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When they get back to the bunker that stupid pickup truck that has replaced Cas’s slightly less stupid Continental is parked out in the front. Dean’s chest gives a dumb little leap. He’s been trapped in the car with Sam ranting about the election results for way too long now.
Yeah, Dean’s concerned, too, but honestly? He’d rather not think about it. (There’s a part of him that knows he’s thinking about marriage equality, but he hasn’t found the time or the energy to confront that part just yet.)
“And he doesn’t even believe in climate change!” Sam says as Dean throws the Impala into park.
“I knew that after the second time you told me, Sammy.”
Sam grumbles a few more protests as they lug their stuff into the bunker, but Cas’s appearance at the foot of the stairs stems the tirade at last.
“Guess what we did,” Dean says.
For the first time in what feels like hours, Sam allows a small smile on his face. Cas squints as he tries to work out what they could have possibly done. He’s doing that confused-bird tilt of his head that makes Dean brighten a little bit.
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to—”
“Dean killed Hitler,” Sam says as quickly as he possibly could, before Dean got a chance to say it again.
Damn. He’d really been looking forward to telling Cas. He’s rewarded by Cas’s smile brightening marginally, even as he looks more confused than ever. They make it downstairs and Cas takes the bags from both of them.
“I have a kettle on,” Cas tells them. “Go sit down. I’ll put your stuff away. You can tell me all about it.”
It’s unbearably domestic. Dean can’t believe this is his life now. To think that Gadreel had strong-armed him into getting Cas out of the bunker less than three years ago seems ridiculous now.
“He has a kettle on?” Sam asks in a low tone as they make their way to the kitchen.
Dean shrugs. “Don’t burst his bubble. The guy deserves a chance to relax a little.”
God knows he’s earned it. Dean knows that he hasn’t quite recovered from the Lucifer debacle, nor does he expect him to. At least not yet. Everything is quieter than it’s been in years. If Cas was ever going to recover, now was the time.
Sam hurries to take the kettle off of the stove when they hear it whistle as Dean lowers himself on to one of the seats at the kitchen table. God, he feels old. Getting thrown through walls isn’t what it used to be, that’s for sure. He grimaces as it feels like his entire body shouts out a protest.
“Feeling that last punch?” Sam asks mildly as he pours three cups.
Jerk. He’s got four years less time on those Sasquatch bones of his. Dean leans over to swat him in retaliation when he carries over the cups. Sam dodges out of his way.
“Hey, do you want the coffee or not?”
Dean is gracious enough to know when he’s been beat. He lowers his hands and accepts the cup. Cas has a way of making Folger’s that tastes better than anyone else who’s ever made coffee for Dean (Sam and Lisa, basically).
“How do you do this?” Dean groans out, ignoring the way Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Make coffee? It’s rather simple, actually—”
“I’m going to catch up on some of my reading.”
Sam practically knocks his chair over in his rush for the door. Cas watches him go, utterly bemused by his behavior. Dean waves his hand, telling him silently to ignore his weird behavior.
“So,” Cas says conversationally, “you killed Hitler?”
“It was awesome.”
Dean launches into a full play-by-play of the hunt. Cas helps the story along by nodding appreciatively in all the right places. He even goes so far as to let out a gasp at one point, which Dean would not have seen coming.
“There are days that I think my life can’t get any stranger,” Dean tells him.
Of course, he’s saying this while sitting in the kitchen of an underground bunker that used to be owned by a group of anti-supernatural geeks with an angel, drinking a cup of coffee. It can’t get much stranger than that.
“I saw your mother.”
That’s Cas: just throwing something like that out there, blunt as can be. Dean’s entire body goes rigid. Yeah, he’s been doing better ever since they started texting—she discovered what a selfie is about a half a week ago, and has sent him a few since—but it still hurts to think of her out there in the wind somewhere.
“Yeah? Is she okay?”
Why is she okay with talking to Cas, but not to them? Dean tries to rein in a bit of his jealousy. It isn’t really working.
“We watched I Love Lucy. I told her about you and Sam.”
Dean tries to picture it, and to his shock, it’s incredibly easy. His mom and Cas, sitting in a crappy motel somewhere, staring at the static-y TV set and just talking. He has a feeling that Mom takes an odd sort of comfort in Cas.
“Thanks for—for looking after her.”
Cas offers a faint smile. “She said the same thing about you.”
Silence. Cas sips some of his coffee while Dean tries to process. The want to see her again has only grown stronger. It’s like a physical ache in his chest.
“How’s the Lucifer thing going?”
Cas shakes his head. “Rowena stuck him in the bottom of the ocean and we haven’t managed to find exactly where yet.”
Dean surprises himself by reaching across the table to touch Cas’s wrist. He glances down at the contact, just as surprised as Dean is. Dean has to take a breath before he can continue.
“You’re doing all that you can, and it’s more than enough.”
Cas looks away, so Dean reaches further forward to wrap his hand around Cas’s. He almost looks like he’s going to pull away for a moment, but he doesn’t.
“We’re gonna find him, and we’re gonna make him pay for all the crap he did to Sammy and to you. You’re not going at this alone.”
Cas nods, but he still looks uncertain. Dean gives his hand a squeeze, and for a moment, everything feels better.