CHAPTER 3

They ended up getting stuck in traffic straight from the seventh circle of hell. Apparently there'd been some monstrous collision, over a dozen cars, blocking up the highway for miles. And Dean knew that he should be feeling bad for the people involved, because whatever had happened with that collision, it looked like it was bad. Instead, he found himself tapping his fingers on the arm rest, trying to keep himself from snapping with impatience, and not exactly succeeding. But Cas was in the hospital right now, and this stupid accident was just getting in the way.

"We'll get there, Dean," Sam said, in a voice that was probably supposed to be soothing, but just grated harder on Dean's nerves. Dean just clenched his jaw and didn't say anything.

"Do you want to try to catch some sleep while we're stuck here?" Sam suggested after a minute. "I mean, we're not doing anything else right now, you might as well." And Dean immediately shook his head and said that there was no way that he was going to do that, but Sam kept insisting, so Dean finally gave in and tilted his seat back, then closed his eyes. He didn't let Sam touch the volume on the radio, though. Some things were sacred, and Sam wasn't going to be messing with them.

Maybe Dean slept a little along the way. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure. Every once in a while he'd get these feelings, like the hounds were on his trail again, like they were closing in on him and would be ripping the flesh from his bones any second if he didn't watch his back. It wasn't an actual dream, it was more subtle than that – a shiver running down his back, the sensation that someone was watching him, sometimes even a breath against the back of his neck, as if the hounds were close enough that he could actually feel them. And then he'd shudder and jerk awake, not quite sure if he'd actually been sleeping or if his mind had made all of this up while he was still awake.

It kept Sam off his back, at least. And it almost seemed like the time did pass faster, though it was still an eternity before they were pulling into some little town – Dean didn't care what the name was, but he knew that this had to be the place where Cas had been found. He tilted his chair back up and rubbed his eyes, hoping that however much he had or hadn't slept, it was going to be enough to get him through for at least the next few hours.

"It's almost midnight," Sam said, and Dean frowned and blinked at the clock. But yeah, Sam was right. Well, shit, they'd been supposed to get here three hours ago, the traffic had really set them back. But whatever. At least they were here.

"Visiting hours are definitely over," Sam said. "Maybe we should find a motel and go in the morning."

Dean frowned. "Seriously, Sammy?" he demanded. "After all the shit we've done, you have a problem with breaking into Cas' hospital room outside of visiting hours? Really?"

"Honestly?" Sam asked. "No, most of the time I wouldn't have a problem with it. But with everything that's been going on, I don't know, it might just be a good idea to wait." He looked Dean over for a moment, then added, "Not to mention that you still look like shit. How are we going to sneak in there if you're on the verge of collapsing any moment?"

"I'm not going to collapse," Dean snapped. "Trust me, I've kept going through a lot worse that this before, never let it slow me down." That was... probably a lie, but it was kinda hard to tell, he'd gotten himself pretty messed up before. And even if it wasn't true, well, Dean wasn't going to admit to that. And he definitely wasn't going to say that Sam was right about the motel room.

"We don't know what to expect when we go in there, or how bad his injuries will be," Sam said. "I'm worried about you, okay?"

"Don't be," Dean snapped. "Whatever is wrong with Cas, I can take it, okay? And I'm not letting that stop me from going to see him."

Sam nodded, but kept hesitating, like there was something else that he wanted to say. Finally, he added, "And what do we do if his wife is staying overnight in the room with him."

Shit. Dean hadn't even thought about that.

"We improvise," Dean said after a moment. "We've talked ourselves out of sticky situations before. We can come up with something to tell her." And that definitely wasn't how he wanted the meeting to happen, but if it went down like that, then he'd deal. They'd decide on something to say to her. It would work out somehow.

No way was he going to let something like that stop him from seeing Cas.

And Sam seemed to get that, the fact that Dean needed to go to that hospital now, that he was going to lose his shit if he had to wait until morning. Or, at least, the long look that Sam gave him made Dean think that Sam understood, which Dean didn't exactly want, but at least it led to Sam finally nodding and saying, "Okay, we go now."

"Thanks," Dean said, and Sam just nodded again, then hit his turn signal and moved over into the next lane.

