sam a smirk as he releases Cas' waist so Cas can enter the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

And with a jolt of guilt Sam realises that neither man had paid attention to their own needs in waiting for Sam to be done with his punishment. And now that he thinks back, he hadn't heard any ruffling of movement or the opening and closing of the bathroom door which he would expect after a long journey. For the whole ten minutes, both men had probably been sat where Sam found them upon turning from the corner. And dammit, he is not going to cry again.

"Going for food!" Dean calls out making Sam jump out of his thoughts. His brother grabs up the car keys he'd only a minute ago thrown onto the table. "Sammy?" Blinking, Sam turns his gaze up to his brother. "Shower and pj's on while I'm gone. You're in bed on time tonight, kiddo."

Sam's cheeks heat with the mention of his bedtime. He had really hoped his brother had forgotten all about that. "Dean, I've been asleep on and off for most of the day already. You can't expect me to go to sleep yet," Sam points out before lowering his voice, just in case someone might be listening in on the other side of thin motel walls as he adds, "and we agreed I wouldn't have that stupid bedtime on a hunt."

"When did we agree on that, Sam?" Dean looks upwards slightly before saying, "Oh right, we didn't. I do remember that I agreed with myself that only on the night of the hunt you'd be exempt from your bedtime." Dean offers a smile and a pat to Sam's head that feels to Sam just on the edge of condescending. "Maybe that's what you're thinking, buddy."

"That's not what you said, Dean!" Sam exclaims in frustration, before remembering where they are and lowers his voice. "And hunts aren't always consigned to one freaking night."

"Well that's too bad for you, Sammy," Dean responds picking up his gun where he'd also set it on the table and stuffs it in his back waistband. "Cause your butt's still in bed by ten."

"No," Sam replies shortly, rising to his knees and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Excuse me?" Dean's voice is now firm once again, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"You heard me, Dean. I said no. N. O. You'd think you of all people would recognise the word seen as you use it on me often enough!"

As soon as the words are out of his mouth Sam knows instantly the latter part should have stayed locked away in his head. And he bites his bottom lip, doing his best to stay where he is and not shift around under the intense glower he's now receiving. Even though he would love nothing more than to sit back on his heels where his bottom is reasonably safe from his big brother's hand. Because he's already been in trouble tonight. And here he is, not five minutes later, borrowing even more.

"Pretty sure I didn't catch that, Sammy," Dean says, voice a low rumble. "You care to repeat it?"

Crap. If Sam says he doesn't want to repeat it he'll be saying no again. And if he does repeat himself he'll still be saying no. Sam would choose door number three but that would also mean keeping quiet and Dean won't like that anymore than Sam saying no again. Double crap.

Dean steps up right in front of him. Sam only blinks just the once but clearly long enough for Dean to swiftly reach around him and land his strong hand against Sam's bottom again.

"Ow," he yelps, one hand shooting out to brace himself against his big brother's chest as he wobbles forwards on the bed, the other flying behind him to rub out the sting.

Dean grasps his upper arms, steadying him, and Sam bites his bottom lip again under his brother's still present grim frown of disapproval. "I really shouldn't have to warn you for a second time in the space of five minutes, Samuel, but if you keep on giving me attitude like this it won't get you anything except even more of a sore ass," Dean tells him firmly. "So I'd really quit while you're ahead. You have rules. One of which sees you in bed by ten."

Sam brushes at his moist eyes – stupid, irritating emotions - and keeps his glare to a minimum. "Your new rules suck."

Dean shakes his head. "These aren't new rules you're living, Sam, and you know it. And shut that crap off," Dean waves a hand towards the bureau.

Sam's glare shifts to a frown at the abrupt subject change. He looks back to the muted television, realising his channel hopping has landed on a porn channel. "Oh." He feels his cheeks burn brighter, "I didn't mean to …"

Dean nods sharply, "I know, kiddo. Just turn it off."

Holding out the remote to switch channels, Sam sits back on his heels, eyes widening as he has to tilt his head almost upside down to view the images on screen. Dean invades his vision a second later, smacking his hand against the television set to switch it off.

Sam blinks up at him, shifting himself back upright. "Dean, can people really have sex like that?" he questions, knuckling an eye and smothering a yawn. "It didn't look very… comfortable."

Dean blinks at him and gives him a strange look Sam can't decipher. "Right, no more unsupervised TV for you, baby boy," his brother states sternly, leaning down to pull the plug from the outlet.

"But, Dean, I wanna watch TV," he whines. "And 'm not a baby. I have had sex you know. You and Cas demonstrated my knowledge not too long ago in fact."

"Shut it, Sam. You're not watching porn. Or anymore Game of Thrones episodes for that matter."

"What?" Sam stares at his brother flabbergasted. What the hell's Games of Thrones got to do with anything? "That-that-that-that's ridiculous, Dean!"

"No, Sam, it's not. Because you asking me if people can have sex in that kinda common position… it shows just how innocent you actually are where sex is concerned."

"Oh," Sam feels the heat in his cheeks deepen. He hadn't known that was a common way. Sam shrugs to hide his embarrassment and says, "Guess that means I should just go get more experience then." He knows his soulless self got in plenty of experience, but Sam shut those memories away a long time ago. He doesn't do hookers. Dean would smack him.

Speaking of his brother… Dean's face is twisted into a furious glare, his hands curling up into fists. His mouth opens to say something before he snaps it closed again and storms off.

Sam swiftly pushes himself back up onto his knees, more than confused and worried by his brother's behaviour. "What's wrong with you?" he calls after his brother, but the only response he receives is a barked "Get your ass in the shower, Sam!" before the motel door is slamming behind Dean.

"Can't get my ass in the shower," Sam flops back on the bed with a huff, dropping an arm over his face. "Cas is still in there."

Seriously, what kind of bug has crawled up his brother's butt lately? Dean not appreciating porn is like… well… Sam doesn't even know what to compare that to. It's not like Sam would have sat there and watched the thing in front of Dean. That goes against the guy code… or something. He probably wouldn't even have watched it if Dean wasn't there either because… Sam bodily shivers, wanting to grab his knife and gouge his eyes out against what he'd just witnessed on screen. Because that was just icky.

He hears the bathroom door open a moment later, hears Cas enter the main room, but he doesn't move to shift his arm from his face.

"Sam, is something the matter?"

"Dean's being an ass as usual," Sam grumbles. Dropping his arm down from covering his face, he turns his head towards Cas, watching as the former-angel pours himself a glass of water from the kitchenette faucet. "Cas… do you know why Dean's got a problem with me where, um," Sam clears his throat, feels his face heat again, "err, sex is concerned?"

Cas turns to him still drinking from the glass, his eyebrows arched in surprise. He pulls the glass away after a moment and takes a breath, turning back to the faucet to rinse the glass out. "What would make you draw that conclusion, Sam?" Cas questions over the sound of the water.

"Because he just said as much before he stormed off," Sam responds, pushing himself into a seated position.

Sam hears Cas sigh before the man sets the glass on the draining board and proceeds to dry his hands. Cas crosses to the queen, absently brushing hair off Sam's forehead, and sits on the edge thirty seconds later, facing Sam, with one leg tucked under the other thigh. "Sam, you know your brother is protective of you …"

"Overprotective, but carry on."

Cas is unimpressed by Sam's interruption if his expression is anything to go by. "Yes. And… as far as you having sex goes, Dean's feelings on the subject are… muddled. He doesn't understand why. But he doesn't like the thought of someone touching you like that. Hurting you. If …"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it!" Sam interrupts, putting his hands up in front of him, trying to actually comprehend what Cas is implying. "Some girl touching me in a sexual way now qualifies as hurting me?"

"It does when you cannot give proper consent."

Sam blinks, frowns, arch's his eyebrows, before settling for a deep, deep frown. "Dean thinks I can't give proper consent?" he reiterates slowly. "Really? Because me being a thirty-two year old man doesn't qualify?"

Cas sighs softly. "You are still very young, Sam. You shouldn't be thinking or worrying about such things."

"What the hell, Cas?" Sam jumps up from the bed. "You think I'm too young to be having sex?" he fumes. "Dean thinks that too?"

"Sam …"

Sam shakes his head. Taking the few steps of his long legs needed to reach the bathroom, he enters, slamming and locking the door behind him. Leaning against the door Sam smacks the back of his head against it several times in aggravation. Because what the absolute fuck is going on?

