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Cas disappeared with a rush of wind like fluttering feathers, like a dry fart, like nothing at all. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, then went to the kitchen and found a beer and a half-empty container of KFC cole slaw in the fridge. He fished out a clean fork by the light of the fridge, then shut the door. He didn't realize he should've gone with finger food until he started checking sigils. Juggling the slaw and the fork and the bottle in the dark was a shitty gig.
He made it through two rooms before he found a swoop that should've been a straight line. Dean shook his head to think of Bobby's arms bandaged up for angel-proofing that hadn't even worked, then wondered if Bobby had been tired and shaky with blood loss when he did this window, or if Cas had taught it to him wrong in the first place. Dean had second-guessed things often enough with Sam — looking back on what Sam did when he was short a soul but neither of them knew it, or when he'd been working with Ruby and lying to Dean, or when he was newly eighteen and suddenly unwilling to look Dean in the eye. It fucking sucked, Dean always hated it, but he had to do it again.
Dean finished the cole slaw, tossed the container, and picked up a knife while he was in the kitchen. He sliced his own forearm, then went around the windows again to fix what needed it. He had to reopen the cut a couple of times so that by the time he finished the upper floor and left the knife by the banister, his arm was sore. He made sure it'd started to scab over before he went after Sam.
He didn't know why he'd bothered with the sigils. Cas knew where they were, and if he wanted to smoke them out he'd only need to set fire to the place. Coming back to Bobby's hadn't been the best idea in the first place, but none of them suggested bunking down somewhere else. Dean knew Bobby had bolt-holes around the country, and between the three of them they could've fortified anything with four walls and a roof. Hell, the car was safe enough, if it came down to that. But they'd come back to South Dakota like there was no place else to turn.
Maybe he'd wanted Cas to turn up, as permanent as things had sounded back at Ellworth's. Maybe he'd wanted to give Cas a chance to change his mind, because Dean was sick of this angel bullshit. This was just like Anna sending him sex dreams because she wanted to kill him, like Zachariah touching him on the forehead and throwing him back into the life where he had more memories of Hell than of anything else, like learning Cas had only pulled him out of the pit in the first place as part of a plan that ended with Dean fighting his brother to the death. Same shit, different day, except Dean hadn't looked to be getting it from Cas anymore.
Sam was stretched out on the bed when Dean opened the door, and he didn't stir when Dean stepped inside. His guard must be pretty far down to stay out with Dean moving around, but then they were only at Bobby's. It was only Dean. Dean was still happy enough to find Sam sleeping that he'd take him sleeping through things.
He clenched his jaw while he took off his boots. Sam awake all hours of the night and acting like it was normal — that'd been Cas's fault, too. Cas hauled Sam up broken, and left Dean puttering around Lisa's like nothing was the matter, and he hadn't done a damn thing about it. Sam hadn't either, but his soul had been gone. Cas didn't have that excuse. It'd taken a monster to tell Dean the truth Cas wouldn't, and Death to patch up what Cas hadn't fixed. Hell, he hadn't even bothered to tell Dean how he'd fucked up until he was wrapped in a ring of fire.
Dean shucked off his overshirt and crossed the room to Sam, who had a book open on his chest. Dean picked it up, marking Sam's spot with a finger between the pages, but Sam grabbed his wrist before Dean got the paperback six inches off his chest. Dean grinned, then tried to hide it when Sam opened his eyes.
"Hey," Sam said. He tugged at Dean and nodded to the other half of the bed, then let go.
"Hey." Dean put the book down on the floor, right where it'd be underfoot, and crawled over Sam to get to the far side. Sam grumbled but he rolled when Dean moved off him, facing him and freeing up a little more of the warmed mattress. His searched Dean's face before settling a hand at his waist.
"You okay?" he asked.
Dean shrugged. "Turns out someone I trusted cut deals with demons behind my back," he said, and he kept going even when Sam's face and grip both hardened. "Story of my life, it looks like."
"Dean," Sam started, but Dean shook his head.
"Whatever, man. Don't," he said. He shook his head again and closed his eyes. Sam scooted closer and Dean let him, moving towards him as well. "Cas was there for all of that shit. I figured he would have learned that lesson along with the rest of us."
"Demons lie," Sam said, in the same tone of voice Dad had used for doling out the great unchanging truths of the world. "They're good at it. Maybe it's something everyone has to learn for themselves."
Everyone must be a fucking idiot, Dean thought, but then he'd gone to the crossroads himself even though he'd known he was following footsteps. He kept his eyes and his mouth closed, and eventually they both went back to sleep.