Dean was in the library studying the spellwork etched into a set of handcuffs he'd found in a box in the dungeon when Sam and Cas emerged from Sam's room later that evening. There were no tears, no commotion, and Cas was still wrapped up in Sam's ridiculously over-sized shirt. Judging by the adoration that remained in Cas's eyes, and the way Sam's guiltily shifted away from Dean's, refusing to make contact – it was fairly clear that Sam had chickened out.
"Nothing's changed," Sam explained quietly, the moment Cas's attention was diverted. "I'm still going to tell him. Just…" He glanced over his shoulder at Cas, who was studying the titles of the books that lined the library walls. The "I told you so" died on Dean's lips at the anguish in Sam's eyes as he turned to face Dean again and concluded miserably, "… just not yet. I – I couldn't, not the way he was – not until I know he's ready."
"I'm not trying to be a dick here, okay, Sam?" Dean replied, hushed and a little apologetic. "You know I'm in no hurry for you to tell him. It's just… how do you think you're ever gonna know that?"
"I'll just…" Sam shook his head slightly, putting on a smile as Cas glanced up at him. "I'll know when I know. All right?"
It was a non-answer, and a clear enough attempt at stalling that it filled Dean with relief. If Sam was waiting for some magical sign, some perfect moment when the prospect of shattering Cas's worshipful illusions didn't suck ass, well – he was going to be waiting a long time.
As the days continued to pass, with no sign of any change between Sam and Cas in the brief moments he spent with them together, Dean allowed himself to relax, and to focus more fully on the task at hand – finding Crowley, and torturing him to death in the slowest, most agonizing ways he could possibly imagine.
Of course, there was far less urgency to this mission than there had been to the last one. That had been all about helping Cas to heal, finding a means to conceal his wings as quickly as possible, and Dean hadn't allowed himself to rest until it was done. Now, Cas was physically restored, almost completely, and growing stronger and more confident with each passing day. He had no problem being in the same room as Dean, now, as long as Sam was there too, and once or twice he'd even stuck around in the library when it was only him and Dean present.
Granted, he'd remained on his guard the entire time, watching Dean warily out of the corner of his eye and positioning himself so that his back was never turned to the elder Winchester – but it was progress, and Dean was grateful for it.
He couldn't focus quite as much of his time and attention on dealing with Crowley as he would have liked, because now that Cas didn't need to sleep, and therefore didn't have nightmares, Sam's nightly attentions became more focused on Dean again, and making sure that Dean got at least a little rest. Dean indulged him, well aware of the scare he'd given his little brother, and guiltily determined to reassure him in any way that he could. He let Sam push him to his bed every night, lying down beside him with an arm cast across his chest as if to keep him there – and some nights he even slept, straight through to morning.
After all – there was no rush with this task.
Dean didn't have to find some obscure spell, or locate mysterious ingredients, or come up with some intricate fix to a problem that didn't quite make sense. As it turned out, he already had everything he needed right there in the bunker, neatly inventoried and ready to be put to good use. He had a plan, and the means to carry it out. All that remained was to work out the specifics – to plan out in intricate detail every suffering he wanted to inflict on the demon king, and lay out all his tools in readiness for action.
And with that, Dean wanted to take his time.
He was almost ready. He surveyed the room where he meant to carry out his plans. It was now a proper dungeon, with restraints hung up along one wall – chains and collars and handcuffs etched with spells to bind a demon's power, to keep it locked into its host body, powerless – and a table against another wall, with all manner of weapons laid out there. Dean hadn't bothered with holy water or salt – standard against most demons, but almost useless against one at Crowley's level of power.
Instead, he'd laid out Sam's knife, an angel blade, a couple of other specialized blades he'd found in the inventory that were supposed to have rather… interesting effects; a vial of holy oil, which he now knew could reduce a demon's host body to ash without killing the demon inside; a set of hypodermic needles in various sizes, alongside several vials containing potions, some of which Dean knew would have particularly nasty effects on demons. Others, he had no idea what they did – but he was looking forward to finding out.
