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At first, Sam didn’t even know it was happening. Cas showed up one day, soaked to the bone, and was immediately engrossed in conversation with Dean. His brother had led Cas deeper into the bunker, talking loudly about towels, and Sam kept looking for cases. It made sense that Cas accompanied them to Indiana; that Dean booked two rooms at the motel; that he shared with Cas. At diners, they sat on the same side of the booth, and shared long glances, and it was nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Just Dean and Cas being Dean and Cas.
Two am and covered in grave dirt, they head home. By four, Castiel has passed out in the backseat. Dean turned down the volume on "WKBX's top fifty classic rock hits of ALL TIME!" Dean cleared his throat, eyes on the rearview mirror, "Cas is gonna be staying with us, for a while."
"I figured, so he can get his strength back, like before," Sam laughed, "let Netflix recharge his mojo for a while."
"I don't think he's getting it back this time, Sammy." Dean glanced at him, "I think he's just gonna lose what little he has left."
"So, permanently, then?"
"As long as he wants to stay."
"So we set up a room, maybe find a new mattress and a TV. He's family, Dean, of course."
Dean drove clear through to morning — Sam fell asleep after their final gas stop. He had barely been asleep three hours when Dean was shaking him awake. He heard Dean waking Cas up, but mostly he was focused on the pain in his neck and the desire to shower and sleep in his own bed again.
They didn't hunt for weeks. Dean called it a "staycation." He did drive into the city a few times, hustle some pool, pick a few pockets, but mostly he took Cas places. Sam came along when he needed something, but often he was alone in the bunker for hours while they did who knows what. Oftentimes they would come in empty handed — pie or coffee or beer forgotten or consumed long before they arrived home. And still Sam suspected nothing.
The quiet conversations were nothing new. Sam has often walked into rooms when the two of them are standing close and felt the oppressive weight of an interrupted conversation. The feeling is more frequent than usual, and Sam finally has the barest of suspicions. Once they start to work again the feeling is far less frequent, and Sam thinks maybe it was just some kind of cabin fever.
It's not for almost six months, but Sam eventually catches Cas emerging from his brother's bedroom in the morning, hair wild and bleary eyed.
“Long night? You guys find a case?”
“A case?” Confusion clouds Cas’s face. “No.”
“Then wh- Oh! Oh. Okay, cool, okay.”
Castiel doesn't pay him any mind, just shuffles past him to the bathroom. Sam continues on his way to the kitchen, mind racing. How did he miss this? Coffee, Sam decides, coffee will help. But it doesn't, because Sam can't wrap his head around the how of it all. Dean, with a GED and a give 'em hell attitude, made a move on the angel? No way, José. He'd pined and worried, but Sam never thought he'd actually step up to the plate and swing. That was just Dean, for you. Never believing that he deserved good things. It had to have been Cas. He's not surprised (he's had money on them getting together since 2009), but he had figured if it actually happened, it would be obvious. Sitcom obvious. That it would be their last night on earth (again), that one of them would snap and profess their undying love. That he'd have to have some long, drawn out conversation with his brother about it. But it was quiet, the way Cas was integrated into the bunker, into their lives. He came on hunts, trading shotgun and driving shifts; made coffee when he was the first one up in the morning; helped Sam with research and Dean with the weapons. The truth is, maybe Sam shouldn't have expected it to be any other way.