When Sam left the kitchen, Castiel's first instinct was to immediately follow. Sam's demeanor had been alarming – shaky and stumbling and abruptly distracted, as if he was suddenly very upset – and Castiel was concerned for his friend. But then, if Sam was going to talk to Dean, he reasoned, then they would probably want their privacy, and… and well…
… it was Dean.
Castiel was stronger today than he'd been last night, his healing rapidly accelerated, his body energetic and his grace increasingly powerful.
And still, the thought of being in the same room with Dean Winchester made his insides quake, a cold trickle of fear slipping up his spine.
You're being silly. Dean won't hurt you. And… Sam might need you.
Eventually, Castiel followed Sam toward the den – but even from several doors away, he could hear the raised voices coming from beyond the door. He stopped, hesitating, before turning around and walking away. Sam wouldn't want him eavesdropping on their argument.
An argument that was only happening at all because Castiel had told Sam what had happened last night.
He went back to the kitchen and collected his half-full coffee cup, before making his way to the library, where he waited for a little while. Eventually, Sam would come back, and Castiel could check on his well-being at that point. But then, it occurred to Castiel that it might not be Sam who left the den first when the fight reached its conclusion, but Dean – and he would probably be headed right for the spot he'd occupied most of his waking hours since they'd come here: his seat at the end of the library table.
As soon as that thought occurred to him, Castiel left the library and headed for the privacy and security of the room he'd come to think of as his own. He lay down on the bed on his stomach, his wings spread out on either side of him, and let out a soft sigh of relief as their weight settled onto the mattress. His injuries were vastly mended… but his wings were sore today, aching and throbbing at the places that had been broken.
Castiel just lay there resting them, trying not to think too much about the heated conversation Sam and Dean were having, until finally, he drifted off into a dozing half-sleep. The soft sound of knocking on his door drew him from it, and he glanced at the clock on the bedside table to see that at some point he'd gone from dozing to a full sleep, and more than an hour had passed.
"Cas?" Sam's voice was slightly muffled beyond the door. "You awake?"
"Yes, come in, Sam," Castiel replied, his voice hoarse as he drew himself up on his arms, wincing at the ache in his muscles as he did so.
The door opened, and Sam appeared – looking utterly exhausted. His hair was disheveled, his clothing rumpled – but those were details Castiel had noticed when he'd first seen Sam that morning. What really stood out to him were Sam's eyes – shadowed, puffy and bloodshot from crying. Still, Sam offered him a tired smile.
"Hey," he said softly as he approached the bed. "Sorry for running out on you like that."
"It's all right," Castiel assured him, wincing as he maneuvered his body up to sit cross-legged on the bed. "I… fell asleep."
"Yeah, I know." Sam's voice was warm with affection, and his smile was genuine despite his obvious exhaustion. Castiel was relieved that everything seemed to have worked out all right between the Winchesters, for the moment, anyway. "I looked in on you a little while ago, but you were out, so I left you alone. Dean made some breakfast. There's still some down there if you want it."
"No, thank you," Castiel replied without really considering the offer. "I have no need for sustenance."
A slight frown formed on Sam's face, and he tilted his head slightly, lips parted in an unformed question. Castiel realized what was the source of his confusion before he could ask, and shrugged, looking down self-consciously.
"I don't need to eat, but I do enjoy the taste of coffee. It's… a taste I've recently acquired."
"Huh. Okay."
Sam still seemed vaguely amused, and Castiel didn't really understand why. He felt oddly uneasy under Sam's focused attention – anxious in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant, and tremendously self-conscious. Glancing back up at Sam, he tried to think of a way to turn the direction of the conversation away from himself.
"How is Dean?" Castiel asked at last, realizing as the words left his lips that he was actually concerned about the answer. It was endlessly confounding to him that, while he could barely tolerate so much as being within sight of the man, he still worried and wondered over Dean Winchester's well-being nearly as much as he'd done before all of this had happened.
"He's okay." Sam's voice was quiet, as he sat down carefully on the side of Castiel's bed, turning toward Castiel, his eyes warm and concerned. "Are you?"
"Yes," Castiel assured him, hesitating over his next words, eyes focused on the pale blue of the bed sheet. "I – I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to… to cause conflict between you and Dean."
"You didn't," Sam assured him. "Dean did when he left yesterday without saying a word. From that point… conflict was pretty much a given. But… we're okay now, really, Cas," Sam insisted. "Actually… I think we're better than we've been in a long time."
