Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's the summer just after Sam turns 11 when a wild-haired boy wearing a trench coat rolls up on a skateboard and asks if there are any kids his age around.

Sam looks up from the box he's about to hand to his father, and John turns around.

"I have two sons," John answers. "One about your age, Dean, and my little guy here, Sammy."

Sam kneels onto the bed of the U-Haul truck and hops down.

"It's Sam, Dad, and I'm 11 now. God."

He's never seen anyone like this back in Kansas, that's for sure. The boy is taller than he is -- like everyone, of course -- with blue eyes and dark hair that sticks up in feathery clumps all over his head. He's dressed in a T-shirt, jeans with worn-out knees, sneakers that look a size too small, and a ragged, tan trench coat that hangs lopsided on his shoulders.

"I'm Castiel, Sam," the boy says, holding out his hand. "I'm pleased to see someone move in that has children. I live two houses away, on the corner. Do you enjoy skateboarding, fishing, or the drama unrivaled by anything else on television, The X-Files?"

First impressions aren't always a reliable gauge of how close a friendship can become, but in that first introduction, Sam likes the kid immediately, even if he doesn't know what unrivaled means.

"The X-Files is my favorite new show," Sam answers, returning the shake. "With the FBI agents Mulder and Scully, right? I watched the whole first season! I really loved that episode where -- "

"What did you say your name was?" comes a voice from behind Sam in the garage.

Dean, who Sam sees is going by his first impression, walks up with a confused look on his face.

"This is my brother, Dean," Sam says.

"My name is Castiel," the boy answers proudly, holding his hand out to Dean, now. "It's the ancient and powerful name of an angel, and much better than Dean."

Sam is used to watching his brother go from irritated to shoulder-punching in the time it takes to change the channel from baseball and back again, so when Dean flashes a grin and holds his hand out in return, Sam is a little surprised.

Sam knows his brother never makes friends easily, not the way he does. They move a lot, changing schools and houses enough that Dean becomes quiet and sullen around strangers. He keeps mostly to himself and to Sam, who he watches and protects like it's his job. Dean can also be a jerk who delights in giving him wedgies and stealing his towel when he's in the shower, but Sam has learned to find a balance and loves his brother more than anything.

Dean doesn't see things in shades of gray. It's all black or white, love or hate, right or wrong. He makes decisions quickly, sometimes rashly, but he always sticks by them. When Castiel shakes Dean's hand, Sam knows there is no mistaking the fact that Dean has made a friend for life.

"You don't take anybody's shit, do you?"

"Dean," John says, without looking up from the box he is unpacking.

"Yes, sir. I mean, you don't take anybody's crap."

"No," Castiel says. "I'm too intelligent for that."

"Huh. Well, to answer your questions, I don't have a skateboard, fishin' is fine I guess, and Sammy here likes that show even though I keep tellin' him monsters and junk like that aren't real."

"What about aliens, Dean?" Sam asks. "You said aliens -- "

"Why are you wearin' that trench coat in the middle of the summer? Aren't you hot?"

"I'm going to be an FBI agent."

Castiel says that like it's the most obvious thing in the world. To Sam it is. If he owned a trench coat he'd be wearing it, and probably carrying a fake badge, too. He's obsessed with The X-Files and thinks it'd be awesome to be an FBI agent. He gets it. Dean, on the other hand, doesn't. He won't even sit still long enough to pay attention to anything other than Scully's boobs.

"Like Mulder," Sam says. "That's cool."

"You think all FBI agents wear those things?" Dean asks.

"I believe so, yes."

"Even when it's 90 degrees?"

"It has a lot of useful pockets."

"A backpack does too."

"A backpack wouldn't flap behind me when I walk. This makes a statement. I think it looks dramatic."

Dean blinks, and Sam can tell he's trying to figure the kid out. Sam thinks Castiel is fascinating and unusual and probably gets picked on a lot. Sam can recognize different when he sees it, and a lot of others must too. Sam thinks Dean can sense it as well.

"You're weird," Dean says.

Sam didn't quite think he was going to come out and say it. John glances over from where he's pretending to stack empty boxes, but doesn't interfere.

"Oh, I know," Castiel tells him, nodding agreeably. "I hope that's not a problem."