Finding Cas' room was a bit of an adventure, since they hadn't had the slightest clue where he was, or even which ward he was being kept in. Dean figured that he'd better stand back and let Sam handle that – he wasn't in the mood to be charming or convincing, and anyway, Sam seemed to more than have that covered. He headed up to the nurse's station, all smiling and charming, but also looking terrified in a way that probably wasn't fake at all. Dean already knew what the plan was – Sam was posing as a relative who had just gotten into town, and was practically begging for "Jimmy's" room number so that he could visit first thing in the morning. Dean didn't have to bother listening, so he just leaned against the wall and stared at some stupid modern art crap that was hanging on the wall across from him, and a minute later, Sam came over and joined him. "Room 357," Sam said in a low voice. "Down that hall and to the left."

Dean nodded, and Sam pulled out his phone, leaning back against the wall and holding it to his ear like he was talking to someone. Good way to make them look less suspicious – the nurses weren't going to be wondering about why they were still hanging around if they thought that they knew the reason, and making a phone call seemed like as good of one as any. Dean was too exhausted to make the effort, though, so he just turned to watching the nurses' station out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the nurse sitting there to walk away. She never did, but at one point she turned her chair around to do something on a computer, turning her back on Cas' hall. Dean decided that that was good enough, and nodded to Sam, the two of them casually walking down the hall like they had every right to be here.

Nobody saw them. They reached the room without any problems at all, and Dean knew that they should duck inside immediately, to not take the risk of a nurse coming around the corner and catching them sneaking around. Instead, Dean ended up frozen outside the door, staring at the piece of paper reading NOVAK, JAMES on the outside of the door.

Sam touched his shoulder, but didn't say anything, which Dean was glad for – if Sam had tried out any of his "comforting" words right then, Dean seriously would have had to hit him. Instead, Dean just took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, telling himself that being scared of this was stupid. Then he pushed open the door.

The first thing he noticed was that all of the chairs were empty. Apparently Cas' wife wasn't spending the night, after all. And Dean had just enough time to be relieved about that before his eyes fell on Cas' body.

He looked... good. That was a weird thing to think, especially about someone who was in the hospital, but honestly, that was Dean's first thought. But he wasn't injured – or, if he was, then they were hidden by the blankets, because his face and arms were completely untouched. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing evenly, and his face looked exactly the same way that it did every other time that Dean had ever watched him sleep. If it wasn't for the IV and the hospital gown, then Dean wouldn't have been able to tell that there was anything wrong at all.

He swallowed, hard, then moved to the chair closest to Cas' bed. "You know anything about what's wrong with him?" he asked, keeping his voice low, not wanting to wake Cas up.

"No," Sam said, in the same tone of voice. "No idea. The article didn't say anything about why he was in the hospital, and I haven't gotten the chance to do any other research. We can- Or, I can go dress up like FBI later and get the full report, but right now, I don't think we'll be able to find anything new."

Dean nodded, and leaned forward, to get a better look. Even when he was closer, Cas still looked alright. He wasn't even pale, for crying out loud. There was absolutely no signs that he was anything but perfectly healthy.

"It's gotta be something, though, right?" Dean said after a moment. "I mean, I can understand them loading him into the ambulance after he was found on the road, even if he was fine. But they kept him here all day. That means that he's got to be hurt somehow, right?"

Sam didn't answer, then seemed to realize that his silence was answer enough, because he said, reluctantly, "Yeah, there's got to be something."

Dean nodded. He hadn't exactly needed Sam to confirm that; it'd been easy enough to figure out on his own. "That means something internal. Something we can't see."

"Yeah," Sam agreed after another moment, still sounding reluctant. He picked up the chart from the end of Cas' bed and squinted at it for a moment, then made a face and put it back. "Doctor's handwriting," he said, in way of explanation. Dean nodded, and thought about taking a look at it himself, just to see if he could decipher it. But then, if Sam couldn't manage to read the chart, then there was no way that Dean would stand a chance.

Instead, he reached forward and took Cas' hand gingerly. The anti-possession sigil that they'd drawn was just barely visible on his skin, faint enough that it wouldn't be noticeable if Dean hadn't already known that it was there. He still couldn't see any markings on his arm, and no bandages or casts, which meant that his arm should be completely fine, and there probably wasn't a reason to treat it like glass. But Dean couldn't exactly help it. Until he figured out what was wrong with Cas, he didn't want to risk doing anything that could make it worse.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said in a low voice – which was stupid, because he was still trying to keep Cas from waking up. The guy probably needed his rest, whatever had happened to him. Dean planned on letting him sleep, so talking to him seemed a little counterproductive. But that was another thing that Dean couldn't seem to help but do.