Dean crouched in the middle of the large devil's trap in the center of the room. On either side, well within the circle, Dean had fastened short chains attached to iron cuffs, etched with spellwork to bind a demon's powers, just far enough from the floor to keep a captive bound on his knees. He'd briefly considered placing a chair in the middle of the trap, but had swiftly rejected the idea.
No way in Hell was he gonna allow Crowley a mercy that he'd denied to Cas.
"Looks like you're about ready."
Dean looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway, looking mildly impressed as he surveyed Dean's work. Dean nodded slowly, looking down at the chain nearest him, watching it go taut as he tugged on the cuff, testing its strength.
"Yeah."
"How're you gonna get him here?" Sam asked, frowning slightly.
Dean tried to gauge Sam's reaction to what he was seeing, without obviously scrutinizing him. Sam looked a little pensive, but not exactly disapproving; Dean found that his brother was frustratingly difficult to read at the moment.
"He has to come if he's summoned, right?"
"Yeah," Sam conceded. "But he doesn't have to come to the center of our conveniently positioned trap. How are you gonna get him…" Sam waved a hand toward the spot here Dean was. "… you know, there?"
A grim smile passed Dean's lips as he looked up at Sam again. "I'm working on that. It's not gonna be a problem."
Sam nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as he moved to the narrow table against the wall where Dean's chosen tools were arrayed. As he picked up a vial of dark blue liquid, inspecting it, his lips parted to speak, but he hesitated – and Dean braced himself.
Here it comes…
"Are you sure-?"
"Damn right, I'm sure!" Dean cut him off sharply, standing up. "Crowley's had it coming for a while, but what he did to Cas is the last straw, Sam. And I can't believe you're gonna try to talk me out of it, you know better than anyone how much damage he did to…"
"Dean, no, I'm not…" Sam's voice rose until Dean stopped, surprised, blinking at him, and then it went soft again. "… trying to talk you out of it. I was just going to say… are you sure all this stuff even works on Crowley? I'm all for taking him apart. Believe me." The cold anger in Sam's eyes, the cruel little twist of his mouth, made it clear enough that he meant it. But his eyes softened a little as he looked away from the bottle in his hands to meet Dean's eyes and concluded, "I just… I want you to be safe about it. He's not worth you getting hurt."
Dean felt an unexpected but welcome warmth bloom in his chest. He allowed his posture to loosen, relaxing a little as he assured his brother, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. The Men of Letters were pretty careful with their records. Shocker." Sam let out a little chuff of laughter, and Dean allowed himself a smile. "They've tested all this stuff out on demons before, Sam. And according to the files – it works. So I'm not worried." Anticipation coiled hot and eager in Dean's chest, and he reached down to check the second chain, smiling in satisfaction as he tested it. "Once I get him in here… he's not getting out."
"Sam?"
Cas's voice echoed in the hall outside the dungeon, and Sam replied immediately, his tone casual, but his words specifically chosen, "Dean and I are in here, Cas."
As he spoke, he turned toward the doorway, and Dean felt a pang of unwilling resentment at Sam's apparent attempt to spare Cas the unpleasantness of Dean's company by meeting him in the hall instead of allowing him to come to them.
A moment later, however, Cas appeared between Dean and Sam, his back turned toward Dean. It was strange, hearing the rustling of his wings, but no longer being able to see them. Dean could still almost visualize them, as they'd been in the basement of the cabin, when he'd first seen them – and even that filled him with a sense of shame.
It was intimate knowledge to which he had no right.
