CHAPTER 18

The curtains in this motel room were dark red, and colored the sunlight that streamed through them. Castiel lay in bed, one arm tucked behind his head and the covers pulled up to cover his bare chest, and watched the light that shone down onto the blankets and tinted the entire room the same bold red. Then he slowly turned over onto his side, looking over at Dean.

He had thought that Dean had still been asleep, but he had been wrong. Dean's eyes were open now, his head tilted to the side, staring at Castiel.

For the fourth day in a row, Castiel had gotten to wake up with Dean beside him. Half a week had passed since they had decided that they wanted to get together for real, and so far, Dean had kept his promise.

Dean caught Castiel looking at him, and quickly smiled. "Hey," he said softly, reaching over to thread his fingers through Castiel's.

He hadn't been fast enough to hide completely, though. In the moments before Dean had realized that Castiel was looking at him, Castiel had been able to see something else in his expression. Something that revealed… not unhappiness, not exactly, but something similar.

Worry.

Fear.

Terror.

Castiel squeezed Dean's hand back, firmly. "This is related to the things that we've decided not to question each other on," he said, his voice just as soft as Deans' had been. "Isn't it?"

"What is?" Dean asked. Castiel didn't answer, and after a moment, Dean stopped pretending not to know. "Maybe," he said, which was as close to a confession as Castiel would ever make him come.

Castiel pushed him up onto one elbow, still looking hard at Dean's face. "And there is nothing that I can do to convince you to tell me?"

"Nope," Dean agreed, then reached up and put his hand on Castiel's cheek, cupping the side of his face. "And that's still cool with you?"

Castiel let out a huff of breath. "I wouldn't exactly say that I am fine with it," he said. "I'm worried about you."

But he also recognized the fairness of it. He was not quite ready to share all of his secrets with Dean. If he was not telling the whole truth, then he had no right to expect it of Dean.

And there would be time for secret-sharing later. For now, Castiel leaned forward and placed a light kiss against Dean's lips, to prove that all was well. "It is okay," he said, then added, "Soon."

"Soon," Dean agreed, his voice not sounding convincing in the slightest, but Castiel chose not to pay attention to that. Instead, he deepened the kiss, pulling Dean closer to him until Dean finally pulled back, gasping, "We need to get going. We've still got a six-hour drive in front of us."

Castiel frowned, but nodded slowly. There had been a string of suspicious suicides along the East coast over the past week, and the three of them were heading out to investigate them now. They'd been driving almost nonstop for days now, trying to arrive in time. In fact, last night had been the first time during the drive that they'd even checked into a motel. Before last night, Dean and Sam had always just taken turned driving through the night, while Castiel did his best to nap in the passenger seat while the brother who wasn't driving stretched out in the back seat.

"Alright," Castiel said, with some reluctance, and climbed out of bed to go get dressed.

Dean caught his arm and grinned. "Tell you what," he said. "If we hurry, I bet that we'll be ready before Sammy is, and then we can see if we can find anything to do with that extra time. Sound good?"

Castiel immediately grinned back. "I did not unpack last night," he promised. "I need two minutes in the bathroom before I'm ready to go."

"Now you're thinking," Dean said, and Castiel quickly grabbed his toothbrush and a pair of clothes from his duffel bag.

If he hurried, he might even be able to cut it down to one minute.

It took them about three days to wrap up the suicide case.

"Poor bastards," Dean said, as he scooped a shovelful of dirt onto the grave that they had just finished digging.

Sam was standing by the edge of the hole, holding up the flashlight to give Dean enough light that he'd be able to see the hole. Castiel sat on a nearby gravestone, resting – he had been the one to do the very last of the digging and uncover the body. He had also been the one to fight with the ghost, distracting it long enough that the Winchesters could salt and burn the body, though he hadn't exactly volunteered for that responsibility. The ghost had been the one to choose him for that duty, and he hadn't enjoyed it the slightest bit. He hadn't been injured beyond a few scrapes and bruises, though, so he supposed that he couldn't complain.

"Who?" Castiel asked.

"The vics," Dean said, throwing another clump of dirt into the grave. "This crazy dead girl appears to them and says that they can see their dead family members again if they just off themselves, then actually gets them to do it. It's sad."

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "So is every case that we've ever worked, Dean."