Sam looks up at his brother and already knows the answer. Dean's never been like other kids his age. He doesn't judge or tease, and he doesn't like bullies or seeing anyone get hurt. Sam knows his brother is a nice guy -- despite being a little too honest where Castiel is concerned -- even though Dean would never admit to it.

"Hmm. No, I think I kinda like that. There was never anything this interesting and weird in Kansas."

"What about the world's largest ball of twine in Cawker City?" Sam offers.

Castiel smiles and Sam feels pleased.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean says, and turns back to Castiel. "You go to Washington High, right? That's where I'm supposed to start school in two months as a freshman."

Sam huffs in annoyance, and knows Dean's deliberately keeping him out of the conversation. He doesn't blame Dean. It must be hard being 15 and never setting down roots long enough to make lasting friendships. Still, he fights the urge to punch him because it's even harder being 11.

"As will I. We might even have the same classes together. We can go see Washington High if you'd like. We won't be able to get in but I can show you how to get there. Do you own a bike? It's not far."

Dean doesn't even ask; he glances at John and waits for the nod of approval.

"Be back before dinner. You're responsible for your own unpacking."

"Yes, sir," Dean says, running up the U-Haul ramp to find his bike.

"But Dad, what about the rest of this stuff?" Sam whines.

"You and I can handle a lot of it. Like you said, you're 11 now, right Sam?"

Castiel must have seen the pout on Sam's face, because he walks over to where he's standing. "Perhaps you can ask if you can come to my house on Friday night to watch the repeat of The X-Files."

Sam looks over to his father.

"As long as you get your room taken care of first," John says.

"Cool!" Sam says. "I'll see you Friday, then."

Now Sam will finally have someone to watch the show with who appreciates it, and who doesn't yell at Scully to take off her clothes the way Dean does.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean calls from the end of the driveway, where he's sitting on his bike. "I'll be back to help in a little while, Sammy; don't worry."

"See you later, Sam."

Castiel rubs Sam's shoulder, in a way that feels both friendly and apologetic. Sam thinks that he's probably sorry for coming by right when they were supposed to be moving the heavy stuff into the house next. He can't be angry at Dean, though. He knows that it's good for Dean to find someone for a change. Sam is glad Castiel likes him, as well. He figures not many fifth graders get to hang out with high school freshmen.

Castiel stands on his skateboard, puts a hand on the left handlebar grip of Dean's bike, and allows Dean to pedal them down the street.

* * *

Every moment they aren't unpacking or cleaning or trying to get the squirrel nest out from under the eaves of the roof, they're with Cas. He doesn't even seem to mind they've shortened his ancient and powerful angel name.

Sam gets to go with them on bike trips or fishing or walks into town, which he loves. Both Dean and Cas treat him as an equal, as long as he doesn't give Dean any trouble -- they made a deal about that.

Sam also spends Friday nights with Cas, who walks him home after The X-Files is over. They've already banished Dean from watching with them. The one and only time he comes over is because Sam feels sorry for him. But Dean never sits still and peppers them with thousands of questions, and he can't remember what's going on even though they explain everything twice. He's hopeless.

There's also a lot of time Dean and Cas spend together by themselves. Sam is never invited so he doesn't know what they do, but they're gone for hours on end. And if Dean isn't with Sam or at home doing chores, he's with Cas.

Sam has never seen him this happy, which for Sam is a bad thing because his brother's good mood spills over into salt in the sugar bowl and plastic wrap on the toilet seat. A cheerful Dean means a Dean who likes to pull pranks, so Sam looks down every couple of minutes to be sure his shoelaces aren't tied together. Dean is annoying when he's like this.

For all the time they spend together, it takes Dean a while to get used to the more unique aspects of Cas's character.

"Cas, you're starin' at me again," Dean says one afternoon while they're all at the lake.

"I'm not staring."

"Then what are you doin'?"

"Observing."

"Observin' what?"

"You, Dean."

"But that's exactly the same -- "

Dean sighs, and Sam giggles, knowing that it drives Dean nuts every time he looks over and sees Cas with his lips pursed, pointedly watching. Sam knows he does it a lot even when Dean isn't looking -- Cas always seems to be paying attention to the little things neither of them notice.

"I believe if you were watching your bobber and not watching me watching you, you'd realize you've lost your worm."

"I...what?"

Dean reels in his line and Sam bursts into hysterics when it's clear the bait at the end of his hook is gone.

"Why the heck didn't you say somethin'?" Dean asks Cas.

