Length: around 930 words
Genre: gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, Kevin
Spoilers: through 9.04
Rating: PG 13 for language
Summary: Kevin's talent for customizing the map table has unforeseen consequences.

"Are you sure you want to do this one by yourself?" Sam asks. Dean can't tell if his brother is worried about him hunting alone, or if he just wants to make sure Dean knows he's willing to go.

Dude, it's a quick salt and burn," Dean replies. "I'll be fine. I'll be back in three days, tops. And I really don't want to leave Kevin alone. Poor little guy's kinda freaked out about the King of Hell in the basement." And this is true, but it's not the whole story. Because Dean also needs a break from Sam. Not that Sam has done anything wrong - in fact, he's been kind of awesome; cheerful and joking and, well, happy. But Dean can't look at him without seeing Ezekiel in there. Without remembering the look on Cas's face when he explained (lied, Dean, you lied to him because it was the only way to hide your secret) it wasn't safe for him to stay. The guilt gnaws at his gut incessantly. Waiting for the other shoe to drop has left his nerves strung as tight as a guitar string (it will be worth it, it really will), and he needs an escape. "You don't mind, do you?

"Course not," Sam smiles. His old smile; dimples and everything. This is why you did it, Dean reminds himself. Look at him - eating, jogging, not coughing up blood or stumbling every time he stands up. Sam is okay; he's so okay. (Except he's not, is he?) "We'll be fine. I've got a project for him. You be safe."

/////

Two days later, as promised (because he keeps his promises, dammit, unless there's a good reason not to, and someday Sam will understand that he had a damn good reason), Dean arrives at the bunker. Sam and Kevin are at the map table, huddled over Sam's laptop. "Dean!" Sam calls excitedly. "Come check this out! You've got to see what Kevin did."

Kevin is beaming with pride. "So, remember when I told you the map table lit up when the angels fell? And we figured out it was tracking angels? Well, I got it to track them again, and I tied it into Mapquest on the laptop. So now, instead of just seeing the general area of an angel on the map table, we can zoom in and get their exact location!"

Exact location. Holy fuck. Dean's heart lurches. (Exact location, Dean. How are you going to explain this?) "Wow," he says, his throat as dry as dust. "That's awesome."

"It is," says Sam. "I mean, look at this. We can even center the search on the bunker and see where the closest angel is," he says, his fingers sliding across the trackpad. He stops suddenly, and without seeing the screen, Dean knows exactly what Sam sees.

"Dean," he says quietly, with an expression of growing horror. "There's an angel here. Here, in the bunker." He looks up at Dean, his eyes full confusion and panic. "No, that can't be right. It must just be nearby." His fingers twitch again, zooming in as Kevin leans in. "It's right here! God, it's right here!" He looks around, as if the angel is in plain sight and he simply hasn't noticed it. (Which is kind of true, isn't it?)

"No, come on, that can't be right," says Dean, trying to sound calm. "Maybe it's some kind of residue from when Cas was here. Or you know, we've been to Heaven, maybe it detects us for some reason. Or hey, maybe it detects demons? Maybe it's sensing Crowley?"

"Christ, Dean!" yells Sam. "There's an angel in the bunker! It could be hiding anywhere! We've got to get out of here -" he stops, eyes narrowed. "Why are you not freaked out about this?" He stares at Dean, and maybe Dean can no longer hide the guilt, or maybe it's just that Sam finally recognizes it. "What the fuck is going on, Dean?"

Dean sighs deeply and runs his hand down his face. "I'm sorry, Sam. Just let me explain, okay? Please. You were dying. It was after the last trial and you were in the hospital. You were in a coma. You were dying. And the doctors couldn't do anything so I... I called to the angels for help. And one of them said he could save you. But he had to do it from the inside."

Sam puts up a hand. "Wait. From the inside? You mean, inside a vessel?" He shakes his head, steps back. "That's not possible. You have to consent to being an angel's vessel. Even Lucifer couldn't ..." his voice trails off. "No," he whispers.