"Sam!" Even with Cas's back to him, Dean could see the way not just his face, but everything about his demeanor just lit up at the sight of Sam. Cas quickly closed the distance between himself and Sam, his voice animated and excited like Dean had rarely heard it. "I went into the kitchen to make coffee, but we've run out of coffee, and I wasn't sure where you were. As you know, it's quite difficult for me to pinpoint your location within this bunker, because of the warding, but it occurred to me that it's really not far to the convenience store in the nearest town, so…"
Cas paused for breath, and Dean couldn't help a slight smile at the affectionate amusement on his little brother's face, the way he drank in Cas's infectious excitement, nodding encouragingly as Cas went on with his rambling, seemingly pointless story.
"I left the bunker, Sam."
Sam's face broke out into an elated grin, and he reached out instinctively to touch Cas's arm, as Cas went on.
"I used my wings. They're getting… stronger, and… and I wasn't even…" Cas's voice slowly trailed off, and though Dean couldn't see his face, he could still see the tension that crept into Cas's posture, as his gaze was distracted by the vial in Sam's hand, and then by the table beside him. "What – what is all this…?"
Dean's stomach clenched painfully at the abrupt note of alarm in Cas's voice, and he mentally inventoried the items Cas was taking in – the various blades and potions, the fucking angel blade laid out ready for use, right next to the…
God. The holy oil. Oh, shit. Oh, Cas…
Bile rose in Dean's throat as he realized how this looked. Face to face with Cas, Sam could certainly see better than Dean could the thoughts that had to be going through the angel's mind. Dean watched helplessly as Sam reached out his other hand to brace Cas's arms, his voice suddenly gone low and cautious.
"Cas… Cas, it's okay. Cas, look at me…"
Cas didn't. Instead, he pulled himself free of Sam's grasp and took a couple of lurching steps backward. Aware that accidentally running into him would only make Cas's alarm worse, Dean set the chain down on the floor and swiftly rose to his feet, taking a couple quick paces back. It was quiet, the slight scrape of iron against stone – but it was enough to make Cas whirl around toward the sound, bringing him face to face with Dean.
Cas's eyes went wide, his expression stricken as his gaze shifted between Dean and the chains. His breath quickened, and he shook his head rapidly, backing away.
Dean's heart sank. He knew that it made no sense, that logically there was no reason for Cas to think that they would hurt him, now. But he also knew what it looked like – chains locked to the floor, deliberately identical to the ones they'd used to bind him in the cabin. The table laden with weapons, many of which would do as much damage to Cas as they would to Crowley. Dean standing there between them, standing right behind Cas like he'd been about to…
Fuck.
Dean's face burned with shame, and he shook his head, trying to find words. "Cas… we weren't… we wouldn't…"
But the useless words died in his throat. Because they had, hadn't they? Things had been getting better. Cas had no reason to believe that they'd want to hurt him. But – they'd had no reason to hurt him before, either. Cas had trusted that they were his friends, that they were incapable of doing anything like that to him, that if he was innocent, truly innocent, they would have to see it. There was no way they could possibly punish him so brutally.
And still… they had.
"Cas." Sam's voice was almost stern, and Cas turned so that he could see both brothers, his back to the weapons table. "Cas. Hey."
Cas looked at Sam for a moment, but then back at Dean with wild eyes, his panicked gasps uneven and harsh in the quiet room. Dean's heart raced, and he held his hands out in front of him in a gesture he hoped would show Cas that he meant no harm.
He'd already provoked Cas into one panic-induced grace explosion. If Sam got hurt now, because of him…
"Cas… look, this isn't for you, it's for Crowley, and… and I'm the one that set this up, okay? Sam had nothing to do with it…"
"Dean, shut up," Sam snapped, his voice terse and trembling, and Dean automatically obeyed, falling silent, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as Sam focused his efforts on Cas. "Hey. Cas, look at me. Yeah, that's it…"
Cas's gaze finally focused on Sam for more than a moment, and Sam nodded encouragingly, holding out a hand toward him as if approaching a skittish, wild animal.
"Cas – you're safe, okay?" Sam assured him softly. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."
As Sam spoke, Cas's gaze dragged slowly back to where Dean stood, dread in his tear-filled eyes.