"You were distracted."

"By those giant blue eyes starin' at me!" Dean cries, throwing his hands up. "Stop laughin' at me, Sammy!"

But the tears are streaming down his face and he drops his pole because he's laughing so hard his stomach hurts.

Dean has yet to appreciate the long, quiet afternoons the three of them spend together, fishing poles in hand, lying side by side on the sandy banks of the lake. The awful heat of late July has already given in to the subtler temperatures of mid-August, and if it were up to Sam, he'd spend every moment possible out here with his brother and Cas, even if he does gets stuck carrying all the gear. Dean is into instant gratification, so the waiting and hoping for fish to tug at the end of his line is a study in frustration for him.

Sam holds his fishing pole but isn't really interested in catching anything. He's happy to sit and watch the lake, or listen to Dean and Cas talk. They do that often, although much of the time Dean has to coax Cas to keep up his end of the conversation. It's like Cas always knows what he wants to say, and doesn't bother wasting the extra words getting there. Sam knows Dean has come to accept it as part of Cas's personality. He has a hell of a time trying to have conversations about baseball, though.

Cas is also honest to a fault, which neither of the brothers know how to handle at first. There are proclamations like, "That joke isn't funny, Dean," or, "I believe you've eaten onions for dinner," which makes Sam laugh until he realizes Cas either doesn't know or doesn't want to censor himself. Dean, who is used to bending the truth to suit his needs, can often be found staring open-mouthed at what Cas says.

Sometimes Dean will reference something that he's seen on TV or in a movie, and Cas will stare back at him with that intense, confused look. Sam can't understand how Cas can memorize lines from The X-Files but has never seen Star Wars. Other things go over his head, whether it's discussions about music or actors or pop culture in general. But Sam is also amazed when Cas can explain how DNA blood typing works, or the criminal justice system, or fingerprint analysis. Cas is passionate about the things he considers important and doesn't seem to care about anything else.

Cas, for his part, is extremely patient with all of Dean's personality quirks, even when Dean curses up a storm when he can't figure out the bail on the spinning reel for his next cast. Sam sits there in the shade of a birch tree and watches as Dean and Cas stand huddled close together while Cas nimbly disentangles the line from around the rod. The bill of Dean's baseball cap bumps into Cas's forehead, so he reaches up and spins it backward on Dean's head. Once again he explains to Dean to loop his forefinger around the line before flipping the bail, to prevent it from curling into a bird's nest at his feet. This time he holds Dean's hand when he shows him, perfectly comfortable invading Dean's personal space.

Dean had to have a conversation with him about that at first, explaining how you're not supposed to stand inches away when you're talking, or how getting really close to someone can make them feel uncomfortable. Cas learned not to do it with Sam, but he either can't remember or doesn't bother when it comes to Dean.

Dean doesn't even seem to mind anymore. He keeps glancing back and forth between Cas's hands and face, lingering on Cas's eyes. As much as Dean claims Cas stares at him, Sam knows Dean is doing it right back. There are moments when Sam feels awkward because neither of them talk, just lock eyes, and he imagines they are communicating telepathically -- if they could, if stuff like that wasn't fake the way Dean says. If it was real, though, Sam thinks they must have long conversations. They stare at each other a lot.

"I don't know why you like this, Cas. You don't even eat the fish," Dean says, focusing all his attention on the bobber this time.

"The joy is in the process, not the outcome."

"You mean you like doin' it even if you don't catch anything? What's the point of that?"

"I think it's like takin' a ride in the Impala with Dad, Dean," Sam says. "We don't have to go anywhere exactly. We just have a good time."

Dean sits down on the bank, and Cas does the same. Sam scoots up on Dean's right to sit next to his brother.

"I get it, I guess," Dean says.

They sit in silence for a while, watching the setting sun make the sky change color and the water dazzle with orange and red. There's a cool breeze blowing across the lake, heralding the fall weather that will be arriving soon. Sam loves this time of year. To him, the shift from summer to autumn is the one thing he can always count on, because no matter where they are or where they've moved, it always means the same thing: school.

Cas makes a few suggestions to Dean where to put his line as Sam watches. The line zips out and droplets of water spew from the reel when he casts. Dean has his eyes on the bobber as it lists back and forth next to a moss-covered log, where Cas promises there is sure to be a huge bass.