"Sam, please unlock the door."

Sam debates leaving it locked just to annoy the former-angel. Unfortunately, the only one that move will not benefit will be Sam, especially if Cas tells Dean. Or if Dean gets back before the door is unlocked. Because Sam knows the rule. The one he and Dean have had for as long as Sam can remember, and has now been extended to Cas. You do not put locked doors between family. At least in this family. You can close the door all the way, but not lock it. The only exception they've ever had to that rule was the locks Dean put on the interior of Sam's bedroom door and Sam had had to use to escape a Mark of Cain infused brother.

Sam sighs and unlocks the door.

"Thank you, Sam."

Running his hands roughly through his hair, Sam lets out another sigh and crosses the short distance to the tub. He quickly works out how to start the shower and switches it on, knowing Dean will be even more pissed if Sam hasn't made a start on getting showered before he returns. And, god, he really needs to get away from the pair of overprotective doofus' he's travelling with and get to a library. Where he can research what could have gotten to Dean and Cas, without either one of them knowing what he's doing. Because something has obviously gotten into them both.

Suggesting Sam's too young to be having sex. Seriously? That coming from Dean of all people? Sure, some part of Dean still thinks Sam's his innocent baby brother, there's no real leap there, and okay yeah, with some, fine, most things regarding sex, maybe he is. He knows he's pretty vanilla. But Cas? An ex-angel who only lost his virginity four years ago? Sam shakes his head.

An ex-angel who lost his virginity to a very experienced Dean, Sam reminds himself with another shiver. One who has been sleeping with my brother off and on ever since. And clearly very much on now. Damn, Cas probably does now have more sexual experience than I do. Well shit.

Stripping out of his clothing, he steps in the tub and places his body under the hot spray. It's a painful mistake and he throws himself backwards out of the spray's reach with a yelp. And then grunts as his shoulder hits the wall behind him. His too sensitive skin is far from appreciative of being put under that scorching temperature; something he had stupidly forgotten to check before stepping under it.

"Sam, are you okay?!" Cas' concerned voice calls through the bathroom door a moment later, a knock following.

"I'm fine!" Sam calls back, doing his best to rein in his anger at the man. "Shower's too hot."

"Do you need me to assist you with the temperature?"

"No, I can manage." I hope.

"Very well. Call me if you do."

"Whatever," Sam mumbles.

He tries to shift the showerhead to face the wall and grumbles under his breath a few seconds later upon realising it doesn't actually move. Leaning down, resting one hand on the bathtub's rim, he leans to the side, shoulder pushing out the curtain as he tries to reach around to the faucet without burning himself under the spray. His wet hand slips off the bathtub's rim a moment later, and a gasp of surprise leaves him as he just manages to catch himself from fully toppling out of the bathtub, naked butt over head, by bracing a hand on the floor.

"Sonuvabitch," he curses lightly, the edge of the bath digging into his thighs. Well that was even stupider than not checking the temperature. Good job, Sam.

"Sam?" Cas' voice calls through the bathroom door again. "Do you need me to come in?"

"No! I'm good!" Sam calls back quickly, far from wanting Cas to witness this embarrassing moment as he struggles to get both feet back onto the bathtub floor without planting his face into the bath rug first.

Finally getting himself upright again, Sam steps out of the tub onto the bath rug. Something he should have done to begin with. He adjusts the faucet to a lower setting, giving the hot water a moment to cool down. He then cautiously places his hand underneath the spray to test the temperature, and grins lightly when he feels it's a lot cooler, but warm enough for him to shower in. He steps back into the tub, stepping under the spray and quickly runs through his shower, using the motel supplied shampoo and soaps. His anger at what Cas was saying meant Sam hadn't had the forethought to bring his duffle in the bathroom with him.

#SPN#

Dean swings the Impala back into the same space on The Dove Creek Motel's parking lot that he only ten minutes ago vacated and shuts off the engine. Grabbing up the bag of takeout and the cup carrier from the passenger seat he climbs from the car, locking the door behind him. He makes a mental note to give her a once over either later tonight or first thing in the morning before they head out again.

Withdrawing the room key from his jacket pocket he opens the door and is immediately greeted with a guilty and glum faced Cas seated on the end of the queen, a bottle of beer in his hand. And no Sammy in sight. Luckily Dean can hear the shower going in the bathroom, because if the kid had taken off …

"What happened?" he questions, dumping the room key, his car keys and the food on the table beside him while giving the room door a kick to close it.

Cas runs a hand over his hair, taking a swig from the beer. "Considering your speedy exit, Sam had questions," he responds, keeping his voice low. "I may have revealed something he wasn't ready to hear."

Well fuck that could be anything. At the moment there are probably over half a dozen things wandering around Dean's head that he would rather his kid didn't hear. It doesn't, however, take any ginormous leaps to know this has something to do with his and Sam's earlier disagreement regarding sex. It was what had seen Dean storm out in the way he usually does when he just can't deal with talking about something. And normally he would have gone to a bar, but knowing Sammy needs to eat before going to bed was the deciding factor in stopping him from pursuing that course of action tonight. Because this… it isn't a conversation he wants to have with Sammy. Considering Dean can't rationalise his own attitude because he has no idea where it's fucking coming from. He just knows the idea of Sammy having sex… no, just no. He can't even think about the two components of that equation with any correlation towards each other in his mind anymore.

"You still don't understand it," Cas states softly.

Dean snorts. "Do you?" he questions, grabbing out a beer for himself from the cooler, twisting off the cap and taking a swig.

Cas shakes his head. "No." He sighs. "Sam was having some troubles with the shower. You should check on him."

Dean sets his beer on the table. Checking on Sammy is something he's more than capable of doing.

Crossing towards the bathroom he spots Sam's still closed duffle sitting atop the twin and knows immediately Sam forgot to take anything into the bathroom with him. The kid usually leaves it open after he's pulled clothing or his washbag out of it. Unzipping the duffle, he pulls out Sam's nightclothes and fresh boxer-briefs as well as the washbag, before crossing to the bathroom and banging on the door.

#

Sam hears a fist banging on the bathroom door a second before the door opens. He knows it's Dean. Cas wouldn't barge in the bathroom without Sam's permission unless there was an actual emergency. Dean, however, doesn't seem to have the slightest concept of that little thing called privacy. Sam puts it down to the way they grew up, always in each other's space. And you know, the fact Dean just doesn't have any boundaries where Sam's concerned. Sam snorts softly. God, Dean would probably wipe Sam's butt if he wasn't getting off the toilet quick enough for Dean's liking.

"Sam, foods on the table," Dean says, pulling back the shower curtain halfway. "You nearly …" Dean's voice trails off and Sam finds himself yanked out from underneath the spray a second later.

"Hey!" Sam yelps.

"What the hell kinda temperature you got that on, Sammy?!" Dean demands.

"A low one," Sam responds defensively.

"Bet it wasn't when you got under it though, was it?" Dean snaps, grasping hold of Sam's right wrist and turns him fully to face Dean, who looks him up and down under a scrutinising gaze before twisting him back around to face the long tiled wall of the tub.

"De-an!" Sam hates that his brother's name just came out in a whine. "Quit it."

"Sammy, have you even looked at yourself?" Dean questions, drawing him back around to face front. "You look like a half-cooked freaking lobster. Your skin's bright red down your left side to the top of your thigh."

"What? No it's not," Sam denies, scrunching his chin up to get a look at his shoulder, down his arm and then his chest and abdomen. Unfortunately it only proves Dean is right; his entire upper left side is one big patch of red. He's mildly scalded himself on the stupid shower and he didn't even realise; had thought it hadn't done any damage. Sam raises his eyes to his brother. "Err… oops?"

"Yeah, kid. Oops. C'mon, out." Dean holds a towel out to Sam and Sam takes it, wrapping it around his waist before stepping out of the tub. He's done anyway; he was just rinsing off when Dean came in. "Get dry, but don't put your shirt and pants on yet. That," Dean points to the red patch as if it is seriously offending him, "needs ointment."

"Fine," Sam huffs. "But my sleep clothes are in my duffle."

"Try opening your eyes and looking on the closed toilet seat, Sammy."

Sam turns his gaze to the toilet behind him, noting the clean blue sweats, grey t-shirt and black boxer-briefs sitting atop it. "Oh. Thanks Dean."

