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One.
"I know what I heard in that church," Sam says, loping down the hallway and waving his arms like he's trying to land an airplane. "Crowley was definitely –"
"DEAN."
Dean stops cold. Zeke's voice still freaks him out, that oddly formal speech coming out of Sam's mouth. He turns around and glances at Sam, making sure it's Zeke before they go any further. "What?"
Zeke frowns, a look of consternation that's at home on Sam's face and yet different from Sam's own usual brand of annoyance with Dean. "I believe Crowley knows about me."
The bottom drops out of Dean's stomach and he can feel his mouth drop open, his brain stuttering to catch up with his guts. "What?" He mentally fast-forwards though their conversation with Crowley. "What makes you think that?"
Zeke meets Dean's eyes, and for a second Dean stares back, until he can't take it anymore and looks away. "His comment about stilettos and a leather bustier."
"Excuse me?" That comment had freaked Dean out, truth be told, but Sam's smirky acceptance of it had calmed him; he assumed Crowley had used the tactic to throw Sam off-balance and Sam had just been too smart for it.
"The last time I saw Crowley, I had another vessel. She was devout. A professional dancer." Zeke doesn't even blink, doesn't give any indication he realizes those two things don't really go together. "She allowed me to possess her to complete some assigned tasks, including smiting several of Crowley's best deal-makers."
"And when you saw Crowley last, you were wearing –"
"A leather bustier and stilettos, yes." Zeke doesn't really seem to have anything else to say, which is annoying because what the hell is Dean supposed to do now?
"So I need to keep Sam away from Crowley somehow," Dean says. "Unless you keep wiping his hard drive." The thought makes Dean sick. He hates how much Zeke has already scrambled Sam's brain, how much he does every time he comes forward.
"It would be better to keep him away from Crowley for the time being," Zeke answers. "I am still weak and Crowley is a particularly powerful demon, even bound as he is. It is possible he could get Sam to eject me before I could stop him."
The thought of Sam dropping dead at Crowley's feet chills Dean to the bone. "Right. Keeping Sam away from Crowley. I'll find a way." Dean turns back around, starts heading up the hallway.
"Thank you, Dean."
"– repentant and I know he wants to help us, he just doesn't know how to without losing face."
Dean swallows and keeps moving like his world isn't ending. "I think you're giving Crowley a little too much credit there, Sammy."
Two.
Kevin keeps skittering away from Sam, giving him nervous looks when he comes into the room and finding any excuse to leave as soon as Sam sits down. After the third mumbled excuse that he needs a shower, Dean gets up and follows him away from the table, Sam looking after them quizzically.
"What's up with you?" Dean asks, near-whispering as soon as they're out of Sam's sight. "You're jumpier than a frog on a hot plate."
Kevin shrugs, looks at the floor. "That angel freaks me out. I can see him in there, crouching behind Sam. It doesn't freak you out?"
Dean closes his eyes and lets out a weary sigh. "Yeah," Dean admits. "But Sam needs that angel to heal him – it's the only way."
"But he doesn't know it's there. The angel's like a gargoyle sitting on his shoulder and Sam's just…" Kevin shudders. "It's creepy, Dean."
"I know," Dean says, and thank god Kevin's a damn mathlete and has already figured this all out because he doesn't really think he could explain it. "But Sam needs that angel, and if he knew…" He takes Kevin by the shoulders, squeezing hard. "You have to act normal. If Sam gets wind of this and kicks Zeke out, he'll die."
"I'll try," Kevin says, nodding numbly. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."
Dean huffs, a humorless chuckle. "So do I."
Three.
The first thing out of Cas's mouth once they're alone is, "I'm glad Sam accepted Ezekiel."
It's not at all what Dean's expecting. He shrugs. "It was the only way."
Cas nods. "You should tell him."
Dean shakes his head. He doesn't really believe that Zeke will just heal Sam and be on his way, but he's desperate and not ready to watch Sam die right in front of him. "If Sam kicks him out –"
"He dies. I understand, Dean." Cas puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, an awkward attempt at comfort. "But that is Sam's choice to make, not yours. And he accepted Ezekiel because of you. He would do so again."
Dean doesn't know what to say. He doesn't tell Cas that he thinks the reason Zeke keeps saying Sam can get rid of him is because he hasn't fully, knowingly, consented. He doesn't tell Cas that he thinks if Sam did actually say yes, he's pretty sure Zeke could take Sam's meatsuit and do whatever the hell he wanted with it, Winchesters be damned. He doesn't tell Cas that he wants to give Sammy the out – for when he's stronger, when he can survive on his own and kick the angel to the curb.
"I know," Dean says, shifting so Cas's hand slips off his shoulder. "I just don't want him to have to make that choice – not yet."
Cas hmms, his face etched with a very human sadness. "You don't trust Ezekiel."
Dean opens the fridge to grab a couple beers, unable to look at Cas when he says, "I haven't had a lot of luck with trusting angels." He knows it's a shit thing to say, especially since Cas is human now, but it's true, and Zeke is nowhere near Cas in Dean's books. He's just praying this goes to hell in a way he can handle – and Sammy dying is not a way he can handle.
"It just has to hold a little while longer," Dean says, holding out one of the beers to Cas, who shakes his head and stares down at his hands, regret clear in the lines on his face.
"Be careful," Cas warns. "Sam may be getting stronger, but so is Ezekiel."