"Well, duh," Dean said. "But I don't know, this one just seems worse."

Castiel thought about it, and found himself nodding in agreement. "They simply wanted to see their family members again," he said slowly.

Dean nodded. "Exactly."

For a minute, all of them were silent. Then Sam took the shovel from Dean's hands and handed over the flashlight in return, then began shoveling the dirt back into the grave as fast as he could. "Well, it's over now," he said. "That's something, at least. Nobody else is going to die this way."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He kicked the dirt pile, sending a small stream of dirt back into the hole. Castiel just watched the two of them, squinting to try to make out the expression of Dean's face despite the darkness, and said nothing.

It took another twenty minutes to finish filling the hole completely. When it was over, Sam groaned and stretched. "I don't know about you two, but I say that we head back to the motel and save the celebrating for another night."

"Agreed," Castiel said. His jeans were covered in so much dirt that they appeared closer to brown than blue, and his tee shirt was stuck to his back with sweat. More than anything, he wanted to shower and change into clean clothing, then fall into the motel bed and not move for several hours.

Dean cleared his throat, then nodded as well. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that sounds good."

It was only a five-minute drive to the motel. Once there, Sam said goodnight to them, then turned and headed for his own motel room while Dean and Castiel walked to their joined one. "You can take the first shower," Dean said, as soon as they were inside.

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked, then offered, "We could shower together, if you prefer."

Dean, though, shook his head, then nodded. "I mean, yeah, I'm sure," he said. "I, uh, I gotta call Ash."

Castiel frowned. "At this time at night?"

"People are always up late at the Roadhouse," Dean said.

Castiel nodded, supposing that that did make sense. "What do you need to ask him about?"

"Nothing important," Dean said. His voice made it clear that he wasn't going to say anything more.

Castiel studied Dean for a long moment, then slowly, he nodded. "Alright," he said, and collected his things, then headed to the bathroom. He turned around and closed the door, then paused. Dean was sitting at the table, his cell phone resting in front of him, but he wasn't making any move to pick it up and make a call. Instead, he was staring at it with narrowed eyes, not moving, just staring.

Castiel pulled the door closed, then turned on the shower, hoping that the sound of the running water would be enough to grant Dean privacy for whatever he was going to say.

Castiel didn't linger long in the shower, mostly because he was so exhausted. Sleep sounded like the best thing, and the warm water was soothing enough that he wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to stay awake if he stayed in there for long. So he washed himself as quickly as possible, then toweled off and dressed. It was only a few minutes later when he started to open the door.

And stopped.

Dean was on the phone, evidentially having just now decided to make the call. Castiel closed the door again, hoping that Dean wouldn't notice, and that the door would be enough to silence Dean's conversation.

Despite that, though, Castiel still heard it when Dean cleared his throat and said, "Listen, Dad, it's me. I just, I need you to call me. I know that you don't want Sam and I hunting the demon with you anymore, but at least call, okay?" There was a long pause, then a thump that sounded very much as though Dean had thrown his phone to the floor.

Castiel sat down on the edge of the counter, and slowly began counting in his head. When he made it to a hundred without hearing any further noise from Dean, he pushed open the door and stepped out.

Dean was dressed in his boxers and a clean tee shirt now, stretched out on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head. The cell phone was resting on the bedside table, and the look on Dean's face was perfectly calm. "You mind turning out the lights?" he asked. "I figured I'd wash up in the morning, if that's okay."

"Oh, yes," Castiel said, reaching to switch off the lights before climbing into bed besides Dean. "So, was your phone call... useful?" he asked, not sure what else to ask about.

In the darkness, Castiel felt more than saw it when Dean shook his head. "No, not really," he said in a low voice. "Ash didn't have what I needed."

Castiel just nodded, and settled down into bed without another word.

That wasn't the only time that Dean called his father.

Dean never acknowledged that he did it, but Castiel saw it happen many times over the next few days. Anytime that Dean wanted to be alone while he had his cell phone, Castiel began to assume that that was the reason. It was easy to figure it out, once Castiel knew the signs. Dean would go off to use the gas station's bathroom, and return with a scowl on his face and refuse to speak to anyone for the next hour. They would be doing research when Dean would volunteer to go get dinner, alone, and forget to bring the food when he returned. Once, Dean's cell phone rang while they were investigating a crime scene – standing in the same room as the dead bodies, in fact – and Dean had nearly dropped his phone in his eagerness to answer it. It had turned out that the phone call was from Bobby, who had uncovered the exact bit of information that allowed them to solve their current case, but somehow, Dean still looked disappointed.