Cas wraps his arms around his knees and waits patiently, leaning a little into Dean as he does so.

This is another reason Sam sometimes feels weird being with Dean and Cas. They treat him like an equal, never purposely excluding him, but in moments like these, Sam feels especially unwelcome. They are so relaxed around one another he doubts Dean or Cas even realize he's uncomfortable. It's almost like he's not even there.

Dean pulls the baseball cap from his head and places it on Cas's. Cas raises his eyebrows and Dean laughs, patting the bill to make it droop down onto Cas's nose. Sam laughs too when Cas leaves it that way and holds his hands in front of him, sightless and grabbing at the air.

Dean moves his fishing pole to the side. Sam and Dean both get up, shuffling up and down the bank playing blind man's bluff with a staggering Cas. Even Cas is laughing, which he does very rarely.

Sam ducks out of the way and pushes Dean right into Cas's path.

Cas's outstretched hand brushes against Dean's mouth, and Dean playfully nips at his finger. Cas gasps in surprise and stumbles, but Dean catches him before he falls down the bank into the water. When Cas lifts the cap from his eyes there's something Sam can see on his face that has never been there before.

Dean sees it too. They both stand there for what seems like forever, Dean's hands on Cas's shoulders, not saying a word. Then Dean smiles. Cas, who is breathing heavily, smiles back, and straightens Dean's cap on his head. He doesn't give it back.

Sam glances back and forth between them trying to figure out what happened, but before he can ask, Dean walks over to his fishing pole and sits down again.

Cas follows him, sitting close enough their legs touch.

Sam plops down next to his brother in the sand, and picks up his fishing pole again. Dean isn't even paying attention to him. He's staring out at the water.

"You aren't gonna catch anything if you don't put your line in the water, Dean," he says.

"I know, Sammy."

"Then what the heck are you doin'?"

Dean shrugs and looks at Cas.

"Enjoyin' the afternoon."

Cas smiles a little, but picks his knees up and rest his arms there, covering his face. Dean adjusts the baseball cap on Cas's head.

"You guys are weird," Sam says, baiting his hook.

* * *

Another two weeks go by in which Sam is the only one who brings a fishing pole when they go fishing. Dean and Cas sit next to him in the sand, their feet or thighs or hands touching, watching as Sam is the one who baits and casts and catches.

The talks about TV and sports and movies have given way to excitement and worry about the new school year. Once again he and Dean will be at a different school surrounded by strangers, but Sam's not concerned. He'll start out quiet and a little bit shy, having to deal with entering an elementary school where everyone has known each other since kindergarten. Then he'll get to know people, he'll excel in English and reading, kick a soccer ball around, and fifth grade will be like all the others.

Dean tolerates going to school. If he had his way he would probably quit and work on the Impala in the garage for the rest of his life. John, on the other hand, knows what he wants from his boys and expects them both to do well. Dean acknowledges this by passing all his classes but never overextending himself. He's perfectly content with C's and D's.

Cas is completely distracted about the upcoming school year. Dean tries to tell him not to worry, that everything will be fine, but as each of the hot days of August pass, Cas can talk about nothing else.

"I don't think I'm prepared to enter high school."

"Sure you are," Dean says, skipping a rock across the lake. "It's like any other school you've been in, only bigger."

Sam scowls at him from underneath too-long hair when the ripples make his bobber jump.

"Are you afraid you won't find your classes?" Sam asks Cas.

"Among other things. Remembering my locker combination. Taking harder courses. Eating lunch."

"That's the best part of the day, dude," Dean says.

"It's finding a place to sit that worries me. What if no one will allow me to sit next to them? What if the cafeteria is crowded? What if -- "

"Jeez, Cas. We still have another week. Relax."

"Dean, you may not believe this, but I sometimes have trouble making friends."

Dean snorts, but then clears his throat. "Oh, uh, really?"

"Yes. I'm considered weird, remember?"

"Yeah, but that's what I like about you. Besides, you got me, right?"

"And me," Sam pipes up.

"You're sure gonna be a lot of help over there in fifth grade, Sammy."

"But I'm still his friend. Right, Cas?"

"Of course you are, Sam."

Sam makes a face at Dean. "See?"

"Don't worry about a thing. I'll be right there with you," Dean says, swiping at Sam's head.

"Do you promise?" Cas asks.

