[ Watching Sam disappear up the stairs, Dean doesn't move back to the kitchen for a couple minutes. Eyes fixed unseeingly on the grain of the wooden steps, he has a pretty good idea of how Sam feels about having his own room. He'd felt the same way when they moved over to this house, and the same about having a house in the place before this one even if it was falling down.

Leaving the thought where it is, when Sam reappears, Dean's already gotten him a bowl of stew ready, a singular spoon laid out beside the steaming dish. They haven't done this for longer than he can remember. Longer than five years. He's already sat up at the breakfast bar on one of the stools, a grimace set jaggedly into his features. ]

Stew's hot.

[ Which is something that any person over the age of five probably gets, but when has Dean ever been restrained when it comes to food? At Sam's question, he raises his eyebrows and then squints briefly. ]

You mean a panic room kinda talk?

[ Given how serious it is, Dean's just going to try ignoring the spike of anger lancing through his stomach. With an explanation of why Cas did it though... well, that anger's for Heaven more than it is for Cas. ]

Yeah. He did. And before you ask no, I didn't gank him. I don't know where he is, like I said.