AN: So I did it again. Another Dean/Cas fic written about Sam. They're probably my favorite type (short of, you know, porn fics) so I figured what the hell. It's mostly just for fun, and doesn't take place really anywhere in the series, so don't take it seriously (I didn't). The T rating is for LANGUAGE. I obviously don't own SPN or make any money from this. Happy Destiel week, folks, enjoy. :]

Sam unlocks the door and steps into the motel room- his brother's greasy fast-food order heavy in the paper bag he holds and he thinks he really ought to stop allowing Dean to eat so much garbage or he's gonna die of heart disease before a monster has a chance to kill him- and promptly stops short.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Standing in the middle of the room and staring at one another as if their very minds are connected, are a very frustrated looking Cas and an equally perturbed Dean.

Sam, of course, is no stranger to the long, intense stares the two of them frequently share that leave him feeling not only like he's missed something, but also a little glad he has, because whatever's passing between the two of them in those moments is obviously not meant for anyone else, and he's really okay with that.

But this- this is extreme even for them. They don't notice him enter the room, and if they do, they don't pay an ounce of mind to it as they keep right on staring into each other's souls, or grace, or whatever else is inside them and is just so captivating that neither one blinks in the time that feels like long minutes of Sam frozen just watching them with a kind of morbid curiosity.

Somewhere in his mind, he wonders if Cas even needs to blink, and somewhere else he's acutely aware that the tension in the room is practically palpable, and that that really ought to convince him to just pivot right around and wait in the car until Dean's done with his staring contest and decides he wants his lunch.

But suddenly, Dean opens his mouth without breaking his gaze, and Sam's startled to hear him mutter angrily, "Cas-" before everything goes asunder and the angel vanishes, leaving Dean gaping at the ugly print of a pastel beach scene hanging on the wall over the shared nightstand.

"Fuck you, too," he says to the empty air, and turns to realize for the first time that his younger brother has been standing in the room for the past three minutes, stalled awkwardly just inside the door with an oily paper bag in his hand and a rather lost expression on his face.

Sam tries quickly to recover from how dumb he realizes he must look, gaping with his head half cocked and one hand still holding the doorknob behind him. He steps up and clears his throat, noticing how defensive Dean seems to become as he takes an equal step backward with a very heavy frown on his face.

"Is everything okay?" Sam asks, taking the next few steps it requires his long legs to bring him to an already cluttered table to put down the bag and look back up at his brother who suddenly seems to resemble a time bomb.

Dean's expression doesn't falter as he gives a very unconvincing, "It's fine."

Sam knows better than to push the matter, but he also knows himself to worry incessantly about his big brother, and that instinctive part of him is what compels him to press further. "Doesn't seem fine. What's going on with you guys?"

The reprise doesn't seem to make Dean any more inclined to open up, and he only scowls harder. Sam stiffens as Dean walks toward him, half afraid that he'd go so far as to punch him for the nuisance- it's not entire out of character, after all- but instead he just takes the bag from the table in an angrily clenched fist.

"Nothing, Sam," he grumbles as he storms past toward the door, "I said it's fine."

Sam winces as the door slams after him, and then sighs, realizing that the next few days they're to spend in this dull south Pennsylvania town are going to be very tense and very, very long.

It's night the next time Cas appears. A day and a half after what Sam's been calling in his head the stare-down, during which Dean has been particularly sullen and moody, and the issue has remained undisturbed, but only because they've been busy looking for a shape-shifter and not doing a whole lot of talking, anyway. But he has far from forgotten the matter; after all, the motel room and the car have taken on a very cold edginess while both the Winchesters occupy them, and now, as he lays in his bed, facing the far wall and barely half asleep, he hears an unmistakable murmur from across the room.

"Dean," the whisper sounds particularly gravelly, "Wake up."

And he hears Dean do just that, with that slight gasp of being startled out of an already restless sleep, and then the heavy sigh as, Sam imagines, he sees who's standing over his bed.

"What do you want?" he asks back, voice just as low.

"Come with me. We need to talk."

Dean's whisper sounds agitated. "I'm not getting out of bed. Sam's asleep. Say it and get out."

Cas falls silent for a moment, before finally returning the impatient sigh. "I don't know what you want me to say, Dean."

"Alright then," Sam hears the bed creak as Dean must be turning over, because that's so very like him to do, "Goodnight."

"Dean."

"What?"