Cas sounds doubtful. Maybe there's something special about high school that Sam doesn't understand. Like Dean said, it's probably bigger and a lot more crowded, and you have to worry about remembering how to find your way and all, but Cas shouldn't have that much trouble making friends. Dean likes him, and Dean never likes anyone.

"Yeah, Cas." Dean tugs on the belt of Cas's trench coat. "I promise."

Cas doesn't look entirely convinced, but he smiles and nods his head.

"Can we stop talkin' about school now?" Dean asks. "I need somethin' to cheer me up."

Dean reaches over to the radio he's been carrying to the lake lately and presses Play. Their section of the lake is secluded enough that he doesn't worry about disturbing anyone with how loud it is. He takes it upon himself to make Cas listen so he can understand when Dean talks about music. Sam, unfortunately, has been forced to listen to every tape their father owns about a thousand times. It's bad enough when Dean and John are singing to the stuff at the top of their lungs in the Impala and he's trapped in the car with them. Now he has to suffer through Cas's education too.

Sam hears the unmistakable stuttering beat and strumming guitar of Dean's favorite song.

"Oh no," Sam groans. "Not Led Zeppelin again."

"Yes, Led Zeppelin, Sammy. It's the perfect cure for thoughts about school."

"Dean, Dad listens to that. That music is, like, ancient."

"You don't know what's good."

"Yes I do, except when I hear songs on the radio station they never say 'classic' before any of 'em!"

Cas chuckles, and Sam points to him.

"Cas agrees with me! This is torture!"

Dean cranks the music up louder. "Shut up, both of you. Nothin' is better than this."

"What about quiet? That would be better," Sam shouts.

Dean pays them no mind. He leans back in the sand, closes his eyes, and puts his hands behind his head, singing along with Ramble On. Cas watches him tapping his foot and mouthing the words, and then moves around to Dean's left side and stretches out with his head on Dean's stomach.

Dean lifts his arm to let Cas lie down without even opening his eyes. It's such a practiced movement that Sam knows they've been together like this before. He stands there looking down at both of them, and wonders what exactly it is they're doing when he's not around.

Sam walks across to Dean's right side as Robert Plant sings that he's got no time for spreadin' roots. He lies down next to Dean in the sand and puts his head on Dean's stomach, too. Then the chorus swells again, and Dean places his hands on both Sam's and Cas's chests to tap his fingers in time to the music.

* * *

Fifth grade is everything he expects, and more. He makes friends quickly, is the top reader in his class, and has a really good chance of making the school soccer team.

Dean struggles to pay attention to anything other than auto shop. He reads what he's supposed to, and writes whatever reports that need writing, and he does his homework, most of the time. When Sam says that it's lucky Dad has at least one good son, he gets a punch in the arm from Dean for being a smart-ass.

Cas, with his trench coat and wild hair and self-described weirdness, has a much harder time. Sam doesn't hear about it until he's three months into the school year and Dean comes home with black eye.

"Oh my God, Dean. Dad's gonna kill you."

"No shit, Sammy. C'mere and help me with the ice."

Sam holds a plastic bag while Dean cracks open cubes from the ice tray into it. Dean sits down on the couch with a grunt, and then Sam spins the bag shut and gently places it over his brother's left eye.

"What happened?"

"Cas isn't makin' as many friends as he thought," Dean says with a scoff.

"I don't get it."

"Sammy, you know how he is."

Dean doesn't really have to say anything else. They've known Cas was different from the day they first met. Not everyone can appreciate how cool he is.

"Did someone beat him up?" Sam asks, shifting the bag lower on Dean's cheek.

"They started to. Then my face sorta got in the way."

"You protected Cas?"

"I promised I would."

"If you explain it like that, maybe Dad will understand."

"I hope so. They suspended me for a week."

"Crap," Sam says, sitting down. "Tell me about what happened."

Dean sighs. "Cas was being Cas. As usual, never takin' shit from anybody. This time these two junior guys from the football team cornered him by his locker and were botherin' him, wanting to know why he was such a freak or whatever, and Cas goes, 'Because that's the way God made me, just like he made you ugly.'"

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah." Dean shifts the ice cube bag a little. "They didn't appreciate his honesty."

"Then what?"

"Then they started poundin' on him."

"Is he okay?" Sam asks, worried.

"He moves pretty quick for a nerdy little guy. They bloodied his nose this time but I think he'll be fine."

