On any other day, if some brave soul had asked Castiel whether or not Sam Winchester could possibly become more irritating, the angel would have answered with an unequivocal "no" and asked if s/he had suffered any recent head injuries. The younger of his two charges, Sam already grated on Castiel's patience more than enough, with how his voice brought to mind the sound of mass reptilian extinctions — then there was his temper, and his presumptuousness, and his insistence on making himself the victim of perpetual misunderstanding…

All of which went neglecting the scent of demon blood that hung around him constantly, even after he'd showered twice just to keep Castiel from complaining.

True, many subtleties of human interaction continued to confuse Castiel and leave — reality television, for one, and politics, and why Dean and Bobby had a special reverence for the photograph of the swimsuited woman hanging up in the panic room — but as he slowly lost his Grace, he clung to anything that could stave off the gut-knotting sensation of doubt. Having lived for several millennia and seen much, Castiel found that, now, he could be certain of little, but he knew one thing without needing to question it: nothing in this world could make Sam worse than he already was.

And, still, ever since Dean had brought his brother back to Bobby's from their latest hunt, Castiel had yet to fully process just how wrong his assumption had been.

The Sam Winchester sitting opposite Castiel at the kitchen table had intended to keep his physique as a relic of another time, until he and Dean had run afoul of a powerful coven. Shorter than he normally stood by over a foot, Sam had some kind of musculature lurking on his pre-growth spurt frame, which made themselves visible when Sam slumped on the table… but overwhelmingly, they concealed themselves underneath a layer of what Dean had called Sam's "puppy fat." Castiel failed to see what infant canines had to do with the sight of a diminutive, chubby Winchester pouting, crossing his arms over his middle, and trying to burying himself in one of Bobby's flannels, but that hadn't kept him from getting stuck with the task of watching Sam while Dean and Bobby tried to put things back to normal.

"Just babysit him for a little while, okay?" Dean had snapped at Castiel's attempted protests. "Keep him in line, don't let him watch any Casa Erotica, make sure he doesn't go jump off the roof or try to hot-wire the truck or something… You can do that, right?"

Castiel had supposed that he could, but that was before he'd been forced to listen to Sam griping while his voice randomly changed: "Cas, I'm bored." Then, a few minutes later, while fussing with some loose threads on the shirt: "…Cas, can we go out?" When Castiel refused: "…Cas, come on—" Castiel turned him down again, and with a loud whine, Sam slumped onto the table. He tapped his fingers on the table and, after a moment of silence, he groaned: "Caaaaas! I'm boooooored!" This, Castiel decided not to acknowledge, and for that earned himself five minutes of calm before he heard: No, seriously, Cas, can we play Scrabble or something—"

"Dean instructed me to keep you out of trouble," Castiel deadpanned. "Scrabbling things hardly sounds as though it qualifies."

"It's a game, Cas—"

"It sounds dangerous—"

"It's a word game!" Castiel paused, tilting his head and staring at Sam with a bemused frown. "…What?" Sam demanded, huffing and slouching in his chair. "You're about as fun as a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, you know that?" Castiel shrugged, and reminded Sam that Dean had not bid him have fun on this assignment; he'd instructed Castiel to keep Sam safe, and since most of what Sam considered fun seemed antithetical to that, then he would just need to live with Sam's displeasure.

"Besides," the angel added, "it isn't as though you are alone in disliking this situation. The random cracks and squeaks make your voice so much more irritating."

"I can't help going through puberty!" Sam squawked, rocking forward and slamming his forehead on his arms again. He went quiet for long enough that Castiel started to consider apologizing, but before he could, Sam groaned: "I just want this to be over, Cas…"

"As do we all," Castiel agreed.

"No, it's not… You don't understand!" When he looked up again, the expression Sam shot Castiel tugged on what Jimmy, before his disappearance up to Heaven, had called heart-strings. Whatever they were, the sensation felt rather like attacking his own chest with a box-cutter had. Sam's eyes were wide, his frown wobbled dangerously, and he resembled a dog that had been kicked and left in a gutter… Perhaps that was the reasoning behind Dean referring to Sam's puppy fat. "It's just… Cas, I am jonesing for demon blood — worse than it's been in months, Hell… worse than it's been since we tangled with Famine, and I want…"

His voice broke off again, but it didn't crack this time so much as it teetered, and then fell into a choked sob. Castiel sighed. "…Would you like a hug? I'm told that they make humans feel bet—"

He did not get to finish that thought before Castiel found his lap full up of twelve-year-old Winchester. Sam wrapped his arms around the angel's shoulders and clung to him, crying into Castiel's neck — and, slowly but surely, Castiel returned the hug, patting Sam on the back. "It's alright," he attempted to reassure the boy. "It's all going to be alright, Sam."