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Dean was pissed. Pissed that it was a simple Wendigo of all things that had been the reason that he and his brother had spent the last 96 hours hiking around this damp, dark, forest, broken up only with some back breaking stints crashing in Baby. ‘Douche bag Wendigos’ as Deans had so eloquently described them, had the audacity to hang out nowhere near any sort of civilisation. Not even a shit-bag of a motel.
Sam knew that this wasn’t the way Dean preferred his hunts to go now he was pushing 40. Dean hadn’t of course actually referred to his age as such - instead he had restricted his griping to being overly focussed on the equally disappointing catering situation, as he scowled at the increasingly depleted supply of food and snacks that they’d snagged from the gas station on their way up this god forsaken mountain. However, his groans and over dramatic stretching as he extricated himself from the front seat of his beloved car each morning, cracking his neck and walking about stiffed legged to get the circulation back, was evidence enough. He looked cranky enough that Sam hadn’t even dared joke that at least HE was short enough to fit.
Once the hunt was done, Dean had insisted on driving non-stop back home, rather than stopping out for another night, even though they had passed several motels. It wasn’t a great surprise then, that on their arrival back at the bunker they’d left their gear dumped in the garage next to the car, muttered their g’nights and shuffled off their own separate ways to get some shut eye.
Sam had woken surprisingly refreshed around 6.30am the next morning. He pulled on his workout gear and laced up his trainers before pocketing his phone and earpods to head out for a run. Stretching his legs seemed incredibly appealing after all that time cooped up in the car.
Heading out, his attention was drawn by a low droning sound emanating from the Dean-cave and as he drew nearer, he could see an unmistakeable light blinking from the doorway, indicating the room lights were off but the TV was on.
As he approached the door, Sam sighed and started to gently chastise “did you go to bed at all Dea-“ Sam stopped as he spotted his brother on the reclining sofa, legs tangled up in a blanket and still wearing yesterday's, most likely rather pungent, clothes but looking strangely peaceful.
Circling around to the front of the sofa, Sam clocked that Dean had at least, first taken a detour via the kitchen to refuel, evidenced by the open but un-touched bottle of beer and a half eaten PB&J sandwich, both resting on the table beside him.
Dean had also managed to kick off his heavy boots, with them being strewn about on the floor and his lower legs sticking out of the bottom edge of the blanket. Sam was curious to notice that Dean was wearing bright blue socks covered in cartoon bees and now he was peering closer, the phrase ‘bee happy’ could be seen dotted amongst them. Sam chuckled quietly, assuming Castiel’s influence, and left his brother to snooze for a while longer.
Returning to the bunker about an hour later Sam was greeted by a surprisingly chipper older brother bellowing ‘Morning Sammy!’ He descended the stairs to find Dean feet up on the table, laptop open and a steaming cup of coffee beside him.
“Back at you man, sleep well?” Sam enquired with a raised eyebrow.
Dean spotted the implication that Sam had most likely caught that he’d not made it to bed at all. “Like a baby Sammy, you know I can sleep anywhere!”
“Sure, sure, just thought you might want some creature comforts after that hunt, after all you’re not getting any younger…” Sam quipped back.
“Bite me.” Dean reciprocated with a good-natured smirk, as Sam headed off further into the bunker to shower and change.
Returning, coffee in hand, Sam found Dean studiously focussed on his laptop.
“Jody called, she got word of something taking out hikers up in Sioux Falls and their bodies have been turning up with some sigil or hoodoo carved into their forearms.” Dean announced and gestured at his laptop. “Said we’d get our research on and head up to help her out. No point hanging around here while we wait for word on Jack.”
Nodding, Sam headed to the nearest bookshelf and ran his fingers along the spines of the volumes neatly arranged there. “Somewhere I’ve got that old Men of Letters encyclopaedia of sigils and marks.” He murmured to himself, studying the gold foiled titles.
Looking up, Dean replied “Ah I think I might have that one. You know me, boring book, mainly pictures - perfect for sending you off to sleep.”