"You look pretty awesome for a guy who was kidnapped by demons a couple days ago," he continued, then cleared his throat suddenly feeling like an idiot, and way too aware of the fact that Sam was standing behind his chair, pretending that he wasn't paying attention. Dean just frowned, and said, "We'll talk when you wake up, okay? For now, just rest up. We'll be here."

Sam waited for another minute, still staring at the wall like the blank white paint was some fascinating masterpiece, but when Dean didn't say anything more, he moved around to the other side of the bed and sat in the chair across from Dean. "Glad you're safe, Cas," Sam added after a moment, probably trying to make Dean feel less stupid abut talking to Cas. Which was nice and all, but kind of had the opposite effect.

A few more minutes passed in silence, then Sam cleared his throat. "We're going to have to avoid the nurses," Sam said, making Dean send him a questioning look. "When they come in to check on him during the night," Sam clarified. "We're not allowed to be in here. If they find us, they'll make us leave."

Dean nodded. "We'll just hide out when they come by." He could duck under the bed if he had to. Or just head for the private bathroom that was attached to the room – actually, that seemed to be the best bet. They'd just stick in there until the nurse was gone, then he could go back to sitting next to Cas. "And I bet the nurses are going to wake him up. Isn't that what they do? To draw blood and stuff?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a nod, then pushed himself to his feet. "I'll go keep watch, then."

"Thanks," Dean said, then returned his gaze to Cas' face.

He decided that he wasn't going to say anything more. Definitely not. And he for sure wasn't going to talk about how much he had worried about Cas, or how glad he was that Cas was alive – not with Sam in the room, and probably not ever.

Still, though, he was thinking it. And he thought that Cas would be able to sense that, too. Just as soon as he woke up.

"Dean," a voice hissed in his ear.

Dean jerked upright, one hand instinctively rising to attack whoever was after him, but whoever it was grabbed his arms and pushed them down, holding them to the armrests of the chair and keeping him still. Dean tried his best to jerk away, ready to lash out and attack... Sam.

"It's okay," Sam said, but there was an urgent note to his voice. "Just come on, we should go."

"What?" Dean asked, blinking and looking around the room. He suddenly remembered where he was. Cas' hospital room. Right. Cas was still lying in the bed, looking like he hadn't even moved in the past however many hours. Then Dean frowned. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah, about two hours ago," Sam said, and Dean blinked. Huh. That was weird, because he didn't remember having any nightmares, and he also couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to sleep without being hit with at least one of them.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," Sam said, and he let go of one of Dean's wrists, but held onto the other, and was trying to pull him up to his feet. "Come on, we're not supposed to be here, and-"

Sam didn't get the chance to finish that sentence, and Dean had just long enough to wonder about what could possibly make Sam think that they should leave when a voice behind them asked, "Who are you?"

Dean stiffened, and turned around in his chair. There was a blonde woman standing in the doorway, holding the hand of a young girl who looked so much like the woman, it was obvious that they have to be mother and daughter.

Daughter. Somehow, that word made it sink in for Dean, and he suddenly realized who these people must be. Cas' wife and his kid. His family.

Dean swallowed, and he might have been the one who had said that they'd be able to improvise the first time that they met the wife, but now, he couldn't think if a single thing to say. So it was lucky that Sam was more on top of it than he was at the moment, because Sam just pasted on a smile and stepped forward, hand extended. "Sam Winchester," he said. "And this is my brother, Dean. We're friends of... Jimmy," he said, stuttering just a bit over the name, like he wasn't sure if he should say it or not. "You're Amelia, right?"

Amelia. The wife apparently had a name. Which, well, obviously she had to, but somehow, Dean hadn't thought about it that closely. But, well, now he knew.

He decided that he didn't like having an actual name and face to associate with Cas' wife. It made it about a hundred times more real, somehow.

She nodded, reaching out and shaking Sam's hand, though she still looked a little suspicious. "I've never met you before," she said slowly, eyes narrowing as she glanced from Dean to Sam, then back again.

Dean realized that he was still holding Cas' hand, and quickly dropped it. God only knew what Amelia was thinking when she saw that.

"We, uh, we just met Jimmy recently," Sam said, his voice cautious in the way that it always was when he was making things up on the fly, though Dean doubted that Amelia would be able to notice. "We just found out about him going missing recently, when we saw the article about him being in the hospital. I'm sorry, we didn't know anything about it before then."

Amelia nodded, and her eyes drifted toward Cas' face, almost like she couldn't help herself, though she tore her eyes away from him long enough to look at Sam. "Visiting hours just started five minutes ago."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, and shrugged. "We wanted to get here early."

