Heavy silence fell. Dean looked across the table, trying to communicate What the hell now? with his expression alone; Sam clearly got the message, but his reply was just as clearly Like I know ?, which was totally unfair; this kind of stuff was supposed to be Sam's job. Dean didn't do feelings.

Dean turned back, drawing a breath with no idea what he was going to say, and was met with Cas's brilliant, empty grin.

"Don't worry about it," Cas said, full of the false cheer that grated on Dean's nerves like biting on tinfoil.

"Don't do that," Dean blurted without thinking.

Cas rolled his eyes. "Would you like it better if I started weeping and rending my garments?" he asked. "It's not like you crushed my last hope, Dean. The Colt was always a long shot and we knew it."

Dean wasn't so sure about that; he couldn't help remembering Cas's voice (the real Cas, his mind insisted slyly) on the phone that night in Kansas City: If you remain set on the insane task of killing the Devil, this is how we do it. Real Cas, now-Cas, had believed the Colt would work right up until it hadn't.

The waitress chose then to show up again with Cas and Sam's oatmeal, and Cas's fruit. Dean eyed the chunks of cantaloupe and tried to come up with something to say. Cas picked up one of the pieces of fruit and shoved it into his mouth, making an expression of bliss so exaggeratedly orgasmic that Dean felt his cheeks heat. He looked out the window again, and stayed resolutely looking until his pancakes arrived a minute or two later.

True to his word, Cas ate everything he was brought with no evidence of discomfort, up to attempting to steal a piece of Dean's bacon. Dean, who had developed a few survival reflexes about his food around Sam's third growth spurt, managed to stop before stabbing Cas with his fork, but he did drip some syrup onto Cas's knuckles—which Cas proceeded to lick off, eyes locked on Dean the whole time. Sam coughed and looked away.

Dean scooped up a last bite of pancake and jammed it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it, and said, "Move, I need to hit the head."

Cas stared at him until half a second before he would've repeated himself before cocking his head and saying gravely, "Of course."

It was still early for calling people when they got back to the motel, but it wasn't like Cas...Castiel...needed to sleep, so Dean tried him again, waiting through the button-stabbing noises when the voicemail picked up. "OK," Dean said. "We're leaving for Bobby's, probably won't get there till tomorrow evening at the earliest. Give me a call when you get this. The short form is, we've got you from the future that Zach sent me to, and we could really use some help figuring out how he got here." He flipped his phone closed with a pang of unease and looked up to see Cas watching him with an expression Dean couldn't identify.

"What?" he said, sharper than he meant to.

Cas's eyebrows went up and he said, "Nothing," which even Dean could tell was bull, but Cas continued, "I was going to ask if you guys have any painkillers."

At that Sam turned his attention from his laptop and said, "Are you hurt? You should have said—"

"I'm fine," Cas said. "I just…let's go with 'chronic pain'. I have chronic pain." He sounded like he expected argument, and Dean felt his eyes narrow.

"What kind of chronic pain?" he asked.

Cas sighed and pasted on a blatantly fake smile. "Turns out being the last angel on Earth has some side effects. Including chronic pain." He was not-very-effectively hiding his interest in the weapons bag, which was where the medkit lived.

"You can have a couple Tylenol 3," Dean said, after an uncomfortable second. "Vicodin's for guys with broken bones."

He wasn't used to the more expressive Cas yet, so watching Cas actually roll his eyes was a kinda weird experience. "I love how you think you get to dictate that," Cas said.

"They're our pills," Dean said shortly, and pulled out the medkit. "You want 'em or not?"

"Of course I want them," Cas said, all amused patience. Dean tried not to grind his teeth as he shook the pills out of the bottle.

"Sam," he said. "Get packed, we need to be on the road."

It was near dark as they skirted Sioux Falls proper on the way to Bobby's, and Dean slowed down a bit; mating season was almost over but he didn't want a buck through the windshield. He'd stopped to help a lady and her kid once who'd had that happen. Luckily no one had gotten hurt except the deer, but he'd been able to tell at a glance that the woman's car was going to take a couple thousand in restoration easy, if it ever ran again. And the buck hadn't been killed by the hit; in the end, Dean had shot it to stop it suffering.

Cas shifted and sighed in the back seat. Dean glanced at him in the rearview. Cas had spent most of the drive asleep or doing a good job of faking it, and Dean was starting to wonder if he normally slept during the day or if he was bored. He'd wheedled another pill out of Sam in the early afternoon, so maybe he was just stoned.

Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. It was probably too soon to try calling Castiel again, no matter how ticked Dean was that Cas had gone and fluttered off to somewhere unreachable just in time for his creepy double to show up. He kept tapping until he caught Sam side-eyeing him and made himself settle down for the last few minutes of the drive.

They pulled up alongside Bobby's house as the last of the light was slipping out of the western sky. Dean turned off the engine and pulled the keys out so Sam could take them to open the trunk. As Sam got out, Dean twisted in his seat. "Up and at 'em, Cas," he said. Asleep, Cas's face looked more familiar than Dean could remember, and after a second he realized it was because Cas looked worried or annoyed. Dean felt his own lips twist. What did it say about him that he only really knew what Cas looked like when he was pissed off?

He shook the thought away and reached back to shove Cas in the arm. "C'mon, you can sleep in the house," he said. He sort of expected Cas to spring awake but instead he mumbled something and turned his head into the seat back. The motion made him look strangely vulnerable, and Dean swallowed.

"Wake up, dude," he said. The car jostled as Sam flipped the trunk open. Cas spoke again, the words unintelligible in sleep. Dean sighed and opened his door so he could go around to the one Cas was leaning on. "Sam, grab my bag, huh?" he said. "I think Sleeping Beauty here is gonna need a hand getting inside."

Sam peered around the trunk lid. "Yeah, no problem," he said as Dean opened the latch on the door. Getting it open without letting Cas spill out backwards was tricky, and by the time Dean managed it Sam was climbing the porch steps. Cas slept on, which was starting to be a little freaky.

Dean moved him around until he was sitting mostly right and set one hand on his shoulder, ready to shake until Cas woke, but as he did his finger brushed the side of Cas's neck. At the contact Cas startled and his eyes blinked open at last, though Dean didn't think he was properly awake.

"He doesn't want me," Cas said, perfectly clear. "He wants me like I was." Then his eyes drooped again for a second as Dean stood still, wondering what the hell that meant. He was still trying to work it out when Cas shook himself and opened his eyes, for real this time. He glanced at Dean's hand on his shoulder and smirked. Dean pulled back, trying not to let the move look rushed.

"We're here," he said, and headed for the house without waiting for an answer. It felt like a retreat.