Castiel was confused. "That's… strange."
"Really?" Sam laughed in surprise, and Castiel dropped his gaze, a little embarrassed. "Maybe a little, I guess," Sam conceded. "It's just… sometimes people need to fight a little bit, just to – to get them talking, you know? We… cleared the air a little. Dealt with a couple of issues that'd been building up. We needed to fight. Does that make sense?"
"Not really." Castiel was still confused, and he felt bad for making Sam waste his time trying to explain. "I'm sorry."
"Hey." Sam leaned forward a little, reaching out to place a hand on Castiel's bent knee. He didn't say anything else right away, but he gently squeezed Castiel's leg, and Castiel reluctantly looked up at him, to see mingled fondness and sternness on Sam's face. "Would you stop that?" Sam's tone was mildly exasperated.
He frowned. "Stop… what?"
"Apologizing when you didn't do anything wrong." Sam's affectionate, vaguely sad little smile belied the gently scolding tone of his voice. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I'm quite certain that isn't true," Castiel replied, a brief pang of sorrow making his chest ache for a moment, and he looked away again, self-conscious. "But… I don't mean to… to worry you. I'm…" His voice trailed off, as he abruptly realized that this was probably precisely the kind of apology that Sam wished for him to stop offering. He looked up at Sam, guilty… to see the warm amusement in Sam's eyes, the way he was trying very hard not to smile. When Castiel's words broke off, Sam let out a quiet laugh, and his hand on Castiel's knee rubbed lightly back and forth for a moment before he withdrew it and placed it on his own thigh.
"Well," Sam stated brightly. "That's a start, right?"
Castiel returned his smile, a little uncertainly, and nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "I will attempt to refrain."
Sam nodded once, decisively, as he rose to his feet, and Castiel shifted back to rest against the headboard. The cool, smooth surface felt good against his aching wings; but the movement itself made him bite back a little groan.
Sam frowned, turning around and eyeing Castiel cautiously. "What's wrong? Where are you hurting?"
Castiel attempted a weak, faltering smile. "It's nothing. I just… my wings are a little sore today."
"They hurt more today?" Sam was clearly alarmed as he sat back down on the corner of the bed. "That can't be good."
"Oh, no, my wings are much improved," Castiel hurried to reassure him. "It's just… I seem to have… over-worked them somewhat, flying Dean to the room where he slept last night. They're… a little worse, since I woke up."
Sam opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated, biting the corner of his lip with a little frown. Then he began again, cautious. "Would you – do you want me to look them over? Make sure you haven't – torn anything open again, or…?"
A strange fluttering feeling rose in Castiel's chest as he considered the offer, frowning.
"I'm sorry," Sam said quickly, holding up his hands. "I shouldn't have asked, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, Cas. I just… I know you can't see them yourself, and – if you're hurt…"
"No, it's all right," Castiel insisted. "I – I'm used to you touching them. It – it doesn't make me uncomfortable."
It wasn't quite the truth. Castiel wasn't sure that having his wings touched by a human was something he'd ever really get used to – and he desperately hoped that he wouldn't have to get used to it.
But it wasn't quite a lie, either – because he trusted Sam. And if someone had to check his wings, to touch them and feel carefully for any hidden injuries, Castiel was glad that it was Sam.
"If you don't want me to, I won't." Sam spoke softly, his tone carefully neutral. "It's entirely up to you. Whatever you need from me."
A little shiver passed through Castiel's body as he remembered the last time Sam had touched his wings, the day before. Yes, the feelings evoked by Sam's hands moving with capable ease through sensitive feathers, massaging the muscles beneath them, carefully seeking out any places in need of care and attention – those feelings had been confusing. But… they'd been confusing because they had felt so good. It wasn't fear or shame that Castiel felt now, at the thought of those strong, gentle hands on his wings again.
It was… anticipation.
Sam moved to stand up, clearly taking Castiel's silence as refusal.
"Yes," Castiel said abruptly, reaching out to catch Sam's hand and hold him there. "I – I want you to. Please." Sam hesitated, studying Castiel's face closely, and Castiel fought the instinct to avert his gaze, instead holding eye contact with Sam as he stated firmly, "I trust you, Sam. And – you're the only one I trust to do this for me, so… please. Yes."
"Okay," Sam agreed at last. "Turn around for me, okay?"