"This time?"

"It happens a lot. I'm always watchin' out for him. I think...I think I'm the only one who really gets him, y'know? The minute the football players see him, it's like there's a freakin' target on his back."

"You've been protectin' him all this time?"

"I have to, Sammy. I can't let him get hurt. He's -- "

Dean trails off. Sam feels like there's something he isn't telling him.

"What, Dean?"

"He's...important to me."

"Well, if you don't want to keep gettin' suspended and havin' black eyes, you better tell him that so he stops mouthin' off to the giant kids."

"Tell him, huh?"

"Yeah."

Dean takes a breath and exhales deeply. "Yeah."

* * *

Two weeks later Sam is sitting next to Cas on the couch, watching Mulder stand vigil by Scully's bedside, where she lies in a coma.

"What do you think happened to her?" Sam asks.

"The government."

"What about aliens?"

"Or Cigarette Smoking Man."

"Probably."

"Maybe Krycek," Cas says, then shrugs. "I haven't the faintest idea. I love this show."

Sam nods and munches on some popcorn, and notices Cas rubbing his nose. "Does your nose hurt?"

"It's still swollen."

"Why'd you do it, Cas?"

"What?"

"Mouth off to those football players."

"I should have assumed Dean filled you in on what happened," Cas answers. "I don't have an answer for you, Sam. It simply came out of my mouth."

"I hope what Dean said to you will make you think twice before doin' that again. We don't wanna see you get hurt. And you're never gonna make friends if -- "

"What Dean said?"

"Yeah, about you bein' important to him, y'know."

"Dean said that?"

"He didn't tell you? He was supposed to tell you. I told him to."

"You told him to? Why?"

"Because if he's puttin' his face in front of other guys' fists for you, you should know why he's doin' it."

Cas smiles at that, which confuses Sam.

"Why is that funny?" Sam asks.

"It's nothing, Sam," Cas says. "I suspect I already know why he's doing it. Your brother merely has a difficult time expressing himself."

"Is that why you guys are always starin' at each other all the time?"

Cas sighs. "It's complicated."

"Maybe you should un-complicate it to make sure Dean stops gettin' suspended."

"I'll be careful of what I say in the future, Sam. Your brother is important to me, as well. I promise I'll talk to him about it."

"For all the time you two spend together, you sure talk a lot about nothin'," Sam grumbles.

* * *

As far as he can see, Cas never lives up to his promise to talk to Dean. Christmas turns into New Year's, which turns into Dean's 16th birthday, which leads to spring, Sam turning 12, and graduating from elementary school. During all of this time there is an undercurrent of awkwardness each time Sam walks in the room and Dean and Cas are together.

He knows there's something strange going on, because he barely sees them anymore. They are together constantly and hardly notice the rest of the world around them. Sam finds this irritating, since he feels as though he's lost his brother and his best friend in Cas.

The summer passes without Sam's treasured visits to the lake. Cas takes him once when Dean is stuck helping John work on his truck one hot afternoon. It doesn't feel the same, though. Cas is distracted and they have a conversation about the upcoming season of The X-Files and how Sam is going to like middle school, but Cas seems at a loss to speak about much more.

Then it's September and the start of school for all of them again. Sam does like being in middle school, and he's even more grateful that he actually knows some classmates this time around. Dean and Sam are comfortable where they are and John recognizes it. For the first time in years they stay rooted and get to attend school in the same district.

Sam tries to talk to Dean about Cas and how strange everything's been, but Dean hates talking about feelings more than he hates pretty much anything, ever. Dean has shared even his most personal moments with Sam for years, but this time he won't confide in him. Sam can't understand why he keeps it all bottled up -- they know each other inside and out, so why wouldn't Dean want to talk to him? Dean says it's because 12-year-olds shouldn't have to worry about teenage problems yet, but Sam knows better. He can tell when Dean will be ready to spill his guts. He just has to be patient.

As it happens, Sam doesn't have to wait long.

It's November, and John is out late one Friday night with the bowling league. His team made the semi-finals and it's all he's been talking about. Sam tries to be supportive, but it's bowling. Sometimes he wishes his Dad was more exciting.

When Cas shows up after John is gone, Sam immediately figures Cas and Dean will be hanging out the entire night and they'll forget all about him. He's sullen over them excluding him, but when they invite him to sit down on the couch and watch The X-Files, he's elated.