Castiel watched it happening, and wasn't sure what he should do about it, or even if he should say anything at all.

He never did end up having to. Sam said it first.

The three of them were sitting on the couch in Dean and Castiel's motel room, watching a nature documentary, because Sam and Castiel had outvoted Dean and managed to veto his idea to watch the idiotic soap operas that he preferred. They had managed to kill a monster called a rugaru just a few hours earlier, and were now relaxing, holding their takeout containers in their laps as they ate dinner. Castiel didn't miss the way that Dean pulled out his phone to check for any new messages, the way that his hand was constantly covering his pocket, as if he was afraid that he would somehow miss the vibrations if he didn't keep in contact with the phone at all times.

And neither, apparently, did Sam.

"Dean," Sam suddenly said, turning off the TV and turning to face his brother. "You need to stop calling Dad."

"What?" Dean asked, then shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Dean," Sam repeated, more forcefully this time. "Jimmy and I both know that you're doing it. And just, it's a bad idea, okay? Wherever Dad is, he definitely doesn't want us to look for him, and I sure as hell don't want to find him, either."

For a second, Dean looked like he was still going to try to deny that he had been doing it. Then his hand suddenly became a fist, and he shook his head. "Well, excuse me for trying to be a good son," he snapped. "And excuse me for wanting to help Dad kill the son of a bitch who killed Mom and Jess." Sam started to say something, but Dean cut him off. "No, I know that we already talked about not rushing into this and all that crap, but I don't know, we might not have that much time."

"We have the hex bags," Sam said, pulling his bag from his pocket to show that he was carrying him. Since the day that Bobby had first given it to them, he, Castiel, and Dean had never gone anywhere without carrying one, at Dean's insistence. "If the demon tries to come for me-"

"And what if the hex bags don't work?" Dean demanded, suddenly jumping to his feet. "We know that they're supposed to, and hell, I'm gonna have faith and all that shit. But what if they don't? Sorry if I want to go find Dad now, just in case."

"We don't need Dad," Sam insisted, also getting to his feet. Castiel followed suit, though he hung back awkwardly. He was not a part of this argument; that much was obvious.

"Yeah?" Dean asked. "And why not? Why are you so against going to him, anyway?"

Something flashed across Sam's face then, but it was gone before Castiel could understand what it was, and then Sam was shaking his head. "Nothing," he said.

Dean paused, too, apparently having seen the same flash of emotion that Castiel had. He narrowed his eyes. "No," he said. "Tell me."

"Dean," Sam said, and once again shook his head. "Just, forget it."

"I'm serious, Sammy," Dean insisted, taking a step forward. "You were all gung-ho about finding Dean before I went into the hospital, and suddenly it's like you can't stand the man. What the hell happened between you two?"

Sam's mouth pressed together into a thin line. "We had another fight," he said stiffly.

Dean nodded. "About what?"

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't involve you."

Dean snorted. "Like hell it does," he said. "Seriously, what did Dad do?"

"Dean-"

"Seriously, Sam," Dean insisted. "Just fucking tell me."

Sam took a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "He planned on summoning the demon."

Dean just stared at him, looking like he didn't quite understand. Castiel didn't, either.

Sam narrowed his eyes, and for the first time, Castiel could see the anger flashing in his gaze. It wasn't anger toward him or Dean, though, Castiel was certain. "You were in a coma," Sam said slowly, like he was spelling it out for them. He was speaking in a low voice, but even so, Castiel heard the anger and hatred, alive in Sam's voice. "You were dying. Hell, you did fucking die. Your heart actually stopped, did anyone ever tell you that? I was going crazy, trying to figure out ways to save you, and he was too busy trying to kill the demon to even give a damn."

For a moment, the room was utterly silent. Castiel wasn't even sure if the Winchesters were breathing, or if they had frozen completely, the way that Castiel felt as though he had. Then Sam took a deep breath – the sound seemed loud enough to actually break the silence – and said, "Yeah, so that's why I'm not exactly in a big hurry to go find him."