"No," Sam said sharply. "Look at me."
Cas flinched, but he looked back over at Sam, miserable and so, so damn scared that something in Dean broke under the weight of the shame, the guilt that he had taken the fierce, powerful creature who'd fought his way through Hell to rescue Dean, and reduced him to this. Dean closed his eyes, but it did nothing to block out the mingled images that filled his mind – the shadow of fearsome wings against the sigiled wall of an abandoned barn… the reality of those wings, torn and bloodied and burned to ash, crushed beneath his fists and feet.
"That's it…" Sam repeated softly, and Dean opened his eyes to see that Sam was just a couple of feet away from Cas now, approaching cautiously. Dean barely dared to breathe, watching Cas tense up, shifting backward just a little. He remembered the way Cas's wings had looked in the moments before he'd completed the ritual to hide them, and wondered if they looked the same way now – trembling and poised to strike. "Come on, Cas, it's all right… just come here to me, okay?" Sam coaxed him gently. "Come on…"
"I-I can't…" Cas swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment, and Dean's heart ached to see the tears that slipped down his face as he opened them again, looking up at Sam. His voice was an aching, apologetic whisper as he shook his head and concluded, "I can't… I can't stay here…"
Sam drew in a breath of alarm. "Cas… Cas, wait…"
He took an abrupt step toward Cas, reaching out for him, and Dean's stomach lurched.
"Sam!"
Dean barked out a warning, moving toward his brother without thinking – but Cas didn't lash out, didn't send Sam flying across the room like he'd done to Dean before.
He just… disappeared.
"Shit!"
Sam slammed his hand down on the weapons table which was now directly in front of him, rattling everything on it and sending a couple of items toppling off to the floor. He closed his eyes for a moment, his back to Dean, visibly struggling for control. He raked a trembling hand through his hair as he turned toward Dean, his face anguished.
"I've gotta find him. He's in the middle of a full-fledged panic attack, and he could be anywhere…"
"Well, probably not… anywhere," Dean pointed out gently, moving closer to Sam. "He just left the bunker on his own for the first time, right? I mean… he's probably not gonna go far, if he's just starting to get his nerve up…"
"Right," Sam agreed, his voice shaky and a little breathless, nodding hurriedly. "Right. His wings are still healing, anyway. He probably can't go far yet, you know?" He headed for the door, his pace swift and purposeful. "I'm gonna drive into town and see if I can find him." He paused in the doorway, casting an apologetic grimace at Dean over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dean."
Dean waved his apology away. "He needs you," he said simply. "Go."
Dean wanted nothing more than to go with Sam, to search until they found Cas and he knew for sure that Cas was okay, safe in the bunker with them. But he knew that the best thing he could do right now for Cas was to just stay away from him. If he was with Sam when Sam caught up to Cas, it would certainly do more damage than good. So he busied himself with tidying up the minor mess in the dungeon, then tried to pass the rest of the time perusing the Men of Letters' inventory for anything he might have missed that might be useful for Crowley.
But he was restless and distracted and fairly certain that if there was something he'd missed – he was probably missing it again. He poured himself a drink – and then another, while he waited for word from Sam. By the time he heard the main door of the bunker open, he'd polished off half a bottle. Still, he stood up quickly, his breath catching in his throat – and then his heart sinking, at the sound of a single set of footsteps descending the stairs.
Sam's posture was dejected, his expression worried and weary as he stood in the library doorway, his hands jammed into his pockets.
"Nothing," he sighed. "No sign of him anywhere. Not even anyone in town who seems to have seen him." Sam sank down into the chair at the end of the table. "There's nothing we can do," he concluded. "Because… he really could be anywhere. I guess all we can do is… wait for him to come home."
Dean nodded slowly, taking that in.
"Please, Cas…" Sam's voice went soft and almost reverent, thick with warmth and concern, and Dean's eyes burned at the sound of it. "Please come home."