"Are you sure?" Sam asks tentatively, taking his place on the couch. "All you guys have done since last year is ignore me."

"Aww, is widdle Sammy feelin' left out?" Dean asks, ruffling Sam's hair.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam answers, waving him off. "It's true."

As usual, it's Cas and his typically honest nature that gives Sam some explanation.

"We're sorry, Sam," Cas says. "We didn't purposely ignore you. There's much that has been going on."

Dean looks over at Cas and scowls.

"Like what?" Sam asks, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

"Stuff," Dean says.

"What stuff?"

"Do you wanna watch your Sully and Mulder with us or do you wanna go to bed?"

"It's Scully, Dean, and it's Friday. I can go to bed whenever I want."

"Oh no, you can't. I already told Dad I'd make sure you were in bed by 11."

"But, Dean, that's -- "

Dean holds up his hand. "I told Dad."

"Fine," Sam answers, knowing he's been defeated. Dad's word is law.

He doesn't let what he considers an early bedtime ruin his good mood, though. It's like old times when Sam and Cas make Dean vow not to talk during the show or ask any questions until the commercials.

"I can't believe you guys are still watchin' this show," Dean says as a car ad pops up on screen. "I don't know what the hell is goin' on."

"You can't appreciate how good it is if you don't follow the mythology," Cas says.

"I can't even follow one scene to the next, much less the mythology."

"You're hopeless, Dean," Sam says with a grin.

Dean is in the middle of the couch as designated popcorn holder, because he's always happier when he's eating. Sam is on his right and Cas on his left, the same way the three of them used to do everything together. Sam is practically bouncing with giddiness over it.

When the episode is over Dean takes control of the remote and starts flipping. Dean can go through hundreds of channels over and over and never watch any program for more than a few minutes. Sam and Cas know him well enough that they both realize this is the perfect time to talk.

"Have you been thinkin' about what college you wanna go to, Cas? I know Dad was talkin' to Dean about it."

"Pfft, college," Dean mumbles.

"Most large universities have accounting programs. I have yet to narrow down my choices," Cas says.

"Accounting?"

"Yes."

"I thought you wanted to be an FBI agent," Dean says.

"I do."

"You don't need to go to college," Dean says, still flipping. "You can be a cop here in town and then be an FBI agent or whatever."

"I already have my career path planned out. First I'll get an undergraduate accounting degree. Then a master's. Then I'll sit for the CPA exam, go through the FBI's accounting entry program, meet the bureau's physical requirements, and finally pass the background check. I can then be sworn in as a special agent."

"Wow," Sam says.

"I've done some research."

"I thought you could just go and sign up," Dean says.

"It's not the drama club, Dean," Sam answers, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up, Sammy."

"With your grades you'll get into any school you want, I bet," Sam says.

"I hope that's the case."

"How come you never told me any of this, Cas?" Dean asks.

"I don't know. You never asked."

Dean doesn't have anything to say to that, and Sam and Cas continue talking. He catches Cas up on his first year of middle school, on which teachers he likes and which he doesn't, and the friends he's made. Then Dean finds a movie they've only missed 15 minutes from, and the rest of the night passes by much too quickly for Sam's liking.

"Y'know, I don't see why I have to go to bed this -- "

"Really?"

"Fine," Sam says again, giving up. It was worth a try.

"Good night, Sam," Cas says.

"Cas," Sam says, turning around from where he is headed up the stairs, "will you come visit me again sometime? I mean, not just to see Dean?"

"Certainly."

Sam smiles at him. "Awesome. G'night you guys."

"Night, Sammy."

After washing and brushing his teeth and hollering one more "G'night" down to the living room, Sam drifts into a fitful sleep. He's not asleep for more than two hours when he wakes up from a bizarre nightmare in which his teacher Mr. Bensman has been turned into a devil and is chasing him around with a pitchfork. He does the first thing he always does in situations like this, which is to find Dean and crawl into bed next to him.

Only when he gets to the end of the hall Dean isn't in his bed. He glances at the clock and knows Dad won't be back for at least another half hour, and gets annoyed that Dean can stay up and he can't.

There's a light on downstairs, and from the glow Sam knows it's coming from the kitchen. Dean is probably eating again, as usual. He decides to go help himself to half of whatever it is he's snacking on.

He's halfway down the stairs when he sees it.