Castiel obeyed, wincing as he shifted his body on the mattress so that his back was to Sam, his wings fully exposed to Sam's attentions. When Sam's hands finally made contact, stroking slowly and firmly through the outer feathers first, and then deeper, pressing gently into the muscles of Castiel's wings, Castiel found himself not shuddering away, but rather instinctively pushing into Sam's touch, closing his eyes at the pleasurable sensations that passed over him.
"Your muscles feel a little tight," Sam observed, his voice a little strained, but calm. "I'm not finding any open cuts or anything, though. I think you're right. You probably just over-worked them a little bit. You'll want to take your time before you do any flying again, okay, Cas?"
Castiel nodded. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, that's… wise."
Sam's hands moved carefully downward, inspecting every inch of Castiel's wings for hidden damage. The sensation was physically pleasurable, and emotionally reassuring as well. Castiel wasn't sure just how he'd come to associate Sam Winchester with security and comfort; he just knew that he felt safe when Sam was touching him. As Sam completed the process, however, Castiel began to feel a little uneasy, after all – not with the contact, or his own exposure.
It was the silence that troubled him. Last time, Sam had spoken softly to him the entire time, asking him if he was all right, making sure he wasn't in pain, or just keeping up a steady stream of soothing sound. But this time, Sam didn't speak at all – and he seemed to be moving more quickly than he had the last time, too. The hands that had been so steady the last time were now trembling just slightly, and suddenly an unpleasant thought occurred to Castiel.
Was it he that was making Sam uncomfortable by asking him to do this?
It was a very personal, very intimate thing Castiel was asking of Sam – and Sam was with Dean. Why would he want to touch Castiel like this, now that he knew what it meant, the weight it carried for an angel? Suddenly, he felt foolish, and exposed in a way that he hadn't really felt, not with Sam, in quite a while, despite the state of his wings.
By the time Sam was finished, Castiel was trembling, too, his arms wrapped awkwardly around his chest, his head bowed low. Sam ran a hand lightly down the back of Castiel's left wing, and he reflexively pulled away, the unnecessary, affectionate touch making him recoil.
"Cas? Hey…" Sam's voice was soft and concerned, and then his arm was warm and firm around Castiel's back, under his wings, his head bowed close to Castiel's. "Hey, come on. What's wrong?"
Castiel's face felt hot and his eyes were burning; he couldn't bring himself to look at Sam, humiliated by his own emotions. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head.
"No, don't be sorry." Sam's words were hushed and coaxing. "What'd I do? Talk to me."
"It's – you didn't do anything, it's just…" Castiel swallowed hard. "I – you shouldn't have to do this. To – see me like this. I… it's too… personal. Too - too much to ask of you. I – I don't want to make you uncomfortable…"
Sam was silent for a moment, and Castiel intensely felt his attention, burning under his skin. His wings shrank inward and down, and once again he felt the need to hide them. He felt sick, wanted to be anywhere else – and at the same time, wanted nothing more than the comfort of Sam's arm around him, protective and reassuring. Something inside him felt like it was breaking at the thought that maybe Sam didn't want to offer that; maybe he just felt like he had to.
When Sam finally broke the silence, his voice was quiet and measured. "This is because of yesterday."
Castiel was silent.
"You think… it changed things. That… I don't want to touch you now, after – now that I know," Sam concluded gently. "Is that it?"
Castiel hesitated, then closed his eyes in shame as he nodded slowly.
"Cas," he began, drawing in a breath slowly. "You know what yesterday changed for me?" Cas couldn't bring himself to respond, and Sam's hand squeezed gently at his waist as Sam went on, his words low and gentle. "Almost nothing. Okay? You're still my friend. My friend that's hurt in a place he can't reach and needs me to help him take care of that. I don't see you any differently. It didn't bother me to touch your wings yesterday – and it doesn't bother me to do it today. All right?"
Cas nodded again, feeling the beginnings of relief winding their way through the leaden weight in his chest – though he still couldn't bring himself to look up.
"What it changes – the only thing it changes – is this," Sam continued. "That you – ask me to do this for you? That you trust me that much?"
Castiel was quiet, unable to bring himself to speak, closing his eyes and just focusing on the steady pressure of Sam's arm around him. Sam's voice was hushed, almost reverent, and it made Castiel and everything around him seem to go suddenly still.
"It's an honor."
