Now I must stumble awkwardly through the trials. But not to fear.

"How you feelin', Cas?" Dean had a tray in his hands with two hamburgers and two bowls of yogurt. He was pointedly ignoring Sam, who was spouting something about a farting donkey in the Grand Canyon.

"My stitches are healing relatively well," Cas replied. "It's your brother I would be worrying about."

"Ain't nothing much I can do for him other than not videotaping his stupid antics," Dean said, although he was deeply worried about his brother.

"Is it true that you rode a donkey with a flatulence problem?" Cas asked with remarkable seriousness.

"Cas, we've never even been to the Grand Canyon." Dean sighed. "He's hallucinating or something."

"That is worrisome."

"Has he said anything at all that makes sense?" Dean asked.

"I do not know what you would consider sensical," Cas admitted.

"Anything helpful?"

"No, not really," Cas said.

"Great."

"I assume we are running low on food," Cas stated after a moment or two.

"Yeah." Dean looked down at the tray, remembering what he'd come in for. They had been in the bunker for three days, and the food was running low. Cas was healing, not nearly as fast as he would if he was at full power, but faster than a human. He was getting more and more restless by the day. Sam, on the other hand, drifted in and out of consciousness, a fever constantly over one hundred degrees.

"Are you going to retrieve more?" Cas asked, a flicker of hope shining in his eyes.

"No, you can't come with me," Dean said, immediately guessing Cas's intentions. Cas looked down, clearly disappointed.

"Whatever you think is best," he said mournfully.

"Sorry, man," Dean responded. "But I kind of need someone here to make sure Sammy keeps breathing."

"I guess," Cas moped.

"Any requests?"

"Requests?" Cas tilted his head.

"Yeah. Food-wise. You know, if you wanted some orange soda or coffee or pickled eggplant or something." Dean watched as Cas visibly recoiled.

"No coffee," he said. "However, I have not yet tried pickled aubergine or orange soda. Therefore, I do not know whether or not I like them. But I had lots and lots of coffee and it has grown quite wearisome."

"Well, I just won't make you any," Dean said, eyeing Cas strangely.

"I hope that I will soon require no sustenance." Cas sighed. "I don't like being so indisposed."

"You should have just come to us with the tablet," Dean said softly. Cas flinched.

"I do not have any requests for food at this time."

"You're telling me we have to cure a demòn?"

"Would I lie to you, Dean?"

"I don't know. It was rhetorical. You okay?" Kevin sounded sort of out of it. He was staring into space, eyes focused on a spot just beyond Dean's left shoulder.

"No. Never will be. It doesn't say anything else about the trial, so don't ask." Kevin blinked and looked down at his notes.

"What is after it then?" Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"A recipe for Toll House's famous chocolate chip cookies. Directions to the local Walmart. I don't know, it starts saying something about opening Hell's Gate."

"Been there, done that," Dean muttered darkly.

"You opened Hell's Gate?" Kevin asked.

"It was a long story. Our father was kind of reckless."

"Guess it runs in the family, then," Kevin dead panned.

"What?"

"Gee, I'm really famished." Kevin stood up and wandered into the kitchen area. "What's for dinner?"

"It's eight forty five in the morning, Kevin," Dean said.

"Ah."

"And we're mostly out of chow. I was going to run down to the grocery store last night, but Sam was sort of... Not keeping his food down, and then you showed up, and Cas has been eternally complaining about being bored so I have to constantly make sure he is occupied because he will reopen his wound if he messes around too much. I mean, the guy buried a God damned tablet inside his freakin' rib-cage and he just wants to get up and run around and I am really really worried about both of those guys because-"

"Dean. You are rambling. Majorly." Kevin rolled his eyes.

"Um. Sorry. Didn't sleep much."

"Can you still drive?"

"Yeah?"

"Great. Go buy food. And bring Cas."

"But-" Dean started to interject.

"Unless he is bleeding silver grace blood, I'm sure he can take a field trip." Kevin rolled his eyes again. Dean sometimes forgot that he was, at the end of the day, a teenager, no matter what he had gone through and who he had lost. "I can make sure Sam doesn't keel over while you two are out buying stuff."

Dean blinked.

"Dude, really," Kevin urged. "If you won't leave for your own sake, then pretend I guilt tripped you into it because I am a prophet and stuff."

"Okay," Dean said. "Thanks."

"Can you buy Cinnamon Toast Crunch?" Kevin asked abruptly.

"Um, I guess," Dean replied, an eyebrow raised.

"My mom would never let me eat it. It was all quinoa and spelt and stuff every morning," Kevin explained, seeing the look on Dean's face.

Dean bit his lip. Kevin's mother had died as a result of Dean and Sam's quest for... Whatever they had been doing at the time. Freeing Cas from Naomi's grip? Closing Hell up nice and tight? Collecting ten box tops for a collectible Count Chocula action figure? Stopping Crowley? It didn't matter anymore. It was just another death to add to the Winchester's extensive ledger.

"Sounds good," Dean said finally.

"Quinoa and spelt? It was awful. It was like the flavor equivalent of Justin Bieber's music." Kevin thought he had been talking about his former breakfast foods.

"Yikes."

"Yeah. Now go get Cas and go get my unhealthy cereal. 'Cause I'm a prophet and stuff." He nodded seriously and made a shooing motion with his hands.