Cas takes a hit for Dean, and he doesn’t get back up quite as quickly as normal. His breath’s ragged. His shoulders are slumped.
As soon as they off the baddie, Dean hustles to Cas’s side. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket because he wants to touch but he’s not sure what’s wrong. He doesn’t want to hurt Cas worse.
“Cas, buddy,” Dean starts.
“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas says, which is a code they’ve worked over the years. They never really talked about it, but generally I’m fine means I’m in bad shape but will deny it for the rest of my possibly shortening life.
“Yeah, okay, Cas,” Dean says, as he ushers him and Sam toward the car. “Sure.”
“Only a few more minutes until we’re back at the bunker,” Dean says later, from behind the wheel. They’d sat in silence until then.
Sam looks at him sideways from the passenger seat. “Um. Okay.”
Cas is slouching in the back. He won’t meet Dean’s eyes in the mirror.
At the bunker, Dean hurries ahead so he can have a blanket ready and waiting for Cas at the bottom of the stairs.
As Dean wraps the blanket snug around Cas’s shoulders, Cas says, “I’m fine, Dean. I promise.”
And oh, crap, it’s worse than Dean thought. Promising to be fine is like having one foot in the grave already.
“You need some R and R, Cas.” Dean keeps his hands on Cas’s shoulders. “No arguments.”
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