Amelia nodded again, almost absently, once again looking back at Cas – at her husband. Dean grimaced just thinking the word, but made himself repeat it in his head. He was going to have to get used to it eventually.

"This is Claire," she said, her free hand moving to the shoulder of the girl, who looked like she was gradually edging her way closer and closer to her mother's side. Amelia didn't say anything else, just moved toward Cas' bed, circling around to the side opposite Dean. Amelia steered Claire into the nearest chair, where she sat, looking way too sad for a seven-year-old kid. Amelia grabbed a second chair for herself and pulled it up to the side of the bed, then reached forward and wrapped her hand around Cas', exactly the same way as Dean had last night.

The sight made Dean's throat feel way too tight. Okay, it wasn't just that Cas had a wife – he had a wife who obviously loved him, and a daughter that looked absolutely heartbroken, and that just made everything so much worse.

If Cas and his wife hadn't gotten along, or if they'd been on the verge of splitting up, then maybe Dean could justify what he and Cas had done. But seeing Amelia, the way she looked at Cas, the way she touched him? God, it made Dean feel like shit. And more than that, it made him almost jealous, and wasn't that a fucked up thought?

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his mind from going down that path, and focused on the stuff that was more important. "So, what's wrong with him?" Dean asked, looking toward Cas' face. He would've thought that the noise would've been enough to wake Cas up, but apparently not. His face didn't change at all, not even a twitch.

"He-" Amelia began, then broke off, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong with him. Or, the doctors couldn't find any signs of injuries, at least. They said that he's perfectly healthy. He just… won't wake up."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. No visible injuries – that definitely sounded like it was something unnatural. "The doctors have any idea why?" Sam asked, leaning against the side of Dean's chair.

Amelia grimaced. "They gave me some explanation," she said. "Something about the brain just not being ready to wake up, and about how there's nothing we can do but wait. Honestly, I'm pretty sure that that means that they have no idea." She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, her hand tightening harder around Cas'. "They're taking him for some more tests today, to see if there's anything they missed the first time. I don't know if I should hope that they find something or not. I mean, which scenario would be worse?"

She didn't sound like she was waiting for an answer, but Dean still swallowed hard and said, "I don't know." Because really, what would be worse? He couldn't answer that, and for different reasons that she was thinking. If Cas wasn't actually hurt, then it'd mean that the demons had done something to him that was keeping him unconscious, or that there was some other supernatural thing going on in his head right now.

Dean swallowed again, and nodded to himself. If this was something supernatural, then he and Sam were going to figure it out, like it was any other case. They'd find a way to wake Cas up, and everything was going to be fine.

He was so intent on thinking of what could've possibly caused this that he didn't even realize that Amelia was speaking until a second after she'd finished. Then he frowned. "What?"

"How do you know my husband?" Amelia asked, taking her eyes off of Cas now, and turning to look at Dean. "You… said that you just met him recently."

"Oh, right," Dean said, then couldn't think of anything else to say after that. What the hell was he supposed to tell her? He couldn't exactly say that Cas had been traveling the country killing monsters with them.

Again, though, Sam ended up being the one to answer. "We just sort of ran into him a couple months ago, and hit it off," he said with a small shrug. "Dean and I... We've basically been driving around working some odd jobs here and there, and Jimmy didn't look like he had anywhere to go, so he ended up sticking with us for a while." Sam still grimaced slightly at the name Jimmy, though not enough to be obvious from anyone else. And yeah, Dean knew how he felt. It didn't make sense, since they had spent most of the past couple months thinking that Jimmy was actually his name, so it should be easy to slip back into calling him that. It wasn't, though. Something about the name just felt weird now.

Amelia nodded, a small frown on her face. "And did he... mention us at all? Or why he left?"

Sam immediately glanced at Claire – and oh yeah, they should be worried about the kid, too, shouldn't they? She had pulled a book out of her bag and was now curled up in the chair, staring hard at the page in front of her, but it was obvious that she was listening. She wasn't even good at hiding it – Dean saw her lift her head to glance at them every couple seconds.

Still, though, apparently Sam decided that he had to answer honestly, because he slowly shook his head. "No," he said. "Until yesterday, we didn't even know that he had family."

Amelia let out a long breath, and nodded. "Okay," she said, and took another deep breath, looking like she was trying to steady herself.