Sam was quiet for a moment, and then he reached out with his free hand, tugging gently as Castiel's arm to turn him so that they were sitting facing each other on the bed. "Cas… maybe this isn't my place, but…" Sam hesitated. "… I know it's different for angels. I mean… your wings… they mean something different to you than… than they would to a human. And… I know I'm just a dumb human and I can't really get it, but… to me?" Cas glanced up at Sam, uncertain, and Sam shook his head slightly. "When I see your wings? I don't see 'naked'. I don't see 'victim'." A faint, grim smile formed on Sam's lips, and Castiel could see the awe in Sam's eyes as he went on, "I see 'badass'. I see 'this is someone who is not to be fucked with'. All right? And that's how any human would see them."
Castiel looked away, thoughtful, caught off guard by Sam's words. He'd felt such an innate sense of shame at his wings' exposure, he'd never stopped to consider that to someone who was not an angel, they might be perceived differently. Sam waited until Castiel looked up to meet his eyes again before continuing, his voice filled with quiet conviction.
"They're powerful, Cas. And they're beautiful. So… I know you want them hidden. And I wish I knew how to hide them for you right now. But… until we can... you should know that… you have nothing to be ashamed of."
Castiel looked away from the intensity in Sam's eyes, feeling self-conscious again, but in an oddly pleasant way.
"I'm gonna go help Dean with the research," Sam said as he stood up. "He said he's feeling really good after last night's sleep, so… he doesn't intend to sleep again until he finds the way to conceal your wings. So… I'm gonna get down there and see if I can make that go a little faster."
Castiel nodded, silent, and Sam left him to his thoughts. He stayed there for quite some time, drawing conclusions and trying to piece his thoughts together in a way that made sense.
The echo of Sam's words cut through his preconceived notions, his self-conscious fears of what Sam – and Dean, too – might be thinking of him when they saw his wings.
Of course, there was more to it than their mere appearance. There were the memories that assailed his mind, every time he was even in the same room with Dean, memories of his wings being forcibly torn out of their natural, hidden place and ripped to pieces by brutal hands. There was the implication, just by allowing Dean to see what he'd done to them, that Dean could possibly do the same thing again.
But his wings were growing strong again now. He remembered lashing out in desperate terror, attempting to strike out at Dean and free himself in the basement of the cabin – and he remembered how the blow had come back on him, shattering his wing, the unspeakable agony emphasizing how powerless he'd been in that moment. Robbed of their power, retaining their sensitivity – his wings had been reduced to a point of vulnerability, the most effective point of torture for the man who had bound him.
But there was no spell binding him to Dean Winchester now.
And his wings were no longer a liability. They were no longer weak and vulnerable. They were a weapon, again. If he were to strike out at Dean with one of his wings now, Castiel knew with certainty… the result would be much different, this time.
Sam's words had changed the way he saw his entire situation. It was a lot to process, and Castiel felt just a little overwhelmed by the way those few simple words had tilted his entire worldview on its axis.
Finally, Castiel left his room and headed down the hall toward the library – determination in his footsteps, even if his stomach did clench a little tighter with each one, his nerves screaming for him to turn around and go back.
He stopped near the doorway, momentarily frozen by his fears – and then suddenly made an alteration to his course, turning back down the hall and toward the den. He wrapped his blanket carefully around his shoulders, covering his wings as best he could, before returning to the library – and cautiously stepping inside.
"Do you have that book on Enochian symbolism?" Dean was already tired of studying, but determined to complete this task once and for all as he glanced across the table at his brother.
He immediately froze when he saw Cas, standing near the doorway a few yards behind Sam. He was silent, watching Dean through wide, solemn eyes, his fingers working nervously in the corners of his blanket clutched tight together in front of him. Dean's heart sank a little at first, because this looked much more like the Cas of recent days than the powerful, assertive Cas he'd briefly encountered the night before. But then, Dean realized.
The Cas of recent days wouldn't have dared to set foot in this room – not while Dean was in it.
"The 1902 version, or the '43?" Sam asked, sounding distracted, before he looked up at Dean.
Immediately he frowned with alarm, turning in his seat to see what Dean was looking at. He blinked in surprise, then put on an inviting smile. Sam's voice was carefully level as he spoke.
"Hey, Cas. Is there something you need?"
