Dean woke up before his alarm, excited, nervous energy tickling under his skin. Cas was coming home.

He winced as the saw the bright numbers on his phone, letting him know how obscenely early it was. 4:45. Dean tried to roll over, scrunching his eyes shut and willing himself back to sleep, but it was no use. His fingers tapped against his pillow and his feet twitched in the socks he had accidentally fallen asleep in last night. Cas was coming home.

After a long, hot shower, Dean decided his energy would be best channeled into giving the bunker a good scrub down. There could be a bunch of new mouths to feed soon (Did Ambriel and Had even have to eat?), so the kitchen would need organizing and restocking. Maybe he would make a grocery run later. Dean wanted to make breakfast for dinner when Cas got home.

Maybe waffles this time.

Or breakfast burritos.

Had Cas ever tried tacos?

If not, that would be high on the list of things to cook. They had time.

First, Dean needed to make sure the kitchen table wasn't still sticky from when Kevin spilled that Red Bull. By the time Dean had finished cleaning the grilles of the industrial stove, the sun was about ready to rise and Dean was really beginning to understand why chicks cleaned things when they were stressed.

As the morning passed Dean found himself drifting further and further into the vicinity of the front door. It started with little glances as he carried piles of books back to the library from all the various alcoves Sam had been leaving them in. Then it was a straining ear as he ran a quick mop over the strategy room's floor, listening for the sound of a familiar four cylinder engine. Eventually Dean caved, grabbing a beer before clamoring up the steps that led to the heavy steel entranceway. He sank onto the narrow cement lip of the door frame, back pressed against the door. This was good. Nice. He wasn't waiting for a knock. Dean just needed a little space to think was all.

What would it be like when Castiel came back? What would he say when he got here? Knowing Castiel he would be all business. Maybe Dean would kiss him right here on the stairwell. Wipe that "Agent of Heaven" look right off his face, right in front of his angel buddies. How many angels was Cas bringing with him, anyway? Not that it was going to interfere with the kissing plan, but maybe Dean should have opened up some more bedrooms. Did the other angels need to sleep? Did they have enough pillows?

Dean felt a sudden flare of anxiety. Where was Castiel gonna sleep? With Dean? In his own room? Crap, he never cleaned Castiel's room. Should he clean Cas' room? Should Dean move Cas' stuff into his room? Had Dean changed his sheets lately? Would Castiel want to sleep together, or was that moving too fast? Once he actually saw Dean again would Cas still want to touch him? What if the bunker wasn't clean enough and Castiel thought Dean wasn't a good provider? What if they finally got to watch Star Wars together Castiel liked the prequels better?

Jesus. Dean knew he was spiraling. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of the stairwell and willed himself back to calm. He just needed to see Cas, that was all. Once Castiel was back everything would be fine. They could talk things out. They could talk anything out. He took a restless sip of his beer as his knee bounced and his fingers itched for the feel of Castiel's warm skin.

"What are you doing?" Dean jumped as Sam called to him from the bottom of the staircase. Sam was still in his pajama pants, looking exhausted and slightly irritated by the splash of beer Dean accidently sent over the railing when he started.

"Jesus Sammy," Dean groaned, "Announce yourself or something."

"Dude, I've been looking for you for twenty minutes," Sam griped, shaking his head like an Irish Setter, "You're perched on that ledge like a hawk. What are you doing?"

"I'm just…y'know," Dean mumbled lamely, "Taking a moment. Having a beer."

"You're waiting for Cas." Sam's look went from one of annoyance to a bizarre cross between smug and pitiful.

"Don't be such a girl," Dean scoffed, taking a manly swig from his bottle, "'Course I'm not 'waiting for Cas'. This isn't fuckin' Cold Mountain."

"You know he's not actually coming today, right?" Dean scowled as he stomped down the metal staircase a little heavier than necessary. Of course he knew that.

"I wasn't waiting for Cas," Dean repeated emphatically. His scowl deepened as Sam swayed on his feet. Up close his brother looked even paler, with the red around his eyes and nose that scared Dean more than he liked to admit.

"What are you even doing out of bed?" Dean demanded, sliding a hand over Sam's clammy forehead, "Your fever's rising again."

"I hadn't seen Crowley all day," Sam pouted, "I thought he might be up to something."

"He's back in the dungeon," Dean muttered absently as he took Sam's pulse, "Kevin tried to kill him with one of the spare angel blades last night so I locked him up for his own protection. Jesus, how are you even standing?"

Sam just shrugged, eyes fluttering. Dean slung an arm around his brother's shoulders, leading him back toward the long hallway of bedrooms.

"C'mon," Dean coaxed, "Before you pass out again and I have to carry your giant ass."

By the time they made it back to Sam's room Dean basically was carrying him. Dean felt some of his bubbling excitement ebb as Sam laid down without an objection, sipping on the water Dean offered him before rolling over and falling into an uneasy sleep. Dean spent the next hour or so switching icepacks back and forth on Sam's forehead, doing his best to keep his brother's temperature below dangerous levels. Sam always breathed a soft sigh of relief when Dean placed a fresh cold pack against his skin, though the tension never left his frame and his eyes never stopped jumping under their lids. He rambled as he shivered, calling for Dean and Bobby, and once even for John. Dean had to step out when Sam started asking for Jess.

Dean was on his way to the kitchen to refill Sam's glass when he spotted the journal still sitting on the coffee table. Maybe he could just touch base with Cas real quick. Just an update, maybe more of an ETA from the angel brigade. Yeah. It would just take a second.

Hey Cas,

I know it hasn't been long, but I just wanted to check in. I'm real psyched about you comin' back. Sam actually caught me waiting by the door this morning, if you can believe that. I didn't even know what I was doing. It's like I'm turning into some kind of sappy Nicholas sparks chick or somethin'. Don't tell Sam that I know who that is.

Look, I'm not gonna lie to you. Sam's getting bad again. I've tried all the meds we got but nothings bringing his fever down. I got him into bed earlier and he didn't even try to put up an argument. Usually it takes a half hour of griping before I can get him to lie down for a few minutes even. I'm keeping him cool best as I can, but…I think he thinks he's back at Stanford. He keeps talking to Jess, like he's twenty two again and she's right there. Sometimes he talks about my dad. It's…rough. I'm okay, I've definitely handled worse, I'm just worried about him, y'know? I trust you when you say you have a plan though. No questions there. Sam trusts you too. Your name even popped up once or twice in between all the fever mumbles.

I know you're not laying around out there Cas. Making sure the angels are safe and stuff is important and I get it. Just, the sooner you can get here the better, okay?

See you soon, hopefully,

Dean