"Well, if he does," Dean said at last, when the weight of the empty silence that followed became too heavy, "I probably shouldn't be here." He threw back the last of the whiskey in his glass, then rose to his feet.
"Dean?" Sam looked up at him with a worried frown.
"It's fine, Sammy," Dean assured him, trying for a smile that faltered, never quite forming on his face. "I'll be in my room, okay? Just… come tell me if he shows up, all right? Just so I know he's safe."
Sam hesitated, but Dean didn't give him time to question. His uncertain, "O-okay," followed Dean down the hall as he made his way to his own room, where he quietly shut the door behind him.
He lay down on his neatly made bed, closed his eyes for a while – but he didn't sleep.
He couldn't. Not knowing that Cas was out there, alone and confused and scared to death. Not knowing what Cas thought he'd found in the dungeon.
Finally, Dean sat up on the edge of his bed. He glanced toward his closed bedroom door, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees before lowering his head, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep, shaky breath. All at once his resolve was shaken; he knew what he'd intended to do, but he suddenly, desperately wanted to turn back.
His palms were damp, his stomach in knots, and it'd been so long since he'd felt this anxious , deeply self-conscious feeling that it took him a moment to place it – but when he remembered, it shook him to his core. It was the same way he'd felt whenever he'd made a mistake on a hunt, and had to explain to his dad what went wrong – when he knew that there was no explanation, no excuse that would be good enough.
He'd simply screwed up – and no amount of apologies or explanations would fix it.
But he still had to try.
"Cas?" he began, uncertain, his voice coming out rough and shaky. "Listen, I – I know you don't wanna hear from me right now. I know – I'm the last person's got any right praying to you at all, but – I just – I have to try, okay? 'Cause I know what you saw, Cas, and – and I know how it must have felt, and what you thought, but – it's not true, all right? It's not for you, Cas. I swear it's not for you. It's for Crowley. I – I've gotta make him pay for what he did…"
Dean hesitated, shook his head slowly and amended, "What he… made me do… to you. So – yeah, I made it look like – like it looked in the cabin. Because – I guess it seemed like a kind of justice, you know? Maybe it's fucked up, I don't know. It is fucked up, all of it is, I – I just – I have to try and make it right, Cas." The hot tracks of tears slipped down Dean's face, and his voice broke as he continued, pleading, "I have to try to find some way to make it right. And I know you got no reason to believe me, or – or trust me. I just – I wanted you to know what it was you saw. And that you are safe here, Cas. Sammy – he's freaking out, worrying if you're okay. And – and I'm freaking out, and – we just want you here. Okay? We – we want you home." Dean struggled to maintain his composure, his last words coming out in a desperate whisper. "Please come home."
Dean didn't open his eyes for a long moment. There was so much more he felt, so much more he wanted to say – but most of it he couldn't put into words, and what he could, he'd said a dozen times already. It didn't change anything. He swallowed back the ache in the back of his throat, drawing in a shuddering breath.
He almost thought he imagined the soft rustling sound that broke the silence, the brush of displaced air against the cooling tears on his face. He opened his eyes, looking up in disbelief at the angel who stood just inside his closed bedroom door, watching him with solemn, wary eyes. Dean's mouth went dry, his heart thudding against his ribs, and he moved to stand.
"Don't." Cas's voice was hushed, strained, and as he spoke he glanced furtively toward the door, his hands flexing into fists and unfolding at his sides, as if he was struggling to keep himself from fleeing the room. "Don't – don't get up. Please."
"All right," Dean agreed softly, holding up his hands in front of him, conciliatory and soothing as he settled back down onto the side of his bed. He swallowed slowly, his voice carefully level as he added, "Thanks for coming back, Cas."
"I did it for Sam," Cas stated, and there was a faint note of something like defiance there, something stubborn and challenging and so much like the old Cas that it made Dean want to weep with relief just to know that he was still there. "I don't want him to worry."
