Knowing Cas is a down to business, not a lot of small talk kind of guy is one thing. But as far as Sam's tastes in information sharing go, he's been too damn brief upon his entrance, which was mostly all he's seen of him besides of being very vaguely informed he's found a temporary at worst and permanent at best solution. Sam's what is its fell on deaf or uncaring ears. Cas was already on his way to Dean's bedroom. Urgent, Sam kind of gets it, okay. What he doesn't get is that Cas reemerged on the next morning, more crestfallen and stern on his way out than on his way in. He catches him on his sleeve while he can.
"Did it work?"
Cas looks like he's working the question through under thirty five angles.
"Yes," he answers eventually. And that's about it.
"And?" Sam prods.
"It's a process. It's going to take time for Dean to heal," he decides to add.
"But what have you done, Cas?"
"I'm sorry, Sam", he leaves him with that. And leaves, as in: really leaves.
He doesn't even have to check up on Dean. His brother enters the stage maybe two minutes later. A whole brand new giddy, smiling Dean. Plus a bruised lip and a swollen face. Regardless of all conscious thought, Sam greets him with, "What the hell, Dean?!"
Offering a grand bitchface that would rarely grace his features, Dean says, "I fell down some stairs."
"Did you two have a fight?"
"God, no," Dean waves his worry off in a dismissive voice. "We just tried some shenanigans to tone the Mark down."
"And?" he asks, equally dumbfounded and fear-monosyllable stuck like he was with Cas.
"And then I fell down some stairs."
"Dean," he tries but already knows he's not going to get anything out of him today. "Can you at least tell me if you think Cas's help worked?"
Confronted with this question, Dean laughs so dryly a desert seems moist in comparison, which sends a nauseating shiver down Sam's spine.
"You just wait," he says. "Gonna be spectacular."
He doesn't elaborate and Sam isn't sure whether he even wants him to, anyway. Dean might as well be speaking in riddles (or in tongues), considering how hard he's been to cohabitate with these days. What's worse Dean now stares at him brokenly and there's something fucking ominous in his eyes, but Sam can't put a name on the sort of fear it induces in him. Worst, as if after a flip of a switch, Dean is all smiles again.
"Wanna have a movie night, Sammy?" he suggests.
It's morning. Which is exactly what he tells Dean.
"Doesn't matter," his brother shrugs. "Come on, you get to pick," he tries to lure. "You get to pick everything now," he adds after a while, voice too soft in these (any) circumstances.
He agrees. He doesn't remember what they watched. What he remembers is that Dean still didn't eat on that day. Or the next day. Or a week and a half later when Cas showed up again (looking stressed) and stole his brother for a night once more.
Cas would show up like this from time to time later on and the secretive disappearing of theirs became a habit. Sam would love to bet on them figuring their shit out, but seeing more and more bruises on Dean, he knows something's wrong. Afterwards, Dean is always eerily kind to him and insists on spending brotherly quality time, letting Sam do whatever he wants (Sam wants nothing; he just wants to know what's wrong). Always stares at him as if he'd lost him one more time. Or one time too many.
"I'm not dying," Sam finally snaps.
"No," Dean agrees wistfully, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Afterwards he doesn't let Cas in for weeks.
He shows up at the door once.
"I can't," he hears Dean mutter. "It's Sam."
Now he thought that he finally had himself sorted out, but he was wrong apparently because once more, in a new context, he doesn't know what he is.
"Does he know anything?" Cas asks.
No, Sam doesn't. And that would be the problem.
Cas leaves. Sam doesn't bring it up until he gets two worrying texts and a phone call from Claire. When he mentions it to Dean, he's ruthlessly cold about it. Meanwhile, he's gotten detached and a bit aggressive, his previous also worrying warmth simply gone.
"I'm guessing Cas is on his shark week," he says.
"Angels don't have shark weeks, Dean."
"He's always been special, now hasn't he?"
"But Claire's been trying to contact him for days. Don't you think it's worth checking?"
"Oh", Dean pouts, "where is her independence now?"
"Dean, Sam says, disbelieving his ears. "Are you jealous?"
"That's stupid," he snarls. "In fact, so are you."
He lets Cas in again. When he does, it's a clusterfuck loud enough Sam gathers the courage to invade Dean's room. And oh, God.
He catches a glimpse of Cas banging Dean's head over a shelf and shouting at him shit he doesn't catch out, all of this happening while they're fucking against a wall, Dean clinging to Cas with his legs for dear life.
Somehow Dean staring at him is the most wrong of it all. His face looks feral.
Focused solely and entirely on him.
Sam shuts the door. He doesn't know what to do.
He sure as fuck wants to run.