Honestly, Dean felt like he needed to do the same thing. But he'd decided that this was going to be like any other case, right? So, during a regular case, this would be the part where they started asking questions to try to figure out what was going on. He'd start with that.

"So, did, uh, Jimmy act any differently before he disappeared?" Dean asked, nearly tripping over the name. Seriously, Dean had called him Jimmy for months; it should not be that hard to go back to using that name. "I mean, did he do anything to indicate that he was going to go? Or was there any weird behavior at all?"

"No," Amelia said at once, shaking her head as well, sending her messy blonde hair forward into her face. "There's no way he would've left. Police said that it looked like he must have run off, especially after his credit card was used to buy train tickets a couple weeks later. But I was sure that something must have happened. He was-" Another deep breath. "We weren't perfect or anything, but he loved us, and we were happy. I knew that he wouldn't have left. He-" Again, she broke off, this time to shake her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"No, go ahead," Sam said at once. "We're really concerned about Jimmy. We want to know what happened, as much as you do." He paused, long enough to look her in the eye, then asked, in the encouraging voice that he always used to pry info out of witnesses, "You're sure that nothing weird happened on the day that Jimmy disappeared?"

Amelia considered for a moment, then shook her head. "Nothing," she said.

Dean frowned, and exchanged a look with Sam. Okay, so that could mean pretty much anything. Some supernatural attacks gave warnings, some of them didn't. But then, even if Amelia didn't think that anything had been wrong with Cas – Jimmy – that didn't mean that it was true. Knowing Cas – Jimmy – he would have made a point of not worrying her, unless he thought that he had to. So there was a chance that he'd been showing symptoms, and Amelia just didn't know it.

So, that meant that they had absolutely nothing. Awesome.

Then Claire lifted her head slightly, and said, "Daddy didn't come to the wedding with us."

Sam frowned. "What was that?"

"Oh, that," Amelia said, and bit her lower lip, worry appearing on her face. "It was nothing. Or, at least, it seemed like nothing. We were out of town for my cousin's wedding, and we were getting ready to leave when Jimmy got this bad headache. That's what he said, at least. He hated my cousin – I was half convinced that he'd made it up so that he wouldn't have to go. But anyway, we left him alone at the hotel, and when we got back, he was gone."

Sam immediately looked over at Dean, eyebrows raised. Dean nodded, the motion slight enough that Amelia hopefully wouldn't pick up on it. But Cas had said that he had woken up in a random hotel room, all alone. And he'd been wearing nice clothes – or, what had obviously once been nice clothes, before he'd ended up on the streets – when they'd met up with him, and it looked like he'd been in it a while. If he'd been dressed up for a wedding, that would explain why.

Which meant that the headache was definitely involved. That gave them a starting place, at least. Dean could practically see the gears twirling in Sam's head, like he was already running through the possibilities, trying to decide what could have caused this, his fingers practically twitching to start typing stuff into Google, or however it was that he found all the shit that he learned online.

"Thanks," Dean said, nodding at Claire. The girl didn't say anything, just lowered her head to hide behind her book, until only her hair was visible from behind it.

"So," Amelia said slowly, her voice a weird mixture of concerned and suspicious. "Jimmy's been with you, doing odd jobs for the past couple months? Where exactly have you been?"

Dean leaned back in his chair, letting Sam handle this one again. It seemed easier than trying to come up with something himself.

"We just kind of end up wherever the road takes us," Sam said. "And yeah. Like I said, we met up with him, and started talking. He didn't have a place to go, so we offered to give him a lift to this bar we know – the owner's always hiring, and she'll let people stay for free if they're in a bind. That sounded like as good a place as any. But then he just ended up sticking around."

And Dean had to admit, that was probably the best story. Just close enough to the truth that it could almost pass for it, just without the demons and monsters. And the fact that Dean and Cas were dating.

Dean was really hoping that she didn't find out about that part. He knew that he should probably tell her, give her all the info and all that. But he also knew that he definitely wasn't going to.

Amelia just nodded, her face not moving at all. And Dean tried to keep watching her, trying to figure out what she was thinking, but his eyes kept getting drawn back to Cas. He still hadn't moved at all, not so much as a twitch. It was unnerving, and just made Dean about ten times more worried, but at the same time, he couldn't look away.

"And did he seem okay?" Amelia asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen. "I mean, was there anything odd about his behavior? Anything I should know about?" She paused, then said, "There had to be, right? He wouldn't just get up and leave us if there wasn't something wrong."