Dean didn't respond. Not at first. Then he scowled and said, voice tight, "Could you leave?"

Sam instantly took a step closer to Dean. "Listen, I'm sorry," he said, and the anger had drained out of his voice by now. It was obvious that he meant it.

Dean nodded, not looking at his brother. Or at anyone, really. "Just, leave," he said. When Sam didn't immediately move, Dean snapped, "I've got to think about this, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, then turning and heading for the door. "Listen, I'm going to head back to my room. Just, come over if you want to talk, okay?"

Dean didn't respond. Sam nodded, though Dean still didn't look at him, then left.

Castiel took a step closer, hesitantly reaching out to place his hand against Dean's back. Dean stiffened under the touch, but didn't move away. Castiel frowned, then moved a bit closer, until there were only a few inches between himself and Dean. "Do you want me to-"

"Leave, too," Dean said stiffly, then let out a breath and said, "Just leave me alone for a little bit, okay?"

Castiel hesitated, but finally, he nodded. "Yes, I can do that," he said, and pressed a kiss to the side of Dean's cheek. Dean didn't respond at all, and Castiel turned to follow Sam out the door.

At first, Castiel wasn't sure what he should do, or where he should go. He paced in front of the motel door for a bit, so that he would be there the moment that Dean wished to come speak with him. Minutes stretched on, turning into half an hour, and finally, Castiel acknowledged that Dean likely wasn't going to come look for him anytime soon.

Castiel still didn't know where to go, though. So finally, he turned and headed next door, toward Sam's motel room.

The door was partially opened. Not enough to be noticeable, but when Castiel knocked once, the door moved slightly. It must not have latched correctly when Sam had shut it.

Instantly, Castiel was on alert. Sam was usually very careful about these things, and while he supposed that it could be carelessness caused by the emotional conversation that he and Dean had just had, it was still enough to make Castiel worry. He slid the knife from his pocket into his hand, then pushed the door open, ready to strike if there was anything dangerous inside.

Sam looked up at him, surprised. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, head bent, hands folded in his lap. Aside from looking highly upset – understandably so – he appeared to be fine. Castiel relaxed, and returned his knife to his pocket.

"Jimmy?" Sam asked. "What are you doing?"

"Your door was unlocked," Castiel said, closing it behind him, this time making sure that it latched firmly. "I wanted to make sure that you weren't in any danger."

"Oh," Sam said, and the corner of his mouth turned up into a grin. "Thanks."

"Of course," Castiel said. "And I am extremely grateful that I was wrong about you being in possible danger."

"Yeah, I'm pretty glad of that myself," Sam said, then gestured to the spot on the bed beside him. "You want to sit down?"

"Thank you," Castiel said, taking the seat that he had been offered beside Sam. For a moment, neither one of them spoke. Castiel wanted to ask Sam about the things that he had said earlier, and whether their father had truly been willing to let Dean die in order to kill the demon. He didn't, though. For one, it didn't seem like it was his place to say anything. And for another, he knew that Sam would not say anything to hurtful unless he was completely serious. And so he remained silent.

Sam was the one who finally spoke. "Okay," he said, turning to Castiel. "Can I say something stupid?"

Castiel turned to look at him, frowning. "You rarely do," he said, "and I can't see why you would purposely want to. But yes, you can if you wish."

Sam's mouth turned up into a grin for just a second before returning to his previous, serious expression. "It's just, I'm glad you're here," he said. "Traveling with us, I mean," he clarified, "and that you're here for Dean."

Castiel's frown deepened. "I do not see why that is a stupid statement."

Again, Sam grinned. "Dean would say that it was."

"Dean does not appear to enjoy talking about important things," Castiel said, then thought for a minute and said, "I believe that Dean would be wrong about that statement's stupidity. I think that that was a very nice thing to say." He meant it honestly. If anything, he was incredibly grateful to hear that Sam thought that his presence was a good thing, that he wasn't coming between the two brothers or getting in their way.

Sam nodded, smiling again. "You know," he said, "I never would've figured that Dean would actually want to date someone. And honestly? Even if I had thought of it, you're probably not what I would have pictured." Castiel squinted at that, trying to figure out if he should be offended or not, when Sam added, "But you and Dean? You're really good together, and it's obvious that Dean cares about you."

