"He's dead," Dean says.

Sam looks up from his laptop, and over at his brother, and he takes in the worried lines sketched across Dean's features, the tired frown pulling at his mouth. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept in days, and Sam's hit with rush of sympathy. "He's not dead."

"Like you would have any idea," Dean snaps. He crosses the room, then throws the refrigerator door open and grabs two bottles of beer. He slams the one for Sam down onto the desk so hard that Sam's pretty surprised when it doesn't shatter. "Two fucking months since we've heard so much as a word from him." He takes a swallow, two, then continues his tirade. "It shouldn't matter whether we're . . ." He clears his throat unable to finish that line of thought. "He could at least let us know he's alive."

Sam's not sure what to say to that, so he remains silent.

"We were friends for years." And Dean's losing the fight in him as quickly as it had flared up. He glares at Sam defensively. "You don't stop caring about someone just because you're not together."

"I know," Sam answers quickly. But Dean's still looking at him like he's expecting more of a response than that, so he continues carefully. "Maybe it's just that . . . You know. You're broken up. And people who've broken up don't usually check in with each other."

A shadow passes over Dean's face. "So you call him."

Sam blinks. "What?"

"If I'm the problem. If he's not coming down here because of me, and he's still pissed about all that stuff with-" He breathes out in frustration. "I have to know he's okay. Okay?"

It's a testament to how deep his fear runs that he's even saying anything at all, and Sam finds himself agreeing almost immediately. Honestly, what else is he supposed to do? "Fine."

Dean nods shortly. "Good. I'll be outside."

Of course he would mean now. But Sam doesn't argue when Dean steps out into the night air, the door clicking softly shut behind him. He waits a moment, kinda hoping Cas will appear all on his own, but when only the ticking of the seconds hand on his watch meets his ears, he sighs and lowers his eyes.

"Castiel," he begins, a little edgily. "If you're listening, I would really appreciate it if you could make an appearance down here. We haven't seen you in a while and-"

"Hello, Sam."

His head snaps up, and he's looking at the only angel he's ever been able to call a friend, relief washing over him in waves. For the first time he realizes that there's a chance he's been a little concerned as well. "Castiel," he greets.

"I'm sorry to have worried you with my absence," Cas says softly. "I wasn't sure if I should come. I have never been broken up before."

"It's okay." Sam gets to his feet, and as he steps closer he gets a good look at the sadness bleeding through the bright blue eyes, the defeated line of his shoulders. He's known Cas for a long time, and he hasn't looked this broken since he was standing in a ring of fire, his attention focused solely on the betrayal on his best friend's face. Words Sam swore to himself he wouldn't say rise in his throat. "Cas, can't you guys just-"

"Did you know Dean's been calling for me," Cas asks. He's staring at a spot in the wall and doesn't seem to have heard Sam at all.

Sam gives a slow nod. "I thought he probably was. But he never said."

"He says he . . . Feels regret about our fight. That he should have believed me from the beginning." He falls silent for a moment, his head tilting to the side in a way that is very familiar. "It has taken Dean some time, but he has admitted his mistake. He has asked me to reconsider our separation, and I would very much like to do that. I-" He flushes a scarlet red. "I miss him. But I'm wondering why his opinion has changed. He has only been calling for me for a week."

The question is so not what Sam is expecting that he's unable to school his features in time, and he's forced to watch as Cas processes what he's seeing. When the angel speaks again, his voice is low and cold.

"I see. You have spoken to my brother."

Sam searches for words, but he can think of nothing he can say that will make this better.

"You have spoken to my brother and he's corroborated my story, and that is why Dean has suddenly decided that my word is worth something again." He gives a harsh, mirthless laugh "There was a time when I was the only angel your brother trusted. And now I am the one that he does not."

"Cas-"

"Please tell Dean that I will not go this long again without letting him know that I am alive." And then he disappears to the sound of flapping wings.

Exactly thirty days later Sam wakes to see Dean gripping something carefully between his fingers, and when he holds it up Sam realizes it's a small, black feather.

It's the first of four.

"Cas," Crane repeats in confusion. "I thought his name was John."

"It . . . Well, it is." Sam steals a glance to his left, and takes note of the stricken expression on his brother's face. So, he's not going to be much help. "We used to work together. It's, uh, a nickname."

"A nickname?"

"Right."

"What the hell is Cas short for?"

Cas, who, through this awkward exchange, has given no real indication that he has been listening to anything other than the two hundred questions written across Dean's eyes, turns to Officer Crane. "Please leave, and forget you ever saw us here."

Crane drifts away without another word, and Sam's eyebrows go up. "I forgot how convenient having an angel for backup could be," he says with an impressed smile. "Glad you're okay, man."

