When Sam gets back to the bunker, he parks the Impala in her usual spot, but doesn't get out right away. It's both strange and comforting to be in his brother's car again. The feel of the leather under his hands is the same, but the smell is off. The usual smells of motor oil, fried foods, and alcohol have been replaced by an overpowering smell of sulfur. It's both repulsive and fascinating to Sam. The yellow powder is everywhere, ingrained in the seats, the metal of the steering wheel, even the radio dials. Dean is going to be so pissed when he gets back behind the wheel, but he has no one but himself to blame. It makes Sam smile, thinking about Dean's reaction. It's such a relief to know that Dean—the real Dean—will be up and around soon, singing along poorly to the radio, demanding pie, bitching about how dirty his car has gotten.

He spends another five minutes just sitting, ignoring the smell of rotten eggs, listening to the engine cool down and settle. He missed this car. He missed his brother. And now that he has both back, he can't imagine why he ever thought he could have let either of them go.

When the engine is cool and he can no longer stand the smell, Sam gets out and goes looking for Cas and Dean. He finds them in Dean's room, Dean in bed asleep, while Cas sits vigil at his bedside. It looks like Cas stripped his clothes off him before putting him to bed. They lay in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. Cas looks up when he hears Sam's footsteps, a grim expression on his face. "Any change?" Sam asks.

Castiel shakes his head. "His mind and his soul have a lot of healing to do. There is no way to know how long he will be asleep. Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to get some sleep as well. You have been awake for fifty-two hours."

"What if he wakes up?"

"I will be here if he needs anything. Go to bed, Sam. He is unlikely to wake before you do."

"Are you sure he's going to be okay?"

Castiel places a hand on Dean's forehead and cocks his head as though he's listening to something. "He is currently dreaming about a sexual encounter with triplet men. And Crowley." Castiel makes a displeased face. "That is not a portion of Crowley I ever wished to see."

Sam makes a face of his own. He really, really doesn't want to know what Dean got up to with Crowley while he was a demon. "Okay, uh, I guess I'll go to sleep then. You uh, you'll get me if anything changes?"

"Of course, Sam. Good night."

"Night," Sam says, taking one last long look at Dean asleep in his bed before he heads down the hall to his own. He decides to take a shower first to wash all the dirt and blood and alcohol from his body. He knows he smells pretty rank at the moment. Sam wanders into the bathroom and turns the shower on to hot. He strips as steam fills the bathroom and then climbs into the piping hot shower. Both Dean and Cas are right about the bunker showers; they have excellent water pressure. Sam has never been able to appreciate it before, but as he stands under the spray and lets the hot water sooth his tight muscles, he can feel all his worry and his tension melt away. It isn't permanent, and there is still a hell of a lot about his life that needs dealing with, but for the moment, it's enough.

/

Dean has been asleep for eighteen hours when Castiel decides to bring in breakfast for him. Sam has been in an out since he woke up several hours ago, but he is restless, and Castiel can hear him pacing the halls when he is not in the room. When Cas passes him in the hall on his way to the kitchen, he looks harried. "Would you like some breakfast, Sam? I was going to make some toast and eggs for Dean."

"Is he awake?" Sam asks, alert and already moving back towards the bedroom.

"No, but I thought the smell of food might entice him to wake up. I doubt he's had much to eat since he… turned. He'll be hungry."

"Oh. Uh yeah, food would be good. Thanks, Cas. I'll man the fort for you."

Castiel frowns, not understanding what he is talking about. They have no fort. "We have no fort," he says.

Sam smiles as though what Cas has said is amusing to him. "It's just an expression. I'll watch over Dean while you're gone."

"Oh, well, thank you. I will be back shortly." He goes to the kitchen and looks in the refrigerator only to find out that they are down to the last two eggs and the milk has gone sour. He finds a box of pancake mix that only requires water and some syrup in a cabinet and decides to improvise. Dean likes pancakes. Castiel has never made them before, but six months ago he didn't know how to brush his teeth or do laundry either. He can figure it out.