"Okay." Dean nodded once, accepting. He bit his lip, hesitated, before asking, "So… he knows you're here, then?"
Cas looked away, swallowing, before meeting Dean's gaze again, steady but wary, as if the slightest wrong move from Dean might still send him flying from the room.
"I – wish to speak with you first."
"O-okay."
Cas was quiet for a moment, before he finally spoke again, his words soft and level. "You don't know how it felt," he stated at last, his intent gaze boring into Dean, making him feel exposed, the tears in Cas's eyes filling him with a deep, overwhelming sense of shame. "To… see that room, after… after being in… in the other one. The one where your closest… where… where you…" Cas looked away, closing his eyes, interminable moments passing as he fought for his composure. Finally he continued softly, "Don't ever say that you know. Because you couldn't possibly."
Dean's throat closed up, his face burning with shame – because he knew what Cas was struggling so hard to get across. Dean had experienced torture before, yeah – but never at the hands of someone he'd trusted so completely. Never at the hands of a friend. "I-I'm sorry." Dean could barely force the words out, words so familiar they'd ceased to hold even what little meaning they'd once had.
Cas went on as if he hadn't even spoken. "And… Crowley deserves to be punished. Not only for his deception and manipulation in this instance, but… for many other things he's done. Many other lives he's both taken and ruined. I will not argue that he is worthy of death, and worse." He looked up at Dean again, and there was something fierce in his gaze, something that dared Dean to argue, as he added, "But he did not make you do anything, Dean."
Dean's stomach dropped, and he looked away, unable to hold Cas's gaze.
"You said many things a few nights ago, when you were intoxicated, and – some of them I know were true, but – you're wrong about some things, too. For example, you seem to believe that what you were forced to do in Hell is the same as what you did to me. It isn't. In Hell, you were made to torture, or be tortured yourself. You were given a choice that was not a choice at all. It was against your will."
Cas went abruptly quiet, and Dean made himself look up, forced himself to face Cas, because he owed him at least that much, didn't he? To look him in the eye while he said what he needed to say, to really hear him, because he'd refused to listen when it really mattered? His vision was blurred with tears, but Dean blinked them away, and Cas's face came into focus – his expression a little distant, composed, but achingly sorrowful. His voice was very soft when at last he continued, quietly grief-stricken.
"With – with me, you had a choice. You were presented with – with false information – and you were presented with the truth. And – you examined all options available to you, given what you'd been told, by me and by Crowley, and – and you decided…" Cas was visibly struggling to speak now, his voice trembling, breaking over his words as he persisted, "… you decided that the best possible option you had… was to believe that Crowley was telling the truth, and that I was a liar, and a traitor." Cas looked at Dean again, and the wounded look in his eyes, the confusion and hurt, was still as fresh as in the moment of Dean's betrayal. "You made the choice," he said in a hushed, aching voice that tore at Dean's heart. "And…you didn't choose me. If it'd been Sam, you would've never…" Cas swallowed hard, blinking away tears as he looked down at the floor, and it was so fucking unfair that he should look so ashamed, as he whispered, "If it'd been you… I would have never…"
Dean couldn't speak. His throat, his chest ached, and he couldn't draw breath enough to respond – not that there was any response he could have offered. Each word drove into his heart like a dagger, condemning him afresh with simple truth.
"I – I can't stop feeling – afraid of you," Cas admitted softly, as if he was confessing to some humiliating sin. "I can't trust you again. Because – I can't know you wouldn't do it again." Cas looked up at Dean, and the tears on his face were devastating, because Dean knew Cas didn't deserve to feel the shame and the hurt that colored his words. "I know I've broken your trust before, Dean. I know I've – made terrible mistakes. But – if you believe Crowley over me, then… what happens if someone else brings false accusation against me again? How can I know that you wouldn't believe them, too? I can't ever…"
Cas stopped abruptly, shook his head, drew in a soft, shuddering breath before continuing, his words aching with loss and desperation. "I want to forgive you, Dean. And I want to trust you again, but – these are the reasons why I – I just don't know how. And… you keep trying to explain to me, but… these are the things that I need you to understand." He was quiet for a moment before adding, barely over a whisper, "I-I'm sorry."
