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When Dean looks back at the last year and a half he is pleased with Sam’s progress. Really. He’s f--king overjoyed that his brother is no longer a salivating mess who can’t do anything for himself. He’s pleased he no longer wakes up screaming every night. He hasn’t wandered out of the bunker or had a freak out episode in a really long time and that’s great. Dean’s freaking thrilled his brother can sit across from him at the table, with an angel next to him no less, and eat. Sam has come very, very far.
But...
But he’s sitting here, watching his brother struggle to speak. Struggle to communicate. They are having a simple conversation, reminiscing about old times and Sam has stopped in the middle of a sentence because he can’t remember the English word for something. And Dean can’t help him.
Sam stutters, screws up his face, thinks. Finally he sighs, giving up and turning to Cas. their ersatz translator. He says something in angel gibberish. He says it perfectly, fluidly and without pause. He speaks enochian like he was born to speak it. Like he used to speak English. Now he speaks english like a foreigner.
Dean waits. Cas listens and nods. “Honey, Sam. The word you’re looking for is honey.”
“Hon-ee?”
Cas nods and Sam smiles, turning back to Dean. But Dean can’t bring himself to smile back. He can’t even remember what they were talking about. He’s rapidly getting lost in his own morose train of thought.
Its not just watching Sam struggle that irks him. Its that it takes Sam that extra minute to understand his weird jokes and by then they aren’t funny. Its that when they go out people assume Cas and Sam are brothers because what siblings can’t even speak the same language. Its the idea that he’s no longer Sam’s go to guy, that he won’t be the first one Sam looks to for help.
“Dean?” Cas is staring at him and Sam looks worried, like he’s done something wrong
Dean blinks back to the present. “Sorry, what were you saying?” He’s about to joke he got lost in Sam’s eyes but remembers idioms don’t translate well. So he settles for “I stopped listening.” It's a little blunt but Sam smiles. He understood that.
----
Sam excuses himself to the bathroom while Dean waits for the doctor to return. They suspect there’s a case of ghost sickness in the area but need the doc’s testimony to corroborate. No use going in half cocked when the information is just a fake ID and chat away.
The door creaks open. Dean looks up to see the doctor enter. His heart sinks. Damnit.
First hunt back. We cannot catch a break.
“Oh, hello. Agent Rockfield, the researcher from the CDC, I assume”
Dean smiles, reaches out to shake his hand. “And you’re the doc who’s been dealing with this new outbreak”
“That’s me. Sorry, I thought you said on the phone that you had a partner”
“More of a trainee actually. Will you excuse me a sec? I just want to check in with him, you know how it is with rookies.”
The doc smiles “I’ve trained many a young intern. You go ahead, it’ll give me time to get my notes in order”
Dean smiles half heartedly, whipping out his phone and sending Sam a frantic text. Don’t come into the office. Go and wait in the car.”
A moment and a reply comes
What? Why?
Just trust me. Please.
.....
Fine.
Dean breathes a sigh of relief, getting back to his questions. No need to tell his brother the doc had blonde spiky hair. Hair just like Lucifer’s vessel. Hair that would quite possibly trigger a full blown PTSD episode, ruining Sam’s good streak of late.
Though the crisis is averted Dean still feels bad when he returns to the car. Sam is a hunter, a good strong, clever hunter. In what world is it fair that something as innocuous as a doctor’s douchey hairstyle can completely screw that up?
He hears the wind pick up in the trees and blasts the heater. Cold is another one of Sam’s triggers and damned if he’s not getting back to the motel with Sam trigger free.
---
The brainwave comes in the middle of the night. He throws the covers off and heads outside, pulling out his cell phone to call Cas. He knows the angel won’t be sleeping. Sure enough it only rings twice before the familiar gravelly tone answers.
“Dean? Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine Cas, I just wanted to ask you for a favour.”
“I thought you had come to a conclusion about the creature you are hunting. A buruburu I recall...”
“I don’t need you to check the lore Cas. Do you remember that time there was that false prophet girl, with the enochian incantation you thought was really funny? Something about goat breeding?”
There’s a beat and then Cas is chuckling. “Yes, yes I recall. You know it’s really too bad you couldn’t understand the nuances of that, it was really quite humorous”
“But Sam can. He
can
understand enochian nuance or whatever because he was freaking immersed in it for 2000 f--king years. Do you know any other funny incantations or sayings in enochian?”
Another beat.
“Dean are you asking if I know any dirty jokes in enochian?”
“Yes, Cas that’s exactly what I’m asking.”
“Dean, enochian is my mother tongue, the language of great and ancient things, the language that brought creation to life and you want me to use it to construct childish japes?”
“Please Cas. For Sam.”
He has him and Dean knows it. Cas owes just as much to Sam as any of them do.
“Fine. I’ll text you when I come up with something.”
====
It takes a while for Dean to master the pronunciation of the phrase Castiel constructs but it’s well worth it when he turns to Sam as they’re researching in the library and speaks the words pretty near perfect. He’s thrilled when Sam doubles over, giggling like an idiot. Until Sam gets it together enough to inform him Cas has basically taught him to say “I am a hairy ass butt” in enochian. He loses it again watching his brother chases the protesting angel round the room, falling to the floor and laughing so hard he can barely breathe.