Cas pauses again, and Sam can't help but to find himself holding his breath to hear what he's going to say before realizing just how unnatural that must appear, and faking a quiet snore. He really shouldn't be eavesdropping, but really, they are the ones who decided to talk this out in the room, and you can hardly blame him.

"I am not angry with you. That you should know."

This time, Dean is silent for a long moment, and Sam almost wonders if that had been the end of it and the angel had just vanished silently again, before-

"I know."

"Is that all you needed to hear?"

Dean gives a deflated laugh. "Sure it is."

"You're lying to me."

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Dean-"

"Goodnight, Cas."

Cas huffs quietly before surrendering with a moodily whispered "Goodnight." before Sam's sure he's gone.

He knows Dean hasn't fallen back asleep yet, not in the minutes that pass as they both lay silently in the dark. He's obviously thinking hard about whatever it is that's got the two of them so bothered, and it almost frustrates Sam that they haven't sorted it out. He realizes that he's probably paying too much mind to his brother's business, but he'd be lying to himself if he tried to say that that wasn't always his way.

"Sammy?" comes Dean's voice so quietly that Sam knows he's not supposed to hear. He doesn't respond. Dean still thinks that he's asleep.

It's been two more days since the last tense encounter between Dean and Cas, and Sam knows, because he's spent every moment with his brother since then as the shape-shifter gave them such a hard time until they finally killed the thing. It's morning, now, and they're trying to make a clean exit from the little town where they've made quite a mess hunting, pulling out of the motel parking lot just as the sun rises.

"Where to, now?" Dean asks, seeming rather unenthused about the drive ahead, and that's how Sam knows that something is still very wrong.

"I told Bobby we'd see him the next time we got a chance," Sam says, looking down at his feet for the map to get them on their way, "Let's head that way."

Dean only gives a short nod in response, and seems to stare unseeingly at the road ahead of them, which should really bother Sam more for the fact that they're bound to crash this way than for the fact that it means Dean is unhappy, but that has never really been where his priorities lie.

This changes quickly, however, when Dean isn't seeing and Sam's too busy watching him with a frown to look at the road and see that an Amish buggy, of all things, is crossing the intersection just ahead, at least until the last possible moment when he shouts "Dean!" and shoves him just in time to swerve the car out of the way.

Dean stares after the buggy as if it's disappointed him somehow, and Sam looks like he's just about wet himself.

"Dude, what's wrong with you?" because this is just too much. Dean's always been a mad driver, with next to no mind for the speed limit and a constant urge to outperform his last breakneck turn, but this was just mindless.

He turns, now, wearing a heavy frown, as Sam calms his frantic heartbeat. "Take the wheel, Sammy."

They switch seats without another word, but Sam doesn't move the car yet. Instead he turns back to his brother, determined to figure out just what has been torturing him over the past couple of days. "You almost killed an Amish guy, Dean, that's just wrong-"

"Can we just drive?" Dean says flatly, and Sam is about to tell him no, when his phone begins to ring and he has to stop to answer.

The caller ID tells him that it's Cas, and he figures this is a decent substitution, because if Dean won't talk, maybe the angel will. He answers the call.

"Hello?"

"Sam. Where are you and your brother now?"

Dean suddenly becomes vocal from the passenger's side. "Don't tell him-"

"We're a mile out from the motel, just before the highway ramp."

And the next thing he knows, Cas is sitting in the Impala, frowning even more determinedly than usual. Dean, in response, mutters a whole slew of curses under his breath and turns to glare at the man in the back seat. Sam is immediately aware of an almost painful amount of tension in the air, and is half inclined to get out of the car just in case things turn ugly. Of course he doesn't, because he's much too nosy and much too curious as to what this is all about, and how exactly it's going to end. He's never pegged himself for the soap opera type before all this.

"Sam, please drive," Cas says. When Sam glances back at him, ready to protest, he sees that the other two have already assumed a deep, silent, stare, and he falls quiet again. Whatever it is that their eyes are saying, he's obviously not supposed to hear.

Sam has assumed, as they fly down the highway like usual, that nothing's been solved since Cas left the car after the silent conversation he'd just shared with Dean. They had ended with a surprise in a spoken grand finale of "Dean, please" and "I don't fucking know, Cas" before the Winchesters were left alone in the car again.

He now realizes a few things. First, that whatever argument has been captivating his brother and the angel as of late is beginning to look a bit like Cas waiting on Dean to make up his mind about something. He's got very few ideas of what it could be without crossing into a zone of dangerous speculation, but based on Dean's outrageously angry overreactions and total avoidance of confrontation of the issue, it's more than likely a personal and emotional matter.