"No." Cas's voice was quiet, and he looked down at his own fidgeting hands, a slow swallow visible in his throat, before his jaw set and he looked up again, deliberately focusing his gaze on Sam and keeping it there as he went on. "I think perhaps there's something you need. As you're attempting to locate the counter-spell to an Enochian ritual that was never actually recorded in writing… I believe it'd be helpful to have someone involved in the effort who actually… speaks Enochian, would it not?"
Disbelief accompanied the slow understanding that filled Dean's mind, and he looked at Sam to answer. He was too dumbstruck – and even if he hadn't been, he knew that this was up to Sam to handle. The wrong word from him right now could easily spook Cas and send him fleeing back to the safety of his own room.
A slow smile spread across Sam's face, and he reached out his hand toward the angel. "It sure would," he agreed. "Thanks, Cas. Come on, why don't you sit down?"
Cas hesitated, glancing toward Dean for the barest of instants before shuffling into the room a little further and taking the seat nearest Sam – of course. Dean looked away, trying to ignore the pang of jealous hurt he felt when Cas reached out to briefly clutch Sam's hand, like a lifeline, like he needed the reassurance that Sam was close enough to touch, to give him enough strength and courage to stay.
Dean tried not to question his own emotions, and whether he was bothered by Cas touching Sam, or by Sam touching Cas. He tried to remind himself of what this meant, of the huge thing that it was, just that Cas was willingly in the same room with him at all.
It didn't make the sting go away, but it did ease it somewhat.
Dean and Cas didn't interact, not directly. When Cas wanted a book that was in Sam's stack, Sam handed it to him; when he needed one in Dean's, he spoke quietly to Sam, and then Sam retrieved the book for him and brought it to him. When Dean asked a question about a word he was having trouble with, Cas would state the required information, but he always directed his words more toward Sam than Dean, and shifted uneasily in his seat, usually reaching out to touch Sam as if the contact alone settled his nerves.
Get over it, Dean told himself fiercely when Cas leaned in to whisper to Sam for what felt like the millionth time. You don't have the fucking right to be pissed at him for anything he does or says right now. Considering he's got his angel mojo back, you're damn lucky to be alive right now, let alone in the same room with him and working together. More or less. So get over yourself, and do what you can to try to make things right.
But Dean wasn't angry – not really. He realized as the evening wore on that, more than anything, he just… missed Cas. It stung, watching Sam with Cas – because Dean remembered when he was the one Cas talked to when he had questions about humanity, when he was the one whose relationship with the odd little angel seemed weird and strangely intense to Sam. Even when he hadn't wanted it, or hadn't realized he'd wanted it – Dean knew now: he'd always been Cas's person, the one he turned to for help, for support, for friendship.
And now, Cas was scared to so much as meet Dean's eyes.
And that was Dean's fault.
Not Cas's. Not Sam's. So suck it up, Winchester.
It was around the time that Dean was giving himself this rather brutal mental dressing down that Cas closed the book he was working with, gave a frustrated sigh, and rose from his seat. He crossed the room toward the shelves behind Dean, and Dean kept his eyes carefully focused on the notes he was taking, barely daring to move even enough to write – not wanting to do anything to startle Cas or scare him, now that he'd dared to leave the "safety zone" that was Sam's side.
Dean froze completely as Cas moved so close to his seat that the edge of Cas's blanket brushed Dean's sleeve – and then stopped. Dean's mouth went dry, and he hesitantly glanced up to see that Cas was leaning slightly over the table beside him, frowning down at his notes. Cas drew a slightly uneven breath, hesitating just a moment before he pressed a finger to the page, directly under a certain Enochian word beside which Dean had scrawled, "reveal?"
"This is… actually something more like 'illuminate'," Cas said in a very soft, subdued tone, his eyes never leaving the page. "As in… illumination of something already visible. It wouldn't be to… reveal something hidden. That would be…" He froze, then reached down, lightning quick, as if afraid he'd not be able to make himself complete the motion, and snatched up the pen that lay on the table, a few inches from Dean's hand. A few quick, graceful strokes, and he'd replaced the Enochian symbol Dean had crudely drawn with his own, much clearer, much more specific writing. "… this. This is to reveal what's hidden."
And without another word, Cas set the pen down and moved with hurried steps back to Sam's side, where he sat down in his chair and fumbled with the book he'd selected for a moment before hiding both hands in his lap, his eyes downcast, his breath too quick and uneven. Sam wasn't at all subtle abut reaching under the table to clasp Cas's hand in his – but Dean couldn't resent him for it, not when he saw the way Cas's eyes closed in relief, the way his shoulders fell and relaxed at the contact.