Dean nods on his way back out the bathroom door. Just like that, and as usual, they don't talk about what transpired only a half hour before. But they will. Because Sam needs to know what the hell that was all about. Along with a long list of other things.

Sam starts drying himself off. By the time he gets to his back his exhaustion sets in, his arms no longer holding the energy to rub the towel over his skin. He gives them a shake, rubbing at each of his biceps – being careful with his left – and gives it another go, happy when he gets his back dried off enough. The remaining dampness will have to air-dry while he has his shirt off. Pulling on his boxer-briefs, he pats at his hair slowly, a yawn escaping him. His arm drops back down to his side, the towel going with it. He sighs, knowing he's not going to get the excess moisture rubbed out of his hair without assistance. So, towel still in hand, he picks up his t-shirt and sweats and trudges back into the main room.

Cas frowns the minute he sees the redness covering Sam's skin. "You should have let me help you with the water temperature, Sam," he scolds lightly.

"I managed just fine by myself, thank you," Sam responds snidely, still pissed about earlier. He feels a hand tap against his butt and he blinks over his shoulder at his brother.

"Watch the attitude remember," Dean reprimands again, holding the new tube of burn ointment in his left hand. "That goes towards Cas, too, not just me."

Sam glances over to Cas who has returned to the table, sorting out takeout containers from a brown bag, his shoulders hunched. Sam feels only mildly apologetic for his behaviour. He doesn't think on it anymore because Dean's sitting down on the end of the queen and grasping Sam by the wrist, bringing him to stand between Dean's open legs.

Dean squirts some of the ointment on his fingers before easing it into Sam's skin. Sam hisses lightly, unconsciously taking a step back. He hadn't realised before that it is actually quite sore. But Dean just draws Sam back towards him, fingers still rubbing in the ointment just as they should be. Sam knows that. His skin is sore, it needs the ointment. He just hadn't been expecting the soreness.

Dean's fingers reach his lower half, pausing only briefly to shuck Sam's boxers down past his left hip to get to the remaining red patch. Sam's about sixty percent sure a squeak did not just leave his mouth as he hurriedly uses the towel to hide the sudden exposure of half his bottom from Cas. He glares down at his brother.

Dean raises eyes to him, his face clearly and silently saying, 'how else were you expecting me to get to this patch?', and Sam has the prudence to drop his glare. Dean wouldn't think about taking him back into the bathroom; they're used to it just being the two of them in a motel room the majority of the time. He can't lay any blame upon Dean for that. He himself hadn't even thought about remaining in the bathroom and getting Dean to put the ointment on in there. Sam just needs to get past his own shyness in front of Cas. Because he doubts this will be the last time he ends up having those parts of him exposed in front of the man.

Dean finishes up a minute later, righting Sam's boxers. Sam shifts back to allow Dean to stand to go to the bathroom to wash the excess ointment from his hands. Dropping both his t-shirt and the towel on the bed, Sam pulls on his sweats and then slips his arms into his bed shirt, pulling it over his head and down his torso. Picking the towel back up, Sam glances over his shoulder towards Cas still silently situating their takeout.

"Um, Cas?" Sam says, his voice holding a shyness he hasn't felt in some time.

Cas turns to him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, Sam?"

Sam holds out the towel towards him, chewing on his bottom lip before saying, "Will you …?"

Cas smiles lightly, setting down the take out carton in his hold onto the table, and steps towards Sam. Cas takes the towel from him and Sam sits down on the end of the bed, tipping his head forward slightly. He feels Cas drape the towel over his head and start rubbing it over his hair in gentle pressure movements. Sam wants to laugh because that's not gonna take any of the moisture out of his hair before their dinner is ice cold, but refrains. He doesn't want to upset Cas again.

"Put a little more effort into it, Cas." Dean on the other hand clearly has no qualms, his voice holding the amusement Sam feels. He can just make out his brother's booted feet in the bathroom doorway, one resting over the other. "You won't hurt him."

"Are you sure?" Cas' voice is unsure.

"I've done it enough times, Cas, I'm sure."

"Right," Cas' voice is now focused and the pressure increases, hands beginning to rub roughly over Sam's hair.

Thirty seconds later the towel is lifted. Sam raises his head, his hair covering his face. Dean snorts a laugh and Sam can see through the strands of hair that Cas is also amused. Sam smiles up at the man, brushing the hair out of his face.

"Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome, Sam."

"Food now," Dean intones as he crosses to the kitchenette table, joining Cas in finishing the sorting of the takeout.

Sam snorts, crossing to his bed and grabbing his hairbrush, running it through his hair, before setting it back in his duffle.

"Got you nuggets and fries, Sammy. Oh and this thing," Dean holds up a small salad tub, before setting it down next to the open takeaway container holding Sam's food.

"Thanks," Sam slides into the chair on the right, the one furthest from the door that Cas once again occupies.

Sam looks up at Dean as his brother shakes out a napkin and slips it into the collar of Sam's bed-shirt, securing it into place. Sam wants nothing more than to remove it when his brother grabs up his own container of food and moves away to sit on the edge of the queen. But Dean will only put it back and they would be here all night going back and forth with a stupid napkin. Plus, Sam's hungry. He just wants to eat. So he leaves the stupid napkin where it is.

"Did you get any sauce?" Sam questions around a fry.

"In the bag," Dean points to the brown bag that had housed the food.

Sam pulls it towards him, peering inside, before digging his hand in and drawing out several green sweet-n-sour pots. He's surprised his brother remembers he prefers sweet-n-sour with nuggets rather than ketchup or BBQ sauce, seen as it's been a good long time since Sam last had nuggets. Some of his previous anger towards his brother dwindles at the gesture. "Thanks, Dean," he says quietly as he pulls the film from the pot, squishing a fry into the yellowish-brown liquid before bringing it to his mouth.

"May I?"

Sam looks at Cas, who's face holds an intrigued expression as he stares at Sam's sauce. Sam contemplates saying no, but he throws a glance at his brother, knowing you either hate this stuff or love it and Dean is one of those who surprisingly hates it. But Cas? Sam sniggers inwardly as Dean gives him a minute nod, a small grin on his brother's lips.

"Sure." Sam holds out the plastic pot to Cas and Cas dips one of his fries inside, draws it away and pops it in his mouth. Sam laughs as the former-angel's face twists into an expression of disgust five seconds later, Cas quickly grabbing up his soda and fastening his lips around the straw.

Dean snorts around his burger, pulling it away to laugh properly. "You're a man after my own heart, Cas."

"That was vulgar," Cas says after pulling the straw of his soda from his mouth. "How can you even eat that, Sam?"

"It's delicious," Sam says with a grin, dipping a whole nugget thoroughly in the sauce before popping it in his mouth and chewing. "Mm-mm-mm."

"Trust me, Cas, Sammy's got weird taste buds."

"Says the man that will practically eat anything," Sam retorts after swallowing his mouthful.

"Yeah, but not that crap."

Sam grins lightly, grabbing up his cup and giving a pull on his straw, surprised when banana milkshake fills his mouth. He hasn't had that in ages either. But there was one time when he was younger, where for a good few weeks banana milkshake was all he wanted. He never would have thought he'd have missed the taste, but he finds it delicious. Setting his 'shake back on the table a moment later, Sam picks up one of his fries, dips it in his sauce and pops it in his mouth.

"I'm done," he says, pushing away his container; a handful of fries, six of his nine nuggets and some lettuce leaves from his salad pot remaining within. He wants to read at least one chapter of his book tonight to relax his mind before Dean sends him to bed, and at this rate he is only going to get fifteen minutes to do that.

Dean looks up, surveys Sam's food and shakes his head. "Three more mouthfuls, and then you're done."

"Dean, c'mon, I'm full," Sam complains only for his stomach to betray him with a loud grumble at that very precise moment.

"That doesn't sound very much like your full, little one," Cas states with an amused smile as Sam drops his gaze downwards to glare at his tummy.

"Eat your fries and three nuggets, Sammy. Then you can go read like you want to," Dean instructs, knowing him too well.

Sam huffs, but does as instructed, scooping up the last of his sweet-n-sour sauce with his third nugget. Finished, Sam pulls the napkin out of his collar and jumps up, intending to move around the queen bed to get to his duffle. His brother gets a hold of him first though and he's pulled down to sit on Dean's left knee, his wrists being held loosely in front of him by one of Dean's hands.