He gestured over his shoulder in the general direction of the living quarters. “It’s in my room on my desk if you wanna get it.” he continued, going back to his laptop.
--
Sam didn’t spend much time in Dean’s room, but he found it presented just as he expected. Mounted on the walls were a couple of his favourite but less used guns, including Bobby’s old rifle and a knife or two. His record player and collection of vinyl were organised almost obsessively neatly and there were couple of photos propped up on his desk. Sam smiled fondly as he immediately spotted the one of Dean and their mom together. Alongside was one of him and Dean, taken by Charlie if he remembered correctly. They were both leaning up against the Impala and he recalled her joking that they’d looked like they were modelling for a Carhart commercial, so of course Dean had pouted slightly to play up to it.
Sam spotted the book he was after situated a couple down in a small pile on the desk. Steadying the pile with a hand on top, Sam slid it out, almost managing to avoid disturbing the rest of the books, but instead tumbling what he recognised to be Dean’s journal to the floor.
Scooping it up and returning it to the desk, a small scrap of paper slid out. Sam crouched again and gripped what was another photo, this time with Tombstone penned across the back. Flipping it over Sam was met with a photo of his brother in his much-loved cowboy hat and authentically ‘Texas’ suit. He looked full of joy, laughing with soft eyes focused on the person next to him as they stood in front of the Impala. Alongside him was Castiel, decked out in his usual suit/trench-coat combo but wearing what even Sam could appreciate was the most ridiculous novelty straw cowboy hat. He looked strangely comfortable considering the unusual nature of his get-up and he was smiling back at Dean with an expression that Sam could only classify as fond.
Sam smiled to himself. He recalled how thrilled Dean had been to get Castiel back after Lucifer had killed him and remembered that this was their first mission after he’d returned. Sam had been genuinely worried about Dean after Castiel died, he’d spoken about having lost faith in everything, and Dean’s heavy depressive thoughts and impulsive actions weighed heavily on Sam too. For the first time in a long time, he had feared that Dean might truly be a danger to himself. His grief had been palpable. When Cas has returned, that darkness had melted away immediately and it was like Dean had been pulled back from the brink too.
Although he’d heard the gist of what had happened when Dean and Cas had gone to meet the Deputy who was the uncle of the first victim of the ghoul in the Tombstone case several months earlier, this was the first he’d seen of the photo. Sam did think it was a bit odd, it seemed like dressing up like cowboys was the sort of thing Dean wouldn’t shut up about and would have wanted to show off about to all and sundry, whether they’d been interested or not.
As he carefully placed the photo alongside the other two on the desk, he gripped the Men of Letters book and turned to leave the room. As he headed for the door, Dean’s bookshelf on the other side of the room caught his eye.
In addition to the usual small collection of novels and weapons there was a fairly extensive selection of bits and bobs decorating the spaces in between. Sam moved closer and could identify all sorts of trinkets and souvenirs.
Alongside a mixture of small, shiny rocks mostly in shades of green, there were iridescent feathers, spiky and smooth pine cones, as well as a whole host of other curios.
Sam wandered nearer the shelf and cautiously examined the collection. Being careful not to disturb any of the pieces, he identified the hat that Cas had been wearing in Dean’s photo, placed atop a sculpted bust. Sam noticed that slung around its neck was the amulet that he’d gifted Dean as a child. Sam didn’t want to think about where the sculpture had come from - likely from the depths of bunker storage - knowing Dean he probably hadn’t even considered if it was cursed or not.
Alongside these items were menus from various diners. They weren’t familiar to Sam but they obviously held enough meaning for Dean to keep and display. There was also an empty honey pot with a hand written label; certainly not a grocery store brand, an old board game piece and a key ring with a plastic piece of pie adorning it.
None of this felt very ‘Dean’. It seemed overly sentimental and a bit random, but Sam felt a warm glow that his brother clearly felt like he had a real home in the bunker now, and was ‘feathering his nest’ with trinkets that mattered to him. Trinkets that made him happy.
