You're laughing. Okay. He's never seen you laugh. You've smiled, and chuckled—though even the chuckling, that was you, in 2014, never Cas the angel. He's never seen you laugh like this. He's not sure it's a good thing for you to do. It doesn't sound particularly happy. It sounds more like you're screaming, crying. He's not entirely sure if it's because he's asking for your help, or because he's asking for help at all. Maybe because he thinks there's a chance you'll give it to him. The last time he asked for your help didn't work out very well for you. Maybe it is ludicrous for him to assume that you would consider doing it again.

Your expression isn't derisive when you look up, though. It's sarcastic, dry, but there's more fondness in it than contempt or hate. His own probably just looks confused. He meets your eyes, eyebrows raised. What was that all about?

"Sam's working on the plan." Sam's in Clear Lake, digging up everything about Leviathan that's there to dig up. He frowns when you start to make suggestions, then narrows his eyes when he realizes you're making fun of him. It's not funny. Nothing about this is funny. And right now, you're being a jerk. You do agree, though. He holds your eyes for a few moments before he nods.

"Good." He glances around the room, then shifts to get up from the bed. "Sam's at a motel about a three hour drive away. You've probably got a better chance at a good night's sleep there than here." Then he remembers something and lets himself fall back down on the bed for a moment. Looks up to meet your eyes, if he can. "You gonna be okay working with Sam?"

He never told Sam about your world, but he remembers it very well. He doesn't know how much you hate Sam for what he did in that future.