Sam frowned, and Dean could pretty much see him weighing his options, trying to decide what he was supposed to say, what answer to give.

"Actually-" Sam said.

"No," Dean said, cutting him off. Amelia turned to him, and he cleared his throat. "No, he seemed completely normal. No problems. Nothing in particular."

She eyed him like she wasn't entirely sure if she believed that, but slowly, she nodded. "Okay," she said, then closed her eyes for a moment, her face crumpling slightly. Dean suddenly realized that she was close to fucking crying, like she was barely holding it together, and shit, he wasn't prepared for that. How the hell were you supposed to comfort your boyfriend's wife while you were sitting next to his unconscious body? No way were there any etiquette tips on how to deal with this one.

Then Amelia took a deep breath, and opened her eyes without actually crying, so that was good, at least. Instead, she said, voice shaking slightly, "Could you two maybe give us some time alone with him? I- Thank you for coming here so early, but if you don't mind leaving..."

Dean frowned, and was about to say that hell no, they weren't going anywhere. Sure, he got that she was his wife, and he'd been missing for months, so of course she was going to freak out. But she wasn't the only one who had been worried about him – who was still worried about him – and Dean wasn't going to leave his side. Not unless it was to find some way to free him from whatever supernatural crap was messing with his head.

Then Sam's hand suddenly closed around his shoulder, hard, fingers digging into Dean's skin. "Okay," Sam said, and gave Dean's shoulder a light tug. "Come on, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam just gave him a look, silently ordering him not to argue. Not that that would have stopped him, but then he made the mistake of looking across the bed, just in time to see Claire lower her book, and the look on her face was frickin' heartbroken. It as obvious that this family was all torn up, and they wanted to be alone to deal with it, without having outsiders around to watch.

And that's what he and Sam were, Dean suddenly realized. Outsiders. Cas might not think so – Dean was almost positive that Cas wouldn't think so – but at the moment, that didn't make a difference.

Dean swallowed, and stood, being careful of his bad leg. "We'll be back later," he said, as much a warning as a promise. He would give them a little time right now, only because he had to, but he wasn't going to stay away for long, that was certain.

Amelia just nodded, not glancing over at them, and Dean took one last look at Cas before turning and limping out the door.

They made it about halfway down the hall before Sam moved close to Dean and asked, "You okay?"

Dean nodded once, but otherwise, didn't bother to answer that question, since it was stupid and he was getting sick of it.

Sam nodded back, and looked like he was hesitating, but he finally decided to say what he was thinking. "Why did you tell Amelia that nothing was weird with Cas?"

Dean just shrugged, deciding that that was one question that he really didn't want to answer. Instead, he just continued down the hall, doing his best to ignore the way that Sam continued to look at him.

Finally, apparently Sam decided that just looking at Dean wasn't going to do enough, because he said, "Seriously, Dean. I mean, I don't want to be the one to say it, but don't you think that she has a right to know about what's been happening? At least about the fact that he lost his memories."

"Yeah, probably," Dean said reluctantly.

That clearly wasn't the answer that Sam was expecting, because he immediately continued, "We should at least warn her for when Cas wakes up and doesn't remember who she is."

"Yeah, I said that I know that," Dean snapped, scowling over at his brother.

And Sam frowned, like he just now realized that yeah, Dean had actually said that. "So then, why did you say that everything was fine?"

Dean just shrugged and looked away, crossing his arms, his fingernails digging into the sleeves of his jacket.

"Dean," Sam said, sounding more concerned now that anything else.

"Because I don't want to tell her, okay?" Dean snapped, and shook his head. "Never mind. I'll tell her next time."

In Dean's mind, that should have been that, end of subject. Apparently Sam didn't agree, though, because he still had that damn worried look on his face, and said, "Really, Dean, if something's wrong-"

"If something's wrong?" Dean demanded, and couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, there is so much wrong right now. Seriously, name one thing that isn't fucked up right now. Just one. Try."

Sam ignored him. "I'm just saying that you can talk to me, alright?"

Dean made a face. "Thanks, Dr. Phil," he said, "but you can go ahead and shove your therapy up your ass, I don't need it."

What was he supposed to tell Sam, anyway? That he was pissed at Amelia for having some claim to Cas – Jimmy, goddamn it – that Dean didn't? That he didn't want her to know about the stuff that they'd done together, not because they had to keep the hunting a secret, but because Cas was his and he didn't want this woman to take him away, didn't even want her to know anything about who Cas had been the past couple months when he'd been with Dean. Yeah, no, he wasn't saying that out loud. And anyway, there was point in getting Sam's opinion on any of this. If he needed someone to tell him that he was fucked up and selfish, then he could just say it to himself.