Sam arrived back to find Dean closing his laptop lid, seeming to imply that now Sam was back on the case, with his book in tow, he was tagged-in for the next stint of research. “Maybe we should see if Cas wants to weigh in on this too? He knows more than anyone about marks and sigils.” Sam suggested, taking his seat again.
“Already on it Sammy, spoke to him first thing, he’ll just be a couple of hours out from us now” Dean assured his brother.
--
The rest of the morning passed without incident, Sam continued to dig into the lore and was fairly satisfied he had some solid theories to thrash out with Castiel later, while Dean busied himself cleaning his weapons, literally whistling while he worked.
The familiar grating screech of the bunker door opening above them drew both the brother’s attention. A pair of dress shoes followed by suit pant legs and the edge of a familiar trench coat descended into view finally revealing Castiel to the room.
“Afternoon Sunshine!” Dean boomed. “Nice of you to join us finally!”
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother as Cas regarded Dean quizzically and sighed before replying with a twinkle in his eye. “Dean. I think you’ll find I’m arriving at exactly the time I estimated when we spoke earlier. Perhaps your watch is faulty?”
Dean grinned, Sam knew that nowadays these quippy interactions were more of a routine, and no longer about Castiel’s lack of understanding of human nature or Dean’s exasperation at the Angel. They were well rehearsed and good natured and made the pair of them smirk - both thinking they were being hilarious. Sam was thankful they were getting along so much better nowadays. Those times of tension and conflict seemed long gone for the most part, and recently they’d settled into a great friendship.
“Hey, I’m about to get started on some lunch, want to give me a hand?” Dean asked the Angel, getting to his feet and starting to edge towards the kitchen. Cas glanced over awkwardly at Sam who was clearly on tenterhooks waiting to talk about his sigil research.
“Sam, perhaps we can talk about your findings over lunch?” Cas offered in reply to Sam’s look of slight exasperation as the Angel trailed after Dean.
Sam sighed and opened his laptop with a dramatic flourish as Castiel and his brother departed the room.
--
A good hour later, Sam was starting to wonder if lunch was actually happening, he knew Dean had planned his famous made-from-scratch burgers, but even with the prep time involved he’d have expected to have noticed delicious odours starting to escape from the kitchen by now.
Sam set off to investigate, muttering under his breath - ‘just another excuse to get out of research. Jerk.’
On approaching the kitchen, Sam could hear hushed tones and sensing that barging in might be poorly received, he sidled up to the doorway, utilising his hunter’s stealth and peering around the doorframe as if he was carrying out a covert house search.
At this angle of view, he could make out Dean facing slightly away from him and lounging up against the counter. There was a pile of ingredients out ready to be used behind him, but not a whole lot of burger creation had happened so far.
He could just about make out some words now.
“What is it?” Dean was holding a black rock or possibly a crystal up high and peering carefully at it, presumably to determine if the light would shine through.
“It’s obsidian.” Out of sight he heard Castiel’s rumbling reply. “It’s formed at the edge of a volcano. The intense heat of the lava cools quickly and creates this stone. The pressure that is exerted onto the material eventually results in something strong, something beautiful and precious.” He continued quietly. “In the stone ages it was used to make spear heads and blades. It belongs in the hands of a warrior.” Cas paused his voice cracking slightly. “It reminded me of you. And it reminded me of Baby.” He added with an audible grin.
“It’s perfect Cas. I love it.” Dean spoke softly, cradling the stone in his hand now and looking down at it reverently.
Sam began to back away from the door, figuring food could wait, but before he could leave, he watched as Castiel stepped forward into view, closing the space between them and simply slipping his hand into Dean’s, entwining their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dean beamed and pulled Cas towards him until their shoulders were situated tightly together, before pressing his lips gently to Castiel’s temple and then resting his nose against his cheek, breathing him in deeply.
“Really. Thankyou.” Dean sighed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect sweetheart.”
Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Sam silently retreated from the kitchen door, resigned to the fact that clearly lunch wasn’t happening, and with a smug grin spreading across his face started typing a text message.
> Claire… You owe me 50 bucks.