"Dee-an," Sam whines.

"Sa-am," Dean whines back at him.

"Let me up."

"Nope. Hands and face washed first."

"I don't need …" but his protest is futile because Cas is right there in front of him with a baby wipe.

Sam squirms as much as Dean's hold will allow as the moisturised cloth is wiped over his face just as Dean had done with that cloth back in the bunker kitchen; Cas' fingers paying particular attention to Sam's mouth, chin and lower cheeks.

Honestly, I couldn't have eaten that messily, Sam scoffs inwardly.

Cas turns his attention to Sam's hands next and Sam realises why Dean's holding them out like he is. There's sticky sauce all over his fingers and palms. His cheeks heat up, eyes flickering over to his discarded napkin amongst his leftovers and spots the patches of smeared sauce upon it. He'd been sure he hadn't made that much of a mess. He shyly glances sideways at his brother as Cas starts cleaning each finger.

"It's all right, Sammy," Dean says, reading Sam's embarrassment easily. "You were enjoying your food, kiddo." Yeah, and making a mess like a two-year-old feeding himself, Sam thinks scathingly. "You're allowed to get messy," Dean continues, "it's all cleanable, kiddo."

Except I'm a big boy, I shouldn't be getting messy during meal times anymore. With that thought Sam promises himself to concentrate more on eating and not making such a mess in the future. No wonder Dean put the napkin in his collar like some freaking makeshift bib.

"There. All done," Cas offers Sam a smile before crossing to the kitchenette trashcan to dump the wipe.

"Go on, geek-boy, go read," Dean stands Sam up from his knee and sends him to the twin bed with a pat to his bottom.

Still trying to quell his embarrassment, Sam is happy to move away from his brother and Cas, even if it is only by a few feet. He'd ideally like to go out the motel door, go for a walk or something to clear his head, but he knows his brother won't allow it. Instead, he unzips the side pocket of his duffle and draws out his book. Sitting down on his bed, he makes himself comfortable against the headboard. Unfortunately, his concentration is blown and he's read the same sentence at least six times before he realises. Replacing his makeshift bookmark acquired from a matchbook, he closes the book and sets it on his bed beside him with a sigh.

Turning his gaze to the queen bed his brother and Cas are seated on, there are several guns spread out on the covers between them, a small towel holding the shotgun that's now in several pieces. Damn. Sam's itching to get out of the room, but Dean and Cas are clearly in the midst of a lesson; Dean continuing to teach Cas how to properly clean and maintain the weapons. Sam knows better than to interrupt a lesson unless he has something to add. Which he doesn't. Dean's a brilliant teacher; he's the one who taught Sam all he knows.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Sam stands, slipping his feet into his boots. He crosses over to the kitchenette and pours himself a small glass of water. Chugging it back, he sets the glass in the sink, before he calmly takes the two steps to the motel door, quietly picking up his winter jacket off the back of the nearest chair as he does. His fingers have just curled around the doorknob when …

"Going somewhere, Sammy?"

… Dean's voice interrupts his silent escape.

Sam half turns, just enough so he's looking at his brother. "For a walk?" Sam mentally kicks himself. He had not intended for that to come out as a question. He had meant to be forceful, stating to his brother very plainly that he is going for a walk. But now that's out the window.

"Uh-huh. And where's this walk taking you?"

Huh. Okay. That wasn't the response he'd been expecting. Sam's hope rises. Maybe Dean will let him go out there after all. "Just round the front of the room, maybe the parking lot. Just get some fresh air," he shrugs.

"Okay."

"Dean, I'll be real careful, I swear. No going beyond …"

"Sam," Cas interrupts loudly, catching Sam's attention, "your brother said you can go."

Sam's eyes almost bug out of his head in surprise as he stares from one man to the other. Dean said… "Wait, really?"

"Mm-hmm," Dean nods, clearly amused. "You've got twenty minutes before bedtime, so you can go for a ten minute walk. And only as far as the Impala. And leave the motel door open."

Sam knows 'as far as the Impala' actually means he can walk a route directly to the Impala and back again without detours, but he'll definitely take it. If he kicks up a fuss Dean will probably tell him he can't go five feet in front of the door. He has an irrational need to hug his brother for the second time tonight, but he ignores it and instead bursts out the motel door, being careful to ensure its left open as instructed.

Breathing in the fresh air, Sam pulls on his jacket, zips it up and takes his time walking the path to the Impala. He can feel Dean's eyes on him, his brother either standing at the window looking out, or blatantly standing at the door watching him. A smile flits across Sam's lips. Overprotective doofus. But something inside of him lights up at the knowledge Dean's there, watching out for him, even just for a simple walk. And Sam thinks maybe sometimes he should just savour being the baby brother instead of arguing about everything.

Reaching the Impala, he decides to pull himself up onto the hood to lean back against the windshield so he can stare up at the sky.

"No stars," Sam comments quietly five minutes later, now more relaxed than his book was going to allow.

He easily recognises the approaching footsteps as belonging to his brother. He flicks his gaze down briefly at Dean now standing beside the car, beer bottle in his grasp, before returning his gaze to the night sky.

"Too much cloud cover tonight," Dean observes just as quietly into the calm of the night.

Sam feels Dean's hand squeeze his ankle a second before his big brother joins him on the hood, one leg leaning over the side as Dean remains upright instead of resting against the windshield like Sam. Dean too directs his gaze upwards, swigging from his beer as comfortable silence descends between them. A while later, Sam's pretty sure his ten minutes have passed, maybe even his bedtime, yet Dean remains where he is.

And Sam hates to interrupt the silence but he needs to know what happened earlier. If what Cas had voiced holds any weight of truth in his brother. That is if Dean will even permit the conversation and not storm away like before. Hell, Sam doesn't want to have this conversation because it borders on the insane, but he needs to. And hopefully the comfortable atmosphere around them will allow them both to keep their tempers in check.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, buddy?" Dean responds quietly without lowering his gaze from the sky.

"Cas... err... said some things earlier."

Dean now lowers his gaze, sighing against his beer bottle, the small gust of air blowing over the glass rim causing a soft whistle to puff across it. "Yeah, I know." Dean runs a hand over his hair. "And I know you got questions, Sammy… but I don't know if I can even justify what a good answer would be right now." So there is truth to it, Sam silently observes, Dean thinks I'm too young to being having sex. Shit, what the hell am I meant to do with that? "Though… I guess while we're on the sex topic …" Dean continues, and Sam can detect a slight caution to his tone, "… did Cas mention anything about you being a virgin, Sammy?"

"Nooo," Sam responds slowly with a frown, "because I'm not a virgin. That whole thing with Vesta was bogus. It doesn't count."

"Well… apparently it counted with somebody," Dean looks at him sideways and Sam's frown deepens. "When I was a demon and after, you had an underlying scent beyond the normal that I couldn't figure out ..."

"Should I be finding it weird that you even know my scent?" Sam can't help but question.

"Probably," Dean shrugs undisturbed by the fact. "Anyway, after the blood cure I could still smell it because of the Mark enhancing my senses and it got to the point it was bugging the crap outta me, so… I talked to Cas about it. Didn't mention you by name, just explained the scent. Though he knows it's you now." Dean pauses, frowns, and continues. "You remember that one time Caleb took us to that big-ass candy store in New York?"

Sam smiles lightly, though he's not sure what a candy store has to do with their current topic of conversation. "Yeah. Caleb bought us both a whole bag of pick 'n' mix candy because neither of us knew what to get in such a huge store. And it lasted for ages because you'd only let me eat two or three pieces a day."

"That's right," Dean nods softly in remembrance. "You used to throw up if you ate more candy than that in one sitting. I just learnt to ration it for you more than I already did. You'd still get the same, but spaced out further. Because as much as you love the stuff it's not good for your stomach. A lot of things weren't back then. But do you recall the sweet smell of all that candy?"

If Sam closes his eyes on occasion he can recall that aroma he had committed to memory only because it's a bi-product of the awe he had seen in his big brother's eyes on that day. Something, in his then ten years of life, Sam had never been witness to before in his brother. It was the very moment Sam had realised his big brother, his hero, had never gotten to be a child the way Dean had gone out of his way to ensure Sam got to be. He clears his throat, fighting back the lump the memory always brings, and nods.