Next, he realizes that because of this assumed nature of the beast, he's really not going to be able to get Dean to open up to him about it, because he knows better than anyone just how resolutely the man will avoid all contact with such discussion.

And finally, he realizes that as a result of all this, if he wants to have any sort of hand in resolving the issues wearing at not only his brother but himself as well, he's going to have to ask the assistance of a certain, equally concerned angel.

They stop at a little old motel along the way once they've already made a dent in the night and are ready to call it a long day of driving. Dean is in the office renting their room while Sam collects their bags, and thinks carefully on how he's going to talk to Cas in peace.

His thoughts are halted, however, as Dean approaches, looking just a grim as he has for days. "Room eighteen."

"You take the bags in," Sam offers, holding them forward, "I'm gonna stretch my legs a little while."

Dean doesn't seem to think much of this, and grabs both their bags out of his hand to walk to their room with his usual lack of grace, and then some. Sam promptly heads for the shoddy playground just off the property, lit by a flickering streetlamp that would give someone with less experience in all things creepy a certain sense of foreboding.

"Cas?" he says rather helplessly to the sky once he stops to sit in a creaky swing. He's not sure if this is even going to work, but figures this is a logical first step. He's unaware, of course, of what he's going to get himself into once Cas materializes in front of him.

"Hello, Sam," he says unenthusiastically.

Sam looks quite surprised. "You came?"

"You called me."

"Right," Sam continues rather dumbly before looking at him seriously, and before he's really given much thought to how to address the matter, he finds himself spitting out, "Can we talk about Dean?"

Half his mind wants to contribute it to the unsuitable light, but he swears he sees the blue eyes grow very soft for half a second before the sternest of expressions returns to the angel's face. "What about Dean?"

"Well, something's definitely up with you two-" he begins, before he's quickly cut off. Obviously, Cas knows where he's taking this.

"You are not stupid, Sam, I know that you're aware of our- conflict," he says heavily, looking, for a change, down at Sam, who still sits in the swing, "And I know that your only intent is to look after your brother-" at this Sam finds himself giving a reluctant and humorless laugh, "But I must ask you not to make me explain this now."

Sam looks unimpressed. He's not about to start his own argument, and he can tell already how strangely hesitant Cas seems about the whole matter. The situation still stinks to him, but he's quickly realizing that he's not going to clear any more of it up here and now.

Cas must notice the bitter expression on his face, because he gives a sigh before he takes a moment to look up at the blinking light overhead. "I promise you that I will repair things with Dean."

Sam, previously staring at his shoes, looks up just in time to watch him vanish with those final words.

Despite everything, he finds himself relieved to hear that much. He'll leave this all behind for now, in hopes of getting a well deserved good night's sleep for a change, he decides as he stands from the swing to begin back toward their room. The light's still on, which means Dean hasn't gone to bed yet, and he knows it's because, despite all else, he wants to wait up for Sam.

The following morning, Sam wakes up in a better mood than he's been in for quite some time, and finds this a reason to leave Dean asleep in his own bed and take the car to get them both a good breakfast. He recalls from last night, driving into this little town looking for repose, that they'd passed a sign for a family owned bakery promising the best pies around.

It takes him longer than he'd intended to find the little shop, no thanks to a missing directional sign along the way that had him halfway down some long, country road before convincing himself to turn around and try again. But once he has, and he's bought two pies and half a dozen sticky rolls from a cheery middle-aged woman, he's on his way back the motel to surprise his brother with something that's bound to cheer him up.

Sam unlocks the door and steps into the motel room; the three sweet-smelling boxes tucked under his arm, and once again, stops short.

Standing in the middle of the room are Dean and Cas, only this time, they're pressed to one another and kissing in a way he wouldn't hesitate to call obscene.

And suddenly, everything makes a hell of a lot more sense.

Sam takes the two steps backward it requires to leave the room, pulling the door shut with him, and sure that the other two are much too involved in one another to notice his failure of an entrance.

He supposes he should be shocked by this- repulsed, or something like it- but really the only thing he feels is a sense of relief Cas really has gone and repaired things, and very well, by the brief glimpse he's had of it. It seems rather anticlimactic after days of merciless tension, but he has to admit that he'd rather see things this way than some bloody, feathery fist fight.

So, slightly unnerved but still content, he seats himself on the trunk of the Impala, and props open the box of sticky rolls. He supposes he'll be having breakfast alone, today; after all, Dean's a bit preoccupied.