"You think so?" Castiel asked, only slightly doubtfully.

He knew that Dean worried about him, based on his reaction after Castiel's kidnapping. He knew that Dean was sexually attracted to him, based on his behavior when they were in bed together. And Dean definitely gave the impression that he wanted to be in a relationship together, now that he wasn't ignoring Castiel, so he knew that he shouldn't question it.

Even so, Castiel had no experience with these things, and hearing Sam give his opinion was... reassuring.

Sam snorted. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Trust me, I'm pretty sure that Dean's been into you since the day we met, though he never would've said anything about it."

Castiel blinked, confused. That certainly wasn't the impression that he had gotten, based on Dean's behavior. "Really?"

Sam just nodded, chuckling to himself as he did. "Good-looking guy who runs in and fights off a Vetala with his badass fighting skills?" Sam asked. "Believe me when I say that you were exactly his type." Sam tilted his head and added, "He definitely would've claimed that his type was only badass fighting girls, though. But trust me, nobody has ever believed that.

Castiel considered that, not entirely sure what to say in response to that. So finally, he decided to change the subject. There had been a question that he had wanted to ask for quite a while now, but it kept slipping from his mind as more important things came up, or else he remembered, but had never had a good opportunity to ask. So now, he turned to Sam and asked, "Who was Jessica?"

Instantly, Sam stiffened. "What?"

Castiel frowned, and put his hands up beside his head in the faked gesture of surrender that he had seen from Sam earlier. "I did not mean to ask a personal question that you don't wish to answer," he said quickly. "You and Dean have mentioned her name a few times now. She was killed by Azazel the same demon who killed your mom, correct?"

Slowly, Sam nodded. "No, it's cool," he said, even though there was obvious strain in his voice now. "You can go ahead and ask."

Castiel nodded, but despite the fact that he had asked the question already, Sam didn't seem inclined to answer it. Castiel waited a moment, then asked, "I'm sorry, I don't know the social protocol for these types of things. Am I supposed to repeat the question?"

"No," Sam said, which confused Castiel further. A second later, though, Sam said, "She was my girlfriend. I was... Well, I was in love with her. I'd planned on going to law school, getting out of hunting forever. And then the demon killed her."

Castiel went still. He had known that the answer would be upsetting, of course, considering that he was asking about a person who had died. Still, he had not anticipated the pain in Sam's voice when he spoke about her. And he didn't have the slightest idea what to do, so he leaned over and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I am sorry for your loss," he told him solemnly, "and I apologize for asking."

Sam shrugged, which Castiel took as a sign that he should remove his hand, and did no quickly, not wanting to make Sam uncomfortable. "It was a while ago," Sam said, though Castiel did not know why that was relevant, as it was clear that Sam was still in pain over it. It also explained why Dean was surprised that Sam was no longer quite as eager to rush into killing the demon. Castiel was certain that if anyone he cared about was ever harmed, he would not want to rest until the thing responsible had been punished.

Sam leaned forward, running one hand through his hair, his head bent in a copy of his posture from when Castiel had first entered the room, and Castiel suddenly thought that this would be a good way to switch to a different, and hopefully less painful, topic. "What were you doing?" Castiel asked. "When I first entered your room, I mean. You were sitting like that."

Sam lifted his head and looked over at Castiel, looking like he was thinking over his answer. Finally, he said, "I was praying." He paused a moment, and shrugged. "Dean might think that it's all bullshit, but that doesn't mean that I have to."

Castiel frowned. "The last time that we spoke, you said that you didn't believe in angels," he said, then amended, "Well, you said that there was no proof that they existed."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said. "But that doesn't mean that I can't believe in something."

"Like what?" Castiel asked, curious now. "What exactly is it that you believe, then?"

Sam tilted his head, looking like he was honestly considering the question. Castiel sat completely still, more than happy to wait while Sam gathered his thoughts.

Finally, Sam admitted, "I guess I'm not entirely sure." He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, then finally continued, "I've dealt with enough Pagan and Egyptian and Norse gods- Or, I didn't deal with all of them myself, but I've heard from hunters who have, so I know that they're real. The point is, it seems like pretty much every religions holds some truth, so I don't really see the point in believing in just one of them."