"That's the closest similarity I can think of to explain the scent of a virgin, Sammy. And that's who Cas said the scent belonged to; a virgin. Well actually he said 'the innocence of childhood' first, and I had to get him to clarify." Dean shakes his head. "Point is… that bells been un-rung for you, Sammy. That scent wouldn't belong to you if you weren't a virgin."

Sam blinks, unsure if he can comprehend what his brother's actually telling him. He's… a virgin again. Why …? What …? How the hell does someone get that kind of all-inclusive do-over without physically having a new body? Oh god … Sam's eyes widen, his pulse quickening, and he moves to sit up, but a hand is on his chest is stilling him in place. He blinks at his brother.

"Relax and breathe, kiddo." Dean instructs, having read him like a book. Sam takes a breath and blows it out, repeating the process twice more before he feels his pulse returning to normal speed. "I tested you," Dean assures, patting Sam's chest lightly before slowly withdrawing his hand. "You were catching a few zzz's at the time. Not that it was really necessary. I've come to learn and recognise when I'm dealing with monsters who think they can pull off being you in front of me. And safe to say you're you, kiddo."

Sam breathes out another silent sigh of relief, ticking that one off his mental check list. Though he's pretty sure he would have already been in a world of hurt or worse over a year and a half ago if he wasn't the real Sam Winchester. And if Sam found out his brother was a full-on virgin again (though undoubtedly it wouldn't last long enough for Sam to find out to begin with), he would have done the same thing and questioned whether his brother was really his brother.

"I know my body's been put through the ringer over the past few years, but who has that kind of juice?" Sam questions quietly. "Demons wouldn't get anything out of it, except to maybe use me in some ritual requiring a, err, virgin, but I think they would've gotten around to it by now. Angels…" Sam stops, his mind crashing into the memories of what was unknowingly going on during that case with Vesta. "There was an angel inside of me when I made that 'pledge', Dean," Sam quietly reminds his brother. "Maybe it's something they can do. Cas should know."

"Crap. I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean says quietly.

"Don't be." Dean turns his head to stare at him over his shoulder. Sam shrugs lightly, he means it. "I was mad then. Real mad. But I can't blame you for wanting to save my life. Not anymore. Not when neither one of us seems to understand the phrase 'let me go'."

Dean flinches fractionally at the reminder and takes a swig of his beer as he returns his gaze to the sky. "Don't think that's something I'll ever be prepared to understand where you're concerned, Sammy. It just ain't in my nature."

Watching his brother as Dean views the dark clouds, Sam has to wonder if Dean yet understands it isn't in Sam's nature either. His whole life he's learnt by his big brother; they've had their disagreements, fights, major blow outs even, but at the end of the day they've stuck together. They wouldn't be sitting here together if they didn't. And just as Dean will do anything for Sam, Sam will do anything necessary for his brother. He has done what's necessary. Sam has had to survive without his brother before and it's not something he cares to repeat.

"Is this part of it, Dean? This thing about me having sex." With the way they're sitting it's easy for Sam to notice how Dean's jaw muscle tightens at only the mere mention of Sam having sex. It lasts only a moment before Dean blows out a light breath, the air whipping over the beer bottle again and causing another whistle.

"Partly, yeah, I guess," Dean finally admits. "There's a lot of shit in my head at the moment that I …" he trails off with a shake of his head; sighs again. "I just need to figure it out, kid." Dean turns his head to eye Sam. "You reckon you can give me the time to do that, Sammy?"

Sam sighs inwardly. He wants to be told what else is going on in his brother's mind. He wants the answers. It's frustrating not to have them. But he knows he has no right to ask or demand that of his brother when Sam himself isn't ready to spill the beans about what's going on in his own head.

"I'll try, Dean," Sam says, his fingers unconsciously finding the tag on his jacket zipper and starts playing with it. "Just… this wasn't something you thought before the spell, was it? That I'm too 'young' I mean, not my being a, um, virgin."

Dean shakes his head. He's quiet for a moment before he finally turns himself fully to look at Sam. "You think there's a connection?"

"I think we still know very little about the spell's aftereffect's even though I've researched it six ways to Sunday," Sam responds. "What the benefit is of making you think that way, if it even is the spell …" Sam shrugs, "… I dunno. But I feel like the spell has connected us and Cas in a way we've never been before. Obviously. But, I just don't know how, or even what the end result is going to be for us …"

"How it's gonna play out," Dean states quietly.

"Yeah." Sam lets out a sigh, scrubbing at an eye with his fist. "Do you reckon we're actually gonna find Rowena, Dean?"

This time when Dean looks at him there's reassurance in his eyes. "Hell yes. There ain't much crap out there we've hunted that we haven't been able to find, kiddo. We'll find her. We'll get what information she can give us."

"Then kill her?"

Dean shrugs, taking another swig of beer. "Depends on how helpful she can be. And what's this aversion you seem to have against ganking her, Sammy?"

"Oh, I don't have an aversion to it," Sam smirks lightly. "It's just she pisses Crowley off a lot more than we do."

Dean snorts. "Ain't that the truth."

They once again descend into silence, just watching the starless night sky. It's only when Sam's eyes start drooping that he feels Dean pat him on the side of the leg.

"C'mon. Bedtime for you." Sam groans. "Hey now, enough of that," Dean scolds lightly as he slips down from the hood, before turning around and grasping Sam's wrist, pulling him upright and away from the windshield. "If you're quick with brushing your teeth and taking a leak, I'll read you some of your book."

Sam stills momentarily from slipping off the hood the opposite side to his brother. A part of him wants to do the opposite of Dean's offer and take his sweet time taking care of business before getting into bed. Because that's what he should do as an adult not needing a bedtime story to go to sleep. But another - admittedly larger - part of him wants to race across the parking lot into the motel and jump into bed without peeing or brushing his teeth so he has more time to enjoy something Dean hasn't done in years. One or the other… one or the other… the middle ground decides it's going to win after a momentary battle and Sam slips the rest of the way off the hood.

#

The offer rolls off Dean's tongue before any thought has been placed behind it. And he's surprised to find he means it. He wants to read to Sammy. But he also moves to retract it because he isn't willing to stand here and see that judgemental bitchface Sam gets when he clearly thinks Dean's being an idiot. And offering to read to your Sasquatch-sized baby brother is bound to draw that look out. Except… that look isn't present. He instead witnesses a spark of delight in Sammy's eyes that stills Dean; almost takes his breath the same way the kid's look of longing for a pacifier had back in the store.

Because it reminds him of the days Sammy's entire face would light up with joy whenever Dean would read to him. Even when the kid was more than capable of reading to himself; and at a quicker pace than his big brother. The kid would devour books, absorbing the knowledge found within its pages like a sponge.

Which became tricky the first time a visit was paid to Bobby's after Sammy's reading ability fully flourished. And though Sammy knew what books of Bobby's he could touch (the small donated shelfful of kid's books in their shared bedroom that were not actually donated by anyone save Bobby's pocket), and what Sammy couldn't touch (every other book in that house), Bobby had still spent the best part of a day lugging books not in the slightest way suitable for Sammy's eyes up out of the inquisitive kid's reach.

Those books stayed out of Sammy's reach until the kid returned to hunting at twenty-two. Even then Dean had seen Bobby's reluctance to allow what was lamely referred to as 'the dangerous collection' anywhere near Sammy's hands. Only a subtle nod from Dean had seen Sammy get his hands on the Key of Solomon; their first introduction to the beauty that is devils traps, and a member of that collection. It had nothing to do with Sam's ability as a hunter, and everything to do with Bobby being a big and silent softie when it came to protecting the squirt of a kid he had helped raise. Despite that squirt standing a good five inches taller than the grizzled hunter.

Only one or two more books from that collection had made their way into Sammy's hands; Bobby always saying Sam would get his hands on the rest of that collection over his dead body. Hell, even Dean hadn't seen several of that collection until the man passed, when Sam inherited the originals not burnt in the fire and the copies of those that were. And, shit, Dean's chest aches, he can't think about Bobby right now.

As Sammy slips off the hood and joins him at the front of the Impala, he notices mischievousness settle in beside that spark in his eyes. And Dean knows why a second later when his baby brother opens his mouth.

"You think you'll manage the big words, Dean?" Sammy teases, though there is a hint of caution as if the kid is unsure how well the words will be received.