Dean looked up sharply, the words so wrong coming from Cas, given the circumstances, that he had to point it out, had to tell him that he had nothing to be sorry for – but Cas was already gone, leaving Dean alone with the crushing weight of the truth he'd spoken. Dean stared in silence at the spot where Cas had been for a long moment, until it grew hazy, obscured by the sheen of fresh tears in his eyes. The ache in his chest tightened, the weight of own shame overwhelming.
He had no defense – no argument that rendered Cas's words untrue. He was guilty as charged – and nothing he could do to Crowley, or for Cas, would change that. Despairing, Dean lowered his head into his hands and let the tears flow freely for the friendship he'd lost, the trust he'd broken – and could never get back again.
Sam was nearly asleep at the library table, his head resting in his folded arms, when he heard Cas's voice, soft and unsteady, close at his side.
"Sam?"
Immediately Sam sat up and saw Cas standing beside his chair, his eyes downcast and mouth trembling, his face streaked with tears. Sam rose to his feet at once, his arms itching to fold Cas into them, but not quite daring to touch him, not until he knew it was all right.
"Cas?" Sam kept his tone quiet and gentle. "Are you okay?"
Cas just shook his head, and took a single step closer to Sam. It was all the permission Sam needed, and he closed the remaining distance between them, wrapping one arm around Cas's waist, the other hand gently cradling Cas's head as it fell against Sam's shirt. Cas put his arms around Sam, so tight that it nearly took Sam's breath, soft, hitching sounds buried against well-worn flannel, reduced to nothing more than hot puffs of breath against his chest.
"Shhh, I got you," Sam whispered against Cas's temple, his hand running slowly, soothingly, up and down Cas's back. "You're safe. I've got you, Cas…"
After a few minutes, Cas withdrew a little, enough to raise his head to meet Sam's eyes. He looked drained and exhausted, his eyes shadowed and heavy. "I'm sorry I worried you, Sam," he said shakily. "I – I won't scare you like that again..."
"You aren't a prisoner here, Cas," Sam cut him off firmly. "You're free to come and go as you please, it's just – I wanna know you're safe, you know? That's all. You don't have to be sorry."
Cas grimaced, looking away. "Maybe… not for that."
Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I – I went to talk to Dean. Before I came here," Cas admitted softly. "He – prayed to me, and – and he said something that made me…" Cas's voice trailed off, and he shook his head a little, frowning. "No, I… I reacted, and… there were many things I needed to say to him. They were all true, and – he needed to understand, but…" Cas looked back up at Sam again, anxious. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said them… all at once."
Sam's heart sank, as he began to understand. "Do you think – is Dean okay?" he asked cautiously.
Cas shook his head sadly. "Probably not." He offered Sam a tired, shaky smile that was clearly forced, as he added, "I am, though. Really. I – I think I'd like to go to my room and rest. And – and you should go to Dean. I'm sure he – he needs you right now."
"You're sure?" Sam studied Cas closely. "You were pretty freaked out. I mean, understandably. But – you know that room wasn't…"
"I know," Cas assured him, nodding. "It's for Crowley. I understand. I am fine. I just – I would like some quiet time in my own room to – to think and – and you should go to Dean now." Cas's tone was firm, more than a suggestion.
Sam opened his mouth to argue anyway.
The next moment, Cas was gone – the discussion clearly closed, as far as he was concerned. Sam felt a rush of warmth and affection for him, that even in the midst of his own confusion and pain, despite whatever words he'd said that had apparently left Dean suffering, Cas was still more worried about Dean's well-being than his own.
And for the moment – Sam was inclined to trust Cas's assessment on this one. He headed down the hall, bracing himself for whatever he would face beyond Dean's bedroom door.