"I'm just worried about you, man," Sam said.

"Well, could you tell me what I can do to make you stop worrying?" Dean snapped. "Because seriously, I'm sick of hearing that from you."

Apparently Sam took that as a serious question, and actually looked like he was considering before he answered. "You could start by getting more rest."

"Seriously?" Dean demanded, and shook his head. "More sleep? Jesus, Sammy, that's all you've said to me the past couple days. Can't you switch to nagging me about something else, just to change it up a bit?"

Sam just gave him the bitch face. "I'll stop nagging you once you actually sleep for more than two hours in a row," he said, "and when you stop looking like you're going to pass out any second."

Dean definitely would have responded with some snappy comeback – he didn't know what, but it would've been awesome – when his phone rang. He instantly reached for his phone, yanking it out of his pocket and nearly dropping it in his hurry to check the caller ID. He couldn't think of anyone who'd be calling him except for Bobby, and he couldn't think of any reason why Bobby would call him, unless he had found something about Cas or Azazel or both. Either way, it was bound to be something useful, and Dean could go for some good news right then.

It wasn't Bobby, though.

It was Dad.

"Dean?" Sam asked, leaning forward and looking concerned. "You okay?" Then he caught sight of the caller ID, and his eyes narrowed.

Dad had said that he wasn't going to work with them again. That if they walked away, they couldn't come back. And when he'd refused to answer Dean's calls, Dean had been pretty sure that he'd meant it. So what was he doing calling up now?

"You going to answer it?" Sam asked after a minute. And it was pretty obvious that Sam didn't want him to, but at least he didn't say that out loud.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said. Yeah, he definitely should answer it. This had been what he'd wanted, to talk with Dad again. And it had to be something important, because there was no fucking way that Dad would call otherwise. So Dean should be the good son and answer the call, figure out what Dad needed.

He didn't, though. The phone just kept ringing.

Because honestly? He wasn't sure what he was supposed to think about Dad. Dad had thrown them out and not talked to Dean in the last days before Dean had been supposed to fucking die, and insulted Cas and made it clear that they weren't welcome in the family anymore. And part of Dean didn't care – because this was dad, for crying out loud, how was he supposed to get upset about all of that when the man had raised them? Another part was still mad, though, and he was trying to shove that part of him way down deep, the way that he always did when Dad or Sammy pissed him off, but it wasn't working so well this time.

But more than that, he was just way too tired to try and figure out what he was supposed to say to Dad, and if he was supposed to forgive him – ignoring the voice in his head that demanded to know how he could possibly even consider the idea of not forgiving Dad. And what if Dad was calling with some breakthrough in the case, something that he wanted Dean to come help with? He couldn't leave Cas, not now. He also couldn't tell Dad no.

And if this led to Sam and Dad fighting again? God, even the thought made him shudder. He was pretty damn certain that he couldn't take that, not right now, on top of everything else.

The phone stopped ringing. Dean had spent too long thinking about it, and had lost his chance to answer. No big deal. He could always just call back.

Instead, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. "I'll talk to him later," he said in a low voice, one that dared Sam to comment.

And he didn't. He stared at Dean for way longer than Dean was comfortable with, with that look that he got a lot, the one that said that he was overanalyzing everything and probably finding some deep, hidden meaning behind everything that Dean did. But at least he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he just nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let's start by finding a motel room, and then we'll figure it out from there."

"Sounds good," Dean said, and then neither of them said another word as they headed off for the parking lot.

The hallucinations didn't bother him all morning. Maybe it was somehow related to the fact that he'd actually managed to get a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep for the first time in god knew how long, but he made it all the way until noon without seeing anything that shouldn't have been there.

He should've known that it wouldn't last.

Dean pushed himself up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his head, and decided that this was about as good as it was going to get. He was still exhausted, way more so than he would ever admit to Sammy, but at least he felt better than he had that morning. And anyway, he wanted to get back to the hospital.

"Sam?" he asked, opening his eyes and glancing around the room, trying to see if his brother was around.

He froze.

At first, he didn't understand what he was seeing. He stared at the... at the thing sitting on the couch where his brother should be, and he was certain that it was real, like it had crawled out of hell to come torment him and then drag his soul back down with it. And god, he didn't even want to try to describe it. It was all peeling skin and rotting flesh and shredded muscles, bone fragments poking through what little skin was left, except just describing that didn't do it justice. Because seriously, Dean had seen some spooky shit in his day, and he prided himself on not being scared of any of it. This, though? Completely different story.