Dean allows a gasp of playful horror escape his lips to show he's not offended. Why would he be? It's just teasing. Something they do all the time. But he also doesn't want worry or panic overtaking those looks in his baby brother's eyes. He'd keep those negative emotions out of his kid's eyes forever if he could. "Who was it that taught you to read?"

"My imaginary friend," Sammy says, his lips turning up into a half-smirk.

The response draws a chuckle from Dean, who grasps hold of his kid's shoulders and spins him around before using both his hands to swat lightly at Sammy's rump. "Get, you little brat."

A half smile curve's Dean's lips upwards as he listens to Sammy's laugh while the kid jogs towards their room. It's an almost carefree sound; one not heard too often anymore and Dean decides he's going to try and get his kid to laugh more often. Dean glances once more up at the dark sky, three stars making an appearance between the brief moment of one cloud shifting and another taking its place.

The sound of the toilet flushing in their room draws him back down to earth and he crosses the parking lot and enters their room, closing the door behind him. After checking Sammy's still in the bathroom, Dean leans down close to Cas sitting at the table, the road atlas spread open in front of him.

"The I-80W and I-84 are the most direct routes from here," Dean says quietly, tracing a line on the map with his finger from Cheyenne, across to Utah, up the lower left corner of Idaho, across the upper right corner of Oregon until hitting Portland and then straight up to Olympia, Washington State.

"I thought you dislike using interstates?" Cas questions quietly, turning his gaze to him, and Dean can't resist kissing the full lips.

"I don't," Dean says pulling back slightly as he hears the bathroom door open. "I said it's the most direct route. Didn't say we'll be going that way," Dean smirks, placing a kiss to Cas' neck, over the pulse point and feels it quicken against his lips, deliciously knowing it's one of Cas' sensitive spots.

"Ah…" Cas gasps, "… ri-right." Cas shifts uncomfortably in his seat and quickly glances over to Sam exiting the bathroom. "You're a bastard," Cas hisses sideways at Dean. Dean chuckles lowly and straightens. Cas clears his throat. "All ready for bed, Sam?"

"Mm-hmm," Sam hums, thankfully oblivious to the sound of arousal Dean easily detects in Cas' voice.

Dean shifts out of his winter jacket as his kid takes the few steps needed to reach his bed and climbs in, saying goodnight to Cas as he does.

"Goodnight, Sam," Cas returns. Dean throws him a smirk, Cas glare's back at him.

Picking up Sammy's book from the floor where Sammy unceremoniously dumped it to get under the covers – such sacrilege Sammy! - Dean pats his kid's leg with it. Sammy scoots over the mattress, shifting onto his side with his back resting against the wall. The twin really is too small for Sam's long body but the kid has slept on much worse over the years, and sometimes not even a bed. But they've learnt to make do with what they have or are given, because a hunter's life doesn't make for great accommodations. And until they found the bunker, a stay at Bobby's had been the luxury they didn't get on a general basis. Hell, that place had been their haven. And there he goes thinking about Bobby again. Dammit.

At least Sammy's lean but muscular build doesn't take up the entirety of the mattress when he lays on his side, leaving space enough for Dean on the outer edge, his back to the headboard and jean-clad legs crossed at the ankles. Opening Sammy's book to the page marked with the front of a torn matchbook, Dean holds the book in his right hand, while he rests his left arm on the pillow above Sammy's head, the silent invitation open if his kid wants to accept. He starts to read, voice a lot deeper and gruffer since last he read to his baby brother at bedtime, back when it was a nightly occurrence. Or at least it was when the routine wasn't disturbed.

By the time Dean reaches the end of the first page, Sammy has shifted his head to rest on Dean's arm. Glancing down at him, the thumb is once again enveloped within pouty lips, and a corner of the blanket is tucked up against Sammy's cheek just as the kid used to do with his comfort blanket. He blinks slowly up at Dean, before looking to the book and tapping the page with a finger, a silent indicator for Dean to continue because Sammy doesn't want to take his thumb out.

"I need to turn the page, little dude. Unless you'd care to…"

Sam shakes his long head of hair, before digging that same head deeper against Dean's arm and pushing it into the pillow. Dean rolls his eyes, lifting both his arm and Sammy, who lands on Dean's chest with Dean's arm enfolding him as he turns the page, and a satisfied huff of breath leaves the kid.

"Lazy," Dean comments softly, with a kiss to the top of his kid's head. "Don't drool on me." Sammy tilts his head backwards, grinning mischievously around his thumb, before going back to positioning himself so his right ear rests directly over Dean's heart. "I mean it." Sammy ignores him in favour of raising his hand from between them to smack against the book, before returning it to where it was. "All right, quit being impatient. And shut your eyes and go to sleep while you're at it or no more book." Dean smirks a second later, practically hearing the kid's eyelashes crashing together.

Huh, so that still works, he thinks as he continues to read.

Sammy's breathing has evened out into sleep only a page later and Dean quietly closes the book, resting it on his thigh. He silently savours the feel of Sammy's ribcage rising and falling against his side for a long moment before he feels his partner's eyes on him for the tenth time since he started reading.

"Feeling better are we?" Dean smirks, staring at Cas' erection free crotch.

Cas stares at him. "You're good at that, Dean," he says quietly, a touch of amazement in his tone as he holds out one of the motel supplied ceramic mugs to Dean.

"What? Turning you on?" Dean snorts, moving the book to the almost non-existent nightstand next to him so he can take the proffered beverage from Cas.

"No, not that, Dean," Cas rolls his eyes. "I mean that," Cas indicates the book.

That statement and the earlier one are ambiguous enough for Dean not to know if Cas is referring to Dean's ability to read more than a few sentences without throwing the book, or his reading putting Sammy to sleep. Neither is he going to ask. So he shrugs, "Had a lot of practice." He stares down at the watery-brown liquid within the mug now in his hold before raising it to his nose and giving it a sniff. His nose instinctively scrunches up to get away from the pungent odour. "What the hell is this?"

"Tea," Cas supplies, staring at him mildly amused as he takes a seat on the closest edge of their bed.

"Tea?" Dean grimaces. Tea on his taste buds reminds him of drinking African Dream Root. "The motel cheap out on coffee or something?"

"You need sleep, Dean, not caffeine."

"I think I'll pass."

"You haven't even tried it."

"And I don't intend to anytime soon." Dean holds out the mug to Cas, who rolls his eyes, but takes it and stands.

"Sam's more than happy to drink tea," Cas comments when he reaches the kitchenette, pouring the disused drink down the sink.

"Already told you the kid's got weird taste buds," Dean replies as he carefully extricates himself from Sammy and settles his sleeping kid back onto the pillow. "Like you clearly have as well, Cas," he adds, pulling the blanket back over Sammy's shoulders and leaning down to place a kiss to his baby brother's forehead.

"That's not what you sad earlier."

"Earlier I was talking about sweet-n-sour sauce. Not some shitty tea."

"You really should watch your language around the little one, Dean," Cas tells him disapprovingly.

Dean rolls his eyes, stretching his arms above his head. "The little one is sound asleep," he says, crossing over to the motel table and dropping down into a chair. "I don't have to watch anything." Cas glowers at him and Dean grins, wrapping his fingers around Cas' closest wrist and tugs. Cas yelps lightly, falling sideways until he lands right where Dean wants him; on his lap. "Thought you liked my mouth, Cas?"

#SPN#

Despite his own tiredness, it's gone one a.m. by the time Dean closes the laptop and wearily scrubs a hand down his face. His eyes trail to Cas zonked out on their bed. Dean had told him to hit the hay over an hour ago and his former-angel had fallen asleep barely thirty seconds after his head hit the pillow. And Sammy dropping off as quickly as he had during his bedtime story had allowed time for Dean and Cas to quietly talk about this shared weapon issue. Not that that had gotten them anywhere. There's just no understanding to it. Or Dean's aversion to Sammy having sex. That makes even less sense. The why? Is Sam right in it being the spell? Dean hasn't a fucking clue.

And the research hasn't helped to get him any further than the point he started. Because it seems like recording the aftereffects of spells used by people, witches, whatever, is just too much of a fucking hardship. Regardless of the fact it might be useful information to others down the line. But no. There's fuck all available that they haven't already read in the Men of Letters library or read online a million times. And jack-shit on the spell Sammy used to cure him.

