Dean had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but he knew that he couldn’t sleep anymore and that he was hungry, and that was enough to propel him upright. Celine had stripped him of his clothes at some point to clean him, and there were a few folded items of clothing at the foot of the bed — a green tunic type of thing, loose enough not to pull on healing skin, and green cotton trousers that laced up the fly and made Dean wonder exactly what kind of guest the sisters usually had.

Soft as the noise was of him getting dressed, it was enough to wake Castiel. He blinked a few times and then stood as well and picked up the candlestick.

“How are you feeling?” he said and offered his arm to Dean to lean on.

“Hungry.” Dean shook his head and limped slowly through the archway that separated his little room from the long, wide main hall. “Where’s the kitchen? Is there a kitchen? Or do they live on dew and spirit juice?”

“There’s a kitchen,” Castiel said, walking slowly beside him. “Sophie makes very good bread.”

“I bet she does,” Dean muttered. “Are you ever going to tell me who they really are?”

Castiel inhaled and walked in silence for a while. “They say the first human soul was born from her laugh.” Dean looked at him, confused. “She has many names, many faces. You know three. There are others. The Gnostics called her Sophia.” He looked at Dean. “Wisdom.”

“I don’t follow.”

“She’s the soul of the world, Dean.” He was quiet for a moment, and Dean wondered if it was too late to take his arm. “If the Apocalypse comes and Hell reigns on Earth, all life will end and Sophia will mourn her children until the end of time.”

“Her children?”

“All mankind.”

Dean shook his head and swallowed hard. “This never gets any less scary.”

“I know, Dean.”

“Do you know what we can do to save Sam?”

Castiel sighed. “I don’t.”

“Do you know what I need to do at all?”

Castiel took his arm. “Let’s feed you first. Then we can talk.”

“Right, right,” Dean muttered, but food sounded far too good to refuse.

The kitchen was spacious and airy, strangely old-fashioned with an ice box and an open hearth for cooking and a sink you had to pump to get water. Castiel got out a salt-glazed clay pitcher of milk and a plate of butter and put them on the long kitchen table, and got out a loaf of bread from the breadbox. Dean got mugs and plates — more salt-glazed clay — from the open cupboards and put them on the table, and then sat, too tired to do much more.

“I didn’t think you ate,” he remarked, and Castiel gave him a patient look. Dean grinned at him and leaned his head on his arm. “You know, I never had midnight snacks like this when I was a kid. Or homemade bread fresh from the oven. I ate a lot of Spaghetti-Os, though. That has to count for something.”

Castiel looked up again from slicing the bread and faintly smiled.

“Lots of Happy Meals, too. We had a good collection of Happy Meal toys for a while. They were cheap little plastic toys that broke the second time you played with them.” He smiled with nostalgia. “They were great that first time.”

Castiel still didn’t say anything though he still had that affectionate faint smile. He got out a bunch of grapes from the icebox and rinsed them off with a quick pump from the sink, and put them in another bowl.

“Hot chicks in lingerie,” Dean tried.

“Dean,” Castiel said patiently and brought over the food to the table. “I’m not sure what point you’re trying to make.”

“The world’s pretty great. That’s all.” He poured them both a mug of milk. “Fresh cookies and silly toys and bread cooked on a hearth and hot chicks in lingerie. That’s all pretty great.” He watched Castiel put slices on the plates and take up a butter knife, and spread butter on his first slice. “You,” Dean said quietly. “You’re pretty great.”

“Eat,” Castiel said, pushing the plate closer to him. “You’re delirious from hunger.”

“Teaching you to joke was a bad idea.” He picked up a slice of bread and ate a bite, chewing slowly. It tasted nutty and hearty, and the butter tasted like fresh cream.

“I’m sure it was,” Castiel said and had some milk.

Dean looked away, then drank some milk too and shivered at how sweet and cool it tasted. “I think . . . I think I’m okay with dying to save the world,” he said quietly. “I died to save my brother once. Why not the whole world? Six billion people are worth it.”

Castiel’s eyes were downcast as he said, “You will not have to, Dean. It is over. We’ve lost.”

“What?” Dean whispered and put down his slice of bread.