An hour later, he returns to Dean's bedroom to find Sam folded into a chair at the bedside with his head in his hands. He looks up at the smell of pancakes and stares. "I was wondering what took you so long. Did you make pancakes?"

"I did. I do not know if they are correct or not. I could only taste the molecules, and they taste the same whether the item is perfectly cooked or completely ruined, so you'll have to forgive me if they are the latter." He hands Sam his plate and a fork tucked into a pocket of his trench and sets the other plate on the bedside table nearest to Dean's face.

Dean is curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed, the blankets pulled tight around him. He looks small and fragile and in pain. Castiel has never seen him sleep in any position but a sprawl, legs half-off the bed, sheets and blankets twisted around him. The only resemblance this Dean shares with his memories of Dean is the vulnerable expression on his face. Castiel sits on the edge of the bed on the opposite side of Sam, partly because there is nowhere else, but mostly because he wants to be near Dean. In the past, touching Dean while he was asleep would not have been something Castiel would have considered. Dean reacted poorly when he discovered Castiel watching him sleep. Touching would have only made things worse. Now, with the knowledge of what Dean tastes like fresh in his mind, he feels he can be permitted the luxury. He reaches out and combs his fingers through Dean's hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. Dean shifts closer with a sigh, but does not wake.

"These are really good, Cas. Thank you. I didn't realize how hungry I was," Sam says around a mouthful of pancake. When he looks up at Cas, his eyes soften into sadness. "I don't think the pancakes worked. How much longer you think he'll be out?"

"I do not know. He has been through an ordeal for which we have no precedence. It could be hours or days. I do know that his body is healing. It is a slow process, but it is definitely happening. I can see some of the damage has been knitted back together." And he can. With every brush of Dean's skin, he gets a glimpse of what is happening inside his head. He is no longer dreaming of the triplets. He is fishing on the lake. Castiel is pleased to see a dream version of himself sitting beside Dean, not fishing, but there none-the-less.

"That's something, I guess. You sure you don't want to get up, Dean? These pancakes Cas made are awesome." Sam pokes Dean's back with a finger, but it does not garner a response. Sam sighs and goes back to eating. Castiel returns to combing through Dean's hair.

Night falls, and still Dean does not wake. Sam shuffles off to bed around midnight, yawning behind the book he's been reading—a novel for once, and not a book on the supernatural. Castiel bids him goodnight and decides that perhaps he should lay down himself. He no longer needs to sleep, but the last few days—months, really—have been emotionally exhausting, and he would like to rest. He peels off his trench coat and takes off his shoes and lays down on the bed next to Dean on top of the covers. He shifts onto his side so that he can look at Dean's still face without encumbrance. He lifts a hand to trace the lines of Dean's skin, the laugh lines along his eyes, the curves around his mouth. The freckles on his nose have begun to spread outward, towards his cheeks and forehead. They make Cas smile.

"I thought we talked about watching me when I'm asleep," Dean murmurs, his nose wrinkling up. His eyes flutter open, and he stares at Cas without moving.

"I didn't think you would mind. You've been asleep for thirty-four hours."

"Have I? Must have needed it, then." Dean's voice is rough and quiet. He reaches up to trace along Cas' ear.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a mack truck. But I'm human again. I don't feel the Mark anymore. Thanks."

"I told you I would never stop trying to save you."

Dean smiles a crooked little smile. "That you did. Thanks." He leans in and presses his lips to Cas', pulling him in with a firm grip on the back of his neck. Castiel lets himself be taken, sliding closer to Dean so that their bodies are pressed together against the barrier of the blankets. This kiss is far different from the first violent kisses. Dean is methodical in his attentions, mapping out Cas' mouth with his tongue until Castiel feels thoroughly concurred. It is a reassuring feeling. He no longer tastes sulfur or fire when he touches Dean. He feels home.

When Sam pops in in the morning, Dean is sleeping on Castiel's chest under the covers, fingers curled over his bare shoulder. Sam stares wide-eyed at them for a moment, turns on his heel, and walks away.