Which means they're betting considerable time on finding the redheaded skank of a witch and hoping she'll willingly help them with some answers. Which, when she's made it abundantly clear that she hates the Winchester's as much as she hates her son, could be just that little bit tricky. And having both Cas and Sammy telling him – reminding him - he can't gank her, doesn't mean Dean can't do a hell of a lot of threatening, and more. Because she will talk. Even if they have to find somewhere nice and cosy to lock her up. Somewhere outside of the bunker dungeon. Because as Sam's pointed out to him before, the power wrapped up in protecting the bunker would be a goldmine to someone like Rowena if she could get her hands on it. And when you can't fight that kind of logic, it takes that route completely off the cards.

Dean pushes up from his chair at the small table and stretches. With the laptop closed, the only source of light now in the room is coming through the cracked bathroom door so Sammy doesn't wake to pitch darkness. And as the sun doesn't rise this late in November until roughly seven a.m. and Dean intends to be on the road again around six, it will still be dark when Sammy wakes.

His kid hasn't yet stirred. Though he's most definitely been his mumbling, fidgeting self. Sammy doing his usual thing of half hanging off the bed. The kid's now on his stomach halfway down the twin, face turned away from Dean towards the wall; one long leg is caught on the armchair sitting at the end of the bed, while the other hangs off the beds edge along with the blankets. One arm is tucked around his pillow that is bunched against his side in the same way Sammy used to hold onto his stuffed toy. And it crosses Dean's mind about getting the kid a new stuffy along with that pacifier as it's not the first time recently he's seen Sammy cuddling his pillow.

Crossing the floor, Dean carefully unhooks Sammy's leg before kicking the chair away with his foot. He lifts the other leg back onto the bed and then grasps his kid under the arms, easing him up the mattress until he rests back at the head of the bed. Sammy shifts, lifting his head and turning it to face Dean, eyes still closed and a little mewl leaves his throat as he sets his head back down, pouting lips seeking out his thumb. Dean gently raises the kid's left hand, situating the thumb to Sammy's mouth and the kid latches on and starts suckling, mumbling as he does. Dean smiles lightly, brushing a hand over his kid's head gently, before pulling the blankets up and tucking Sammy back in.

Moving into the bathroom, Dean takes a leak and brushes his teeth, before he returns to the main room, closing the bathroom door until its left ajar. Stripping off his outer shirt and jeans, he slips under the covers next to his sleeping partner, spooning around Cas and placing a kiss to his shoulder. Cas stirs slightly, one leg shifting in between Dean's and his hand joining Dean's now resting on his stomach. It isn't long before Dean joins both his partner and baby brother in sleep.

#

Dean shoots up out of his bed before his eyes are fully open, knife retrieved from beneath his pillow and gun swiped from the table when the sounds of his baby brother's terrified screams pierce the air. Cas is on his feet seconds after him, angel blade firmly in hand and ready to fight whatever threat is attacking Sammy. They quickly realise no outside force is at work, but Sammy's own mind attacking him with a nightmare. Sammy's legs and arms are flailing, smacking into the wall and barely-there nightstand. And clearly visible in the bathroom light is the blood running from the kid's nose.

Gun and two blade's hit the thrown back covers of the queen. And while Dean rushes to Sam's bed, glancing at his watch to note the time – barely an hour since Dean went to sleep - Cas goes for the bathroom, banging the door open in his rush. Dean manages to get a good grip on his thrashing baby brother and quickly sits Sammy up, tilting his head slightly forward so the blood is only flowing down Sam's nose and not his throat, all the while calling his kid's name to get him to wake up. Cas sticks a towel under Sam's nose so its catching the blood rather than the blankets.

"Not right under," Dean instructs, his voice still gruff from sleep, and Cas lowers the towel to Sam's chin. "Need you to pinch the fleshy part of his nose just above his nostrils." He watches as Cas does as instructed and that's when Sam snaps awake, frantically shaking his head out of Cas's grasp on his nose with a cry, the back of his head hitting Dean straight in the side of his face. Dean winces, but completely ignores the pain now blossoming across his cheekbone in favour of calming down his kid. "Sam! Hey, hey, hey! Sammy, calm down, it's Dean and Cas! It's us! You're okay, baby. You're safe!"

Sam stills at the sound of Dean's voice, turns his head to the side to look at Dean and bursts into tears. Heart skipping a beat, Dean immediately pulls him backwards onto his lap wanting to comfort, but knowing he needs to get the bleeding under control. His kid hasn't even noticed the blood, which shows just how effected Sammy is by this nightmare. So when his baby boy tries burying himself in Dean's arms, Dean has to still him, bringing his own hand up to pinch Sam's nose.

Sam tries to pull away again even as his fingers are opening and closing on Dean's t-shirt, wanting closer, his upset mind still not understanding that he's bleeding. Dean knows he needs to be firm with his baby boy despite not wanting to right now.

"Sammy, stop." Sam blinks at him through wet eyelashes, his breath hitching against another sob and the fear and hurt in those haunted yet still young eyes stabs Dean straight in the chest. "You're having a nosebleed, baby. That's why I'm pinching your nose."

Sam's eyes drop down passed Dean's fingers on his nose to the blood-coated towel Cas is still holding at his chin. "'M blee'in'," he says surprised, words not coming out correctly with his blocked nose.

"Yeah, bud, you're bleeding. We're gonna get you fixed up, okay, but try and keep from talking for a minute until it stops. Just concentrate on breathing through your mouth," Dean instructs gently, easing Sammy's head a little more forward.

"Here, little one," Cas says, grasping Sam's hand and sets the now splotchy red and white towel upon it. "Will you hold this under your nose for me?" Cas curls Sam's fingers around the towel to grasp it when Sammy doesn't do it himself, the kid not quite with it. "I need to get a fresh one quickly." Cas moves back into the bathroom, returning with two more off-white motel hand towels.

Dean hopes to hell they won't be needing even just one of those, at least more than a few drops on it, because they'll be finding a hospital first. Sammy's already lost enough in the past… Dean glances at his watch again… surprised to find it's only been five and a half minutes; seems like it's been an hour. But then Dean would have already been in the car forty minutes ago if that were the case. He watches Cas retrieve the used towel from Sam's hold and replace it with a fresh one, but keeps it within his own hand.

Two minutes later the blood flow has slowed to barely a trickle and Sammy's wriggling on Dean's lap as if he needs …

"Nee' a wee, De."

… That. Crap.

"Think you can hold it a few more minutes, baby?" Dean would rather not move Sammy until the bleeding is fully stopped to prevent a reoccurrence. But when Sammy's wriggling becomes more pronounced a moment later, one of the kid's hands now pressing against Sammy's crotch, he knows he doesn't have a choice. So he rises to his feet with Sammy still in his arms, Cas situating the fresh towel on Sam's chest.

Sam gasps at the jostling, his hand now gripping himself tighter. "Potty, De," the kid blurts out in a rush.

I know, kid, I'm getting you to the potty, Dean thinks, wondering how long it's been since Sammy referred to the toilet as a 'potty'.

It takes only three strides of Dean's long legs to reach the toilet in their miniscule motel room. Setting Sammy down on his feet and steadying the kid when he wobbles, Dean swiftly strips both sweatpants and boxer-briefs down to Sammy's knees before situating Sammy on the toilet, tucking the kid in just in time before he sprays all over Dean's feet instead of in the bowl.

Dean takes a step to the right, placing himself in front of the bathroom basin. Turning the hot faucet, he uses the motel supplied soap to wash his hands, keeping an eye on his brother as he does. "Okay, Sammy?"

Sammy nods sleepily, still holding the towel lightly in his fingers, but mostly against his chest. "Mm-hmm. You nee' potty, too, De?"

Dean smiles lightly, snatching up the one bath-towel from the rack on the wall behind him and dries his hands. "Nah, buddy, I'm good." Taking hold of Sam's chin, he tips the kid's head back slightly to get a good look at his nose. There's crusting of dried blood but thankfully no fresh blood.

Releasing his hold, Dean turns the hot faucet back on, along with the cold. Wetting his thumbs beneath each so neither is too hot or too cold, he gently swipes them beneath and around Sammy's nose, repeating the process until the blood is wiped away and then quickly washes his hands again. Picking up the kid's washcloth out of the washbag, he wets it under the flow of water until it's fully wet and then rings out as much of the moisture as possible.