Not when Cas had actually ventured to talk to him.
Not around him. Not through Sam – but to Dean, directly.
Dean was appalled at the sudden burn behind his eyes, the way the word Cas had just written so beautifully blurred in front of them. His throat ached, and his chest felt tight, and the sense of gratitude he felt for so simple a gesture was pathetic.
But he knew how much that simple gesture had cost his friend.
Thanks, Cas… for the missing information… for breaking the silence… for acknowledging I exist… for taking this step and being in this fucking room in the first place…
After a few minutes, Dean managed to get himself together enough to focus and continue his work.
Sam didn't last very long, sitting quietly and studying. Dean was aware that his actions of the night before had kept Sam from sleeping much at all, because it showed in the weariness of his eyes, in the heaviness of his steps – and Dean was not at all surprised when Sam fell asleep literally with his face in the large, boring book he'd been working with.
Immediately Cas rose from his seat, not looking at Dean as he spoke. "I'll put him to bed. He needs to rest."
Before Dean could even decide whether or not to answer, Cas had reached out to touch Sam's brow, and both of them were gone.
Dean frowned, momentarily jealous again – though this time it was clear to him why. He was the one who put Sam to bed when he was sick, or drunk, or simply too dead on his feet to stand.
Cas doesn't know how to take care of him, he thought, a little agitated. He considered going to Sam's room to make sure he'd been properly put to bed, but then decided against it. It was almost a certainty that Cas would stay with Sam and, if not sleep beside him, at least watch over him while he rested. And Dean's showing up would be a sure way to make sure that he spoiled what little rest and peace both Sam and Cas were trying to get.
And, well… Cas did all right by me, didn't he?
Dean actually smiled a little at that thought. Sam had told him what Cas had done when he'd put Dean to sleep the previous night, how he'd ensured that Dean would not wake until his body was rested. And Sam definitely needed that kind of a rest.
So he stayed put, and renewed his research with fervor more determined than ever to find the answer as quickly as possible. Cas was so brave, and trying so hard – but he was still clearly so self-conscious, so timid in a way he'd never been before his wings had been forced out into the light. Dean imagined how he'd feel, forced to walk around naked in public at all times – trying to fight, while utterly vulnerable to his opponent's gaze – being violated, and then forced to parade in front of the person who'd done it, completely exposed.
He had done that to Cas – and he had to find a way to undo it.
He was going to find a way. And he wasn't going to rest until he did.
Sam awoke the next morning, alert and rested, in his own bed, with no idea how he got there – at least, until he felt the weight of an arm across his chest, and turned to see Cas sleeping with his head on the pillow beside him. Sam smiled, feeling the warmth of affection bloom through his chest as he realized that Cas had done the same thing for him that he'd done for Dean the night before.
He frowned, as he considered that it must have been the exact same thing.
Cas stirred as Sam shifted his arm over and sat up. He blinked sleepy eyes up at Sam, and Sam gave him a stern look.
"Did you fly me here, Cas?"
"Yes," Cas mumbled, turning his head back down into the pillow. He was already asleep again, and oblivious to Sam's disapproval.
"You shouldn't have done that," Sam sighed, his words and touch both soft as he ran his hand down Cas's arm, then pulled the blanket up to better cover him.
He rose from the bed and made his way to the door, suspecting that he'd have to go to the library and wake Dean to send him to his bed – but instead, he nearly tripped over his brother, sitting in the hallway outside his bedroom door, asleep with his back against the wall.
Alarmed, Sam crouched down in front of Dean, shaking his shoulder gently. "Dean?" he asked, his voice hushed but urgent. "Dean…" He waited until Dean opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at him as his vision slowly came into focus. "Dean, what are you doing sleeping here? Are you okay?"
Dean was quiet for a moment, sleepy confusion in his eyes fading into awareness – and then excitement. He smiled – a bright, beaming, happy smile like Sam hadn't seen on his brother's face in longer than he could remember – and he raised one hand from the floor. In it he held a crumpled piece of paper covered front and back with his familiar scrawl that Sam knew only Dean would actually be able to read.
"I found it, Sammy," Dean said, his voice a hoarse, exhausted croak, his eyes tired, but his expression one of peace and relief – and as he spoke, Sam felt that same relief flooding through him, as he realized what Dean meant. "I found it. We can help Cas now. We can fix his wings."