Cas inclines his head. "Thank you, Sam," he answers, and, as though by magnetic force, his gaze moves back to Dean.

There was a time, a time that feels like a whole lifetime ago, when Sam would have immediately dismissed the idea of Dean and Cas being together as impossible. Not because the feelings weren't there, (because there were so obviously feelings there) but because Dean, it was becoming clearer and clearer, was absolutely hellbent on keeping himself as miserable as possible. And Sam knew where that feeling came from, understood that it was guilt over his last ten years in hell that kept Dean from striving for something a little better than just getting by, but he'd hoped that Dean would eventually find a way to move past it.

Though he hadn't held his breath.

But then Dean had surprised them all, and managed to put aside all of the whateverthehellitwas that was keeping him so determinedly in the self-destruction with a drop of self-loathing camp, and the fact that he'd come out on the other side with Castiel on his arm was nothing short of a miracle. And the most amazing, most bewildering, fact of all was that after everything - after their disastrous first meeting, the Apocalypse, after archangel vessels and Lucifer and Leviathan, betrayal and lies, after Purgatory - Dean and Cas had found a way to get closer to happiness than any of them had ever been.

It hadn't been easy, even Sam could see that. There were nights when Dean would storm into the room, twist open a beer, and say nothing else the rest of the night, his eyes tight with unexpressed anger. But far more often were the affectionate eye-rolls when Cas was scrunching up his nose at Dean's dinner choices, the extra-close scrutiny after a dangerous hunt, and, most tellingly, the laughter. So absent from their lives that when it became commonplace it was easy to get used to.

Sam's thinking about all of this when he's overcome with sudden determination. This is ridiculous, he decides, because, okay, Dean isn't remotely perfect - he goes from zero to pissed off in two seconds flat, he's stubborn, and he almost always thinks his ideas are better than anyone else's (God included) - but Cas had loved him, far more fiercely than anyone before, and he had been the one to see the man for everything he truly was.

But it's not just about his brother; Cas is Sam's friend. He'd die for him in a heartbeat, no questions asked, and Sam remembers a time when Cas used to smile. Not the wide, slightly deranged smile Dean wore: small, a half-smile at best, but there and very real. The man standing in front of him looks like he's never even seen one.

"You're here investigating the angels' deaths," he asks, a plan forming in his mind. He tries not to think about just how large of a bitch-fit Dean is going to have once they're alone.

There's a beat, then, "I would have thought that was obvious." He doesn't turn, and Sam has to roll his eyes.

"Great," he says, maybe a little too enthusiastically because Dean tears his attention from his ex and shoots Sam a suspicious frown. He pretends not to notice and barrels on. "We should work together."

Just like that, Dean catches on, and there's an undertone of warning as he mutters, "Sam."

"You want to work together." Cas clears his throat. "I appreciate the offer but I don't need help."

But Sam isn't to be deterred. "Look, you guys have a history-"

"Okay, really, Sam-"

"Dean, it's not like it's a secret. But, history or not, work like this, we're going to cross paths. And I don't know if you remember, but once upon a time, we made a pretty good team."

Something flickers across Cas's face. Affection, maybe. "I remember," he says, so quietly Sam barely hears it.

"Cas," Dean begins, speaking to his ex for the first time. He lifts his hand as though to rest it on Cas's shoulder, but then he curls it into a fist, and returns it to his side. "You don't have to agree to this. We'll go, if that's what you want."

Sam feels a flash of annoyance. Why doesn't Dean understand that he's trying to help the stupid son of a bitch?

"It-" Cas exhales. Sort of. "If you would like to put the past behind us for this case, I have no objection." He glances at Dean. "Do you want to attempt this? I would understand, as well, if you-"

"It's fine," Dean assures him. Sam has to fight back a victorious smirk. "We've got a reservation at a motel off Independence Blvd. Want to meet us there in a half hour? Give us time to get some grub."

The corners of Cas's lips twitch. "Yes, please eat. I haven't forgotten what it's like, trying to discuss a case with a hungry Dean Winchester."

They've barely shut the doors to the car when Dean starts. "I'm onto you, little brother," he says, as he pulls out of the parking deck, and heads in the direction of their motel.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam protests. His words sound fake to even his own ears, which he supposes is not really a good thing, but if he's being honest with himself, he knows he's not really trying here. He feels no shame, and he's already decided that this is just the beginning.

"Right. So you weren't playing matchmaker back there?"

He shrugs. "Not everything is about you."

"Whatever, Sammy." And Dean says nothing else until they pull into the McDonald's Drive-Thru.