"Eyes closed, Sammy," Dean instructs.

His baby brother's eyes flutter closed and Dean brushes back Sammy's damp hair from his face, holding it out of the way while he swipes the wet cloth carefully over the kid's face. Pulling away a minute later, Sammy's face is clear of the blood that had smeared across his skin from his thrashing. Rinsing, wetting and ringing out the cloth again, Dean uses it to clean up a few stray spots of blood on Sammy's neck before dumping it in the basin.

Dean quickly grabs Sammy's shoulders, stopping his kid from nosediving off the toilet onto the floor. Sammy's eyes snap open, blinking rapidly up at Dean, before looking at his surroundings. He reaches up and scrubs at an eye, and Dean's prepared to stop him the second that hand gets too close to the kid's nose. Fortunately, it doesn't.

"Why…" the kid yawns and Dean's gifted with a clear view of his tonsils, "… why am I on the potty?" Sammy questions. "Is it mornin'?"

"No, buddy, it's still night. You had to pee."

"Oh."

"You all finished peeing, Sammy?" he questions, even though he knows the kid finished a good minute and a half ago.

"Uh-huh," Sammy responds, pushing upwards with his feet.

"Whoa, okay, we're moving." Dean grabs the kid around the waist with one arm as Sammy again tries to become closely acquainted with the floor. "Let's just take it easy shall we?" he says, tugging the kid's boxer-briefs back up his legs and into place. Sammy shakes his head, trying to push them back down his hips. "What's the matter?" Dean questions confused.

"They're wet, De," Sammy complains.

Well shit, Dean thinks with an inward sigh, of course they are. He should have expected there to have been leakage with the way Sammy was gripping himself, not to mention the kid is a sweaty mess from his nightmare. "Alright, bud." Dean lifts his kid off his feet so he can strip both the sweatpants and boxer-briefs all the way off. "Hey, Cas?" He calls out, seeing his partner stripping down Sammy's bed out the half-open bathroom door.

Cas stops pulling the cover from the pillow and turns to him, unfazed by the view he's being greeted with of Sammy's bare bottom. Something Sam would be pissed about, but Dean really can't do much about that at the moment though, he just needs to get Sammy sorted and settled back down. It does, however, equally show just how distant Sammy currently is to what's happening around him because he doesn't move to cover his bottom like he had earlier.

"Sam okay?" Cas questions, concerned.

"Yeah. Grab some clean boxer's from his bag will ya? Sweats and t-shirt too."

"Of course. Does he want a drink?"

"Some water'll be good."

Turning back to what he intended to do a moment ago, Dean knocks the toilet lid down. He regrets the abrupt action a second later as the bang it creates from hitting the seat makes Sammy jump and let out a startled cry of "potty monster", and startling Dean in turn. The kid's grip on the front of Dean's shirt tightens, his bottom lip wobbles and he stares between Dean and the toilet with wide, frightened eyes as if expecting something to come flying up out of the bowl any second.

Like the deformed potty monster of a vivid imagination.

Fuck. Dean hasn't seen Sammy this freaked out in years; the kid certainly hasn't been afraid of the 'potty monster' since he was around four or five. Whatever the hell kind of nightmare or night terror Sammy just experienced had to have been something beyond horrifying. And it fucking kills Dean to know he won't be able to stop Sammy from experiencing it again. He can only be there in the aftermath, which if it comes with nosebleeds each time he'll be too fucking late to prevent.

And that protectiveness he's always had inside of him for this kid is soaring to such new heights it's almost crushing Dean with the force. He wants to destroy everything and anything intending to hurt his kid; aiming to get their hands on his baby. Dean's grip on Sammy tightens, pulling him close, uncaring of Sammy's current state of undress. Hell, in the past this kid has bled on him, puked on him, pissed on him and shat on him. Sammy being half-naked or fully naked isn't something that fazes Dean.

"I gotcha, baby." Dean is surprised his voice remains steady as he whispers against Sammy's ear, rubbing one hand up and down his kid's back, and feeling even worse when the big fat tears roll down Sammy's cheeks. "You're safe with me, baby. I gotcha." Dean shoots a glare at the toilet, blaming it for Sam's fright despite his own part in it. "Mean old potty making big loud noises like that and scaring my baby."

Dean hears the sniffle and feels Sammy nod fractionally, before the kid whispers, "bad potty," and two fingers find their way into his mouth. Dean winces at how many germs the kid just stuck in there and gently eases the fingers out; cursing his own stupidity in not turning back around at the store yesterday and buying that damn pacifier. Of course Dean's retracting of the fingers from Sammy's mouth only upsets his kid further. And Dean has a forehead smacking him in the collarbone a second later as Sammy drops his head against Dean's shoulder with a tired and distressed sob.

As Cas appears in the doorway with Sammy's fresh nightclothes and a glass of water, Dean makes the decision to forgo trying to sit Sammy on the closed toilet seat to wipe his sweat-soaked skin down. The purpose of shutting the toilet lid to begin with. It's only going to cause even more distress at this point and that's the last thing Dean wants to do.

"Set that stuff down and grab the washcloth, Cas," Dean instructs, his left hand running continuously up and down Sammy's back.

Cas nods and takes a step backwards out the bathroom door and reaches off to the side with the glass of water. Dean hears the soft thud of glass hitting wood a second later and figures Cas set the water down on the bureau. Cas steps back into the bathroom, quickly dropping Sam's nightclothes on the closed toilet lid before grabbing up the washcloth and rinsing it once again under both the hot and cold faucets before ringing it out.

While Cas is busy doing that, Dean tugs on Sammy's night tee. He pulls the sleeves free from his kid's arms, then manages to get it over Sammy's head with very little in the way of help from his little boy, who would rather keep his head buried in Dean's shoulder. He drops the tee onto the sweats and boxer-briefs already on the floor.

Sammy shivers against the cold on his skin.

"We'll be quick, baby, then we'll have you tucked back into bed," Dean soothes, nodding to Cas, who steps up behind Sammy.

The former angel runs the washcloth over the kid's back gently but quickly, following up with the legs and arms, before quickly swiping it over Sammy's bottom. Sammy shifts in Dean's arms, shivers once again when Cas rubs the bath-towel over his skin to dry it of moisture. Dean has to set his kid back on his feet and turn him slightly while keeping a good grip on the kid so that Cas can wipe over Sammy's front.

"Cold," Sammy murmurs sleepily, eyes cracked open only a fraction.

Cas speeds up the process across Sam's front, being mindful of the mild burns, and clearly wanting to get Sammy dressed and back to bed to warm up as much as Dean does. Once Cas has Sam dried off, between them they manage to get Sammy dressed in the fresh nightclothes and back into Dean's arms.

Walking back into the main room, Dean settles Sammy in the middle of the queen and lies down beside him, draping the covers over them both. He pulls Sammy in close, his kid curling into him and Dean makes a mental note to cut Sammy's fingernails as he feels them dig into his side as Sammy gets a tight grip on Dean's tee with his right hand. The left blindly reaches out behind Sammy, searching. When it doesn't come in contact with what it's seeking, a distressed mewl leaves Sammy's throat, curled legs hitting Dean in the thighs as Sammy kicks them.

"You're okay, baby," Dean soothes, rubbing his kid's back and staring hard at his partner standing frozen at the side of the bed, the former-angel watching with a furrowed brow.

"What is Sam looking for, Dean?" Cas questions with clear confusion, reaching out to grasp that seeking hand, before pulling back.

"You, you moron," Dean snaps, unable to keep his temper in check with his partner in the face of Sammy's distress.

Cas' mouth drops open into the shape of an 'o'. Dean watches him blink in realisation and then his partner slips beneath the blankets behind Sammy, who's fingers curl into the first piece of fabric upon Cas that they come across; the short-sleeve of Cas' blue tee. A sigh of relief leaves Sammy's mouth, his tense body relaxing against Dean.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Cas apologises quietly, rising up to drop a kiss to Sam's temple. Lying back down, Cas tentatively reaches out to rest an arm over Sammy's side, hand coming in contact with Dean's.

After a moment, Dean entwines his fingers with Cas' and closes his eyes. Now that Sammy's taken care of and safe in his arms, both Dean's mind and body are screaming at him to fucking sleep. They'll deal with whatever fallout crops up from this nightmare in the morning.