"So you believe in them all?" Castiel asked.

Sam shrugged. "Sort of. I believe that there's definitely something, at least. I mean, I doubt that there's some old man holding the Earth in the palm of his hands or anything like that, but there's probably some all-powerful God somewhere. I mean, with everything we've seen? Why not?"

"And angels?" Castiel prompted. Out of everything, this was the question that held the most importance to him. "What have you decided to believe in with regards to them?"

Once again, Sam shrugged. "Do I believe that some archangel named Michael threw Satan down into Hell at the beginning of time? Don't know. Doesn't seem any crazier than the stories about the Vanir from Norse mythology, and I know that that one's real, since Dean and I fought it. And we've seen some freaky shit, so why not throw in some heavenly warriors with six wings or a hundred eyes?" he asked, then added, "I guess the point is, I believe that there's something out there. What exactly it is, I have no idea. But I can still pray to it, even if I don't know what exactly it is."

"That is a very interesting way of looking at it," Castiel said slowly, and nodded. "I think that I agree with your assessment."

Sam smiled. "Mind if I ask you something?" he asked. Castiel gestured for him to do so. "Do you pray at all?"

"No," Castiel said at once. "No, I don't believe that I ever have."

At first, he hadn't needed to. Why pray to the voices when they were already speaking to him? Especially when they frightened him with their intensity, and everyone seemed to think that he was insane for hearing them. He hadn't known why they were there – he still didn't – but he hadn't wanted to draw attention to the fact that he was listening. The angels were intimidating, terrifying. He didn't want them to notice him.

That had been his reason before. But now-

"I do still believe in the angels," Castiel said, after a long moment of silence. "Or, I think that I do, at least. Beyond that, though, I'm uncertain."

"Okay, cool," Sam said simply. "You can believe in whatever you want, you know. It's not like I can tell you if you're wrong or not."

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "It's just, sometimes I wonder if they're really there, or if I'm crazy for believing in them."

If he concentrated hard, he could tell that the voices were here today. They were an itch in his thoughts, just loud enough that he was aware of them, but soft enough that it would drive him crazy if he tried to listen to them, because he knew that he would never be able to make out even a hint of what they were saying. He was doing his best to ignore them completely.

"I don't think that you're crazy," Sam said. That was partially reassuring, Castiel supposed.

But then, Sam thought that they were speaking merely of faith. He knew nothing of the voices. If he did, then Castiel guessed that his answer would be far different.

"I still don't think that I want to pray," Castiel finally decided. "Not until I have a reason to, at least."

Sam just nodded. "That's your call," he said, then glanced at the clock. "Do you think we should go see if Dean's okay?"

Castiel frowned at the time. It had been about forty-five minutes since Dean had been left alone, which seemed like it should've been enough time that Dean could once again use their company. After a second, though, Castiel shook his head. "He would find us if he wanted us."

Sam snorted at that, but without the humor that he had shown earlier. "I've known Dean for twenty-three years," he said. "Trust me, there's no chance that Dean would ever admit that he wants someone else around when he's freaking out." But then Sam hesitated, and finally admitted, "You're right, though. Dean would probably be pissed and kick both of our asses if we try to check on him. I guess we should give him more time."

"Alright," Castiel agreed. Time. They could give Dean time. Castiel would offer him all the time that he needed if it would be of help.

Still, though, he found himself fidgeting and checking the clock every few seconds, wondering when Dean would want them to reach out to them.

But he restrained himself from going to check. Not yet, anyway.

It was nine o'clock – an hour and a half after Dean had sent them from the room – when Sam suggested, "Why don't you head back over there?"

"Just me?" Castiel asked. "Are you certain? You're his brother. Wouldn't he gain more comfort from you?"

Sam shook his head. "Like I said, he'd think that I was babying him if I go over to check that he's okay," he said. "But you two are sharing a room, so it makes sense that you'd have to return." Castiel nodded then, acknowledging that Sam had a point, and Sam hesitated before adding, "But if he seems like he's in a bad place, just, text me. Or call me, whichever. I can be over in thirty seconds."

"I will," Castiel promised, then returned to the room that he shared with Dean.

