Cas is wobbly enough on his feet that Dean lingers behind him, his hand never straying far from his back. And he's more than a little grateful for the excuse. He needs Cas to be close right now. Because that - that was too goddamn close.

The cuts and bruises blooming across his face, he's not gonna lie, they hurt. But, they're never going to cut at him like the sight of Cas' body going limp and rigid.

Something strange gets caught in his throat and chest if he dwells on it too long, so he tries not to.

Besides, Cas is alive. And even though 'fine' is probably more than a stretch, since Cas looks like he's getting over a bad case of the flu, his eyes are clear of the spell and he's. He's here.

Dean clings to that as he pushes Cas into the backseat and digs the blanket out of the trunk. Cas insists he doesn't need it, and Dean ignores him.

He throws Sam the keys before settling in himself. He tugs Cas' head towards his lap, because he looks like he could use a nap or five, and Cas gives him a wane look, because, seriously, Dean. Angels don't sleep.

Well, this one, if it's even remotely possible, is going to.

Sam tunes the radio to a soft rock station, because he's awesome, and Dean tells Cas to close his eyes. Because angels also don't get hexed. "You can down a bottle of Benadryl, you aren't asleep by the time we get home."

Cas nods into his elbow, before repeating, "home," solemnly.

The word is a soft hum, filled with relief, like it had been in question.

And Dean's heart clenches. Because there are so many things that he and Sam need to fix right now, but this - he didn't even know this was broken.

Of course their home is Cas' home. How could that even be a question?

(He knows how. He knows exactly how. It's not like his words or his fists have been particularly welcoming).

He pulls Cas in a little tighter. "Need help finding somewhere to bunk? Think we can get you a little cozier without those chains. What do you think?"

Cas' lips quirk, just barely, but enough that Dean feels a little lighter. "Undoubtedly."

"Can't speak for Sammy, but mi casa es su casa - my room is your room."

Sam frowns at Dean in the rearview mirror before offering, "There's a TV in my room, Cas. You can use it if you want."

Cas nods as his eyes fall closed, his breathing evens out, and by the time they're pulling up to the bunker's door, he's snoring softly.

Dean nudges him, gently, out of the car, "We're home, Cas. You're home."