It took him about three seconds to realize that it was another hallucination.

That was probably the scariest three seconds of his life. Not counting the time that Sam had died.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "You okay?"

God, Dean hated that question. He had to admit that Sam had a pretty good reason for asking it this time, at least, especially since Dena could still feel his pulse pounding way too hard in his ears, and he was pretty sure his breathing wasn't exactly normal.

Sam didn't wait for an answer. "They're getting worse, aren't they?"

Dean gritted his teeth, but finally nodded. "Yeah," he admitted, because Sam would see through any lie he tried to tell. Then he squeezed his eyes tight, counting to ten – his old standby, the way that he'd always been able to get the images to vanish these last couple days.

He opened his eyes. And whatever creature he was hallucinating in Sam's place, it was still there.

"We need to figure out some way to stop this," Sam said after a moment.

Dean shook his head. "What we need is to find a way to wake Cas us," he said, "and a way to figure out what happened to him in the first place. I can handle a few little hallucinations."

"Little?" Sam repeated. Dean didn't respond, and after another second, Sam decided to let it go. Instead, Sam reached for- something, his claw- No, shit, his hand, Sam didn't have a freakin' claw, that was just the hellhounds messing with his brain. Dean sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, rubbing his eyes hard again. This time, it worked. He opened his eyes, and there was Sam, watching him with those giant, concerned eyes, a laptop in one hand.

"You got a new one?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, looking almost guilty as he glanced at it. "You were sleeping. Not exactly soundly, but you didn't look like you were going to be waking up anytime soon. And I needed a way to do research, and the store was just a couple streets away."

"Awesome," Dean said, and meant it. Apparently Sam thought that Dean was some baby who couldn't stand to be left on his own for a single hour, but that was bullshit. And anyway, he was in favor of anything that allowed Sam to figure this out easier. "What've you got?"

Sam hesitated, then admitted, "Not much." He frowned, glancing at the screen for a moment before turning back to Dean. "There isn't a whole lot of lore involving memory loss. I mean, a witch could do something like this, or then there's the goddess Lethe… I don't know, though. Nothing seems to fit."

"Well, isn't that just perfect," Dean grumbled, then reached for his phone on the bedside table, instinctively flipping it open to check for calls, even though he wasn't expecting any.

There were five missed messages, and all of them were from Dad.

"I've got them, too," Sam said, holding up his own phone.

Dean nodded. "You answer any of them?" Sam immediately shook his head, and Dean frowned. "Whatever this is, it's got to be important."

"And I figure that we've got enough on our plates without getting involved with whatever Dad's doing," Sam said firmly.

Dean's frown deepened. Okay, Sam was right, kinda. No matter what Dad was up to, they couldn't just drop all of this and run to help, could they? But if Dad had a lock on the demon-

Sam must've guessed the track that Dean's thoughts were going down, because he turned himself completely around in his seat so he could look straight at him, eyes narrowed. "You are not going to join Dad on a hunt right now," he said. "I don't care what he's doing – there's no way that I'm letting you go hunt something when you can't tell what's real and what's a hallucination."

"I can tell," Dean snapped, but he had to admit that Sam had a point. He stared at the phone for another moment, then said, "I should at least check to see what he wants."

"And are you going to be able to say no when he asks you for help?" Sam challenged. When Dean didn't respond, Sam pushed himself up off the couch and crossed over to Dean, then ripped the phone out of his hands.

"Hey," Dean protested, making a move to grab it back, but Sam was already shoving the phone into his jacket pocket. "Bitch."

"Trust me, it'll be easier like this," Sam said. Then his face darkened, and he added, "Besides, Dad was the one who said that we wouldn't be able to come back. He doesn't just get to turn around and take it back when he wants something."

Dean stiffened, and instinctively opened his mouth, ready to snap at Sam about having some respect, this was Dad they were talking about. But Sam had already turned away, obviously not interested in hearing any more, already shoving his new laptop into a carrying case and throwing it over his shoulder, not even looking back at Dean. It was clear that as far as Sam was concerned, this conversation was over.

Dean closed his mouth, and swallowed, then pushed himself to his feet. "Come on," he said gruffly, grabbing the wall and carefully limping his way toward the door. "Let's just get back to the hospital."