Dean was already in bed with the lights off when Castiel entered. Already, Castiel was beginning to recognize that this was what Dean did when he didn't wish to speak to someone. It was unlikely that Dean was actually asleep, though. He never went to bed this early. Even on days when they were all exhausted from fighting some monster, Dean usually still managed to stay up until after midnight, watching TV or reading through his dad's journal for the hundredth time.

Castiel moved around the motel room, getting ready for bed with the lights still off. Then he slipped into bed with Dean, and scooted as close to his back as he could get without actually touching. For a second, he just waited, hoping that Dean would speak first. Dean did not, so Castiel said, "Are you alright?"

Silence. It seemed that Dean was going to pretend to be asleep. Castiel just nodded to himself, and prepared to settle into bed beside Dean – he could always wait until morning to try to get Dean to speak to him. Then he heard, "Yeah, I'm awesome."

Castiel paused, then asked, "What have you been thinking about?"

Dean snorted. The sound was strangely bitter, if that was possible. "What do you think I thought about?"

Castiel supposed that that had been a stupid question. He changed it to a better one. "What decisions did you reach?"

Dean was silent for even longer this time, then finally said, "I can't exactly blame him. I mean, if he had a chance at Azazel, he should take it."

Castiel stiffened, and in an instant, he was grabbing Dean's shoulder, trying to force him to turn and face Castiel. He could not move Dean on his own, but Dean picked up on what Castiel wanted and rolled over on his own, propping himself up on one elbow. The light shining in from the street lamps outside their window was just bright enough for Castiel to see Dean's face. "What?" Dean asked.

"Don't you dare say that," Castiel said, his voice low.

"Why not?" Dean asked.

"Because it is not true," Castiel said, moving even closer to Dean, until Castiel was staring him right in the eyes and their noses were almost touching. "I do not care that this demon killed your mother and Sam's girlfriend, or that it has been taking the psychics and that Sam could be in danger. We are going to find a way to kill it and to protect Sam, but it would not be worth it if you died in the process."

"The demon has to be killed," Dean insisted, his voice rising slightly. "And it's not like Dad's a hypocrite, you know. He told Sammy to fucking shoot him with the Colt while Azazel was possessing him so that the bastard could die. He's willing to sacrifice himself."

"I don't care," Castiel said firmly. "I'm not willing to sacrifice you, and neither is Sam."

"It might not be your choice," Dean said, and something was odd about his voice, something that Castiel did not understand.

Castiel was sitting up now, holding tight to both of Dean's shoulders, his nails digging into Dean's skin. "Do not think about sacrificing yourself," he instructed. "Not even for an instant." When Dean said nothing, Castiel said, "Think about your brother, if no one else. The girl that he was in love with died because of this demon. I can't imagine how painful that must have been for him. But he is still willing to give up a chance at killing the demon because he cares about you more than he cares about vengeance. Imagine how painful it would be for him – for both of us – if you were to die."

Dean jerked away roughly. "Can we just stop talking about this?" he snapped, and lay down again, turning his back on Castiel again.

Castiel laid down beside him, wrapping his arms around Dean – being the "big spoon" was how Dean had described it, though Castiel couldn't imagine what cutlery had to do with cuddling – and leaned forward until his mouth was pressed against Dean's ear. "I will not say anything more about this," he promised, "but I do need you to promise me that you will not sacrifice yourself to stop Azazel, should the opportunity ever present itself."

"Alright, alright, I promise," Dean snapped. "I promise that I'll do everything I can to keep myself alive for as long as I can. Is that good enough for you?"

"Yes," Castiel said, and pressed a kiss to Dean's cheek before settling down in a more comfortable position, his forehead resting against Dean's hair, his arms still around Dean's body as they both closed their eyes and pretended that they were going to sleep.

When Castiel woke the next morning, Dean was on the phone.

Castiel kept his eyes closed, steadying his breathing so that Dean would not know that he was awake. This time, it wasn't for selfish reasons. It was because he felt that if Dean still wanted to try to reach his dad after everything that he had learned yesterday, then Castiel was not about to stop him. He would return to pretending not to know what Dean was doing, if that was what Dean wanted.

Then Dean said, "Thanks, Ash. Let me know when you've got something."

So Dean was calling the Roadhouse this time, after all. Castiel couldn't help but hope that that was a good sign. Of what, Castiel couldn't be certain, but a good sign nonetheless.