Cas is on the couch, his head tipped back against the cushions, eyes closed, mouth open. He's shirtless, as is Dean, who has his face pressed against Cas's chest.

Another step down and Sam can see that Cas's jeans are undone, and that Dean has his hand slipped inside them. He's pumping his hand slowly up and down while he sucks at Cas's nipple. Then Dean moves his lips to Cas's chest and kisses his way up to Cas's jaw. Little moans and sighs are coming from Cas's open mouth.

"Oh my God," Sam gasps.

Both Dean and Cas startle and sit up on the couch.

"Oh fuck!"

"Oh my God!" Sam yells now, running back up the stairs. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"

"Sammy, wait!"

But he doesn't stop running until he gets back to his room and throws himself on his bed. He can't believe what he just saw. He's angry and hurt and he can't think straight. He doesn't try to prevent the tears from welling up in his eyes.

Dean finally walks in after a few minutes, tucking his shirt back into his pants without looking like that's what he's doing. He sits down next to Sam on the bed and doesn't say anything at first.

Sam is sniffling and having a hard time trying to wipe his face without Dean noticing.

"Sammy. Lemme try to explain, all right?"

"Explain what? That you weren't on the couch with your hand down Cas's pants?"

Dean flinches. "Well -- "

"Is that why you guys have been ignorin' me, why we haven't been spendin' any time together? You didn't want me around, is that it? Because you two are, like, boyfriends, or somethin'?"

"It's not like that, Sam -- "

"What is it like then, Dean? You're not boyfriends or you didn't have your hand down Cas's pants?"

Cas walks up and stands outside the doorway. His face is stricken and pale, and he leans against the doorjamb, probably more for support than anything else.

"We weren't sure how to tell you, Sam," Cas says. "We were afraid you --"

"Would freak out?" Sam asks, the hot tears streaming down his face. He doesn't bother to try and hide them. "Like the way I am now because you've been keepin' this secret from me for the past year?"

"We thought you were too young," Cas answers.

"Really? You used to tell me everything, Dean," Sam says while turning to his brother, hurt in his voice. "When you had bad dreams about the fire that killed mom, when you faked Dad's signature on your report card, even when I was in first grade and you were in fifth and that bully kept beatin' you up, remember, you would tell me how scared you were?"

"I remember."

"Now you think I'm too young to hear about this? This? I knew somethin' was goin' on between you, but I didn't know what it was. I even tried to talk to you about it. You didn't want to."

"I'm sorry," Dean says. "I didn't know what to tell you."

"The truth would've been nice," Sam says angrily. "I'm 12, not stupid."

"Please try and forgive us, Sam," Cas says. "We didn't mean to hurt you. We just weren't sure you would understand."

"Two guys together you mean? Katie Delacroix has two moms. It's kinda different but not that different."

"But it's your brother," Cas says, looking over to Dean. "It's not quite the same thing."

"I can tell Dean has been happier than I've ever seen him -- even if I didn't know why -- which means I know you're good for him, Cas. I want him to be happy. That I can understand. But lying to me? No. That I don't."

Dean puts his hand on Sam's knee. "Sammy -- "

"I think I want to go back to sleep now," Sam says, rolling over onto his side.

Dean sits there and doesn't move until it's clear Sam doesn't want to talk anymore. He wants to go back to sleep and forget that his brother and his best friend have been kissing and touching and doing who knows what to each other for the past year and not bothering to say a damn thing about it.

"All right, man. I'll see you in the mornin', okay?"

But Sam doesn't answer, so Dean closes the door silently behind him.

* * *

They go a week without talking to each other, Sam scowling over breakfast and Dean sighing during dinner. Sam is still angry at being lied to. Dean doesn't know what to say to fix it. They continue to stare each other down.

The gay thing or two-guys-together thing or whatever Dean and Cas are calling it doesn't bother him at all, really. It's a little strange knowing it's his brother, and they didn't exactly cover this option in his health class, but if Dean is okay with it that suits Sam just fine. He doesn't have to understand the reasons or their choices. He loves Cas like a brother. And considering they've been in a relationship right under his nose without saying anything, Sam figures he handled it pretty well, tears and all.

When he thinks about it, though, he wonders if Dean understands this. He doesn't want Dean to think he's upset at them being together. He wants Dean to feel bad about lying.

"Dean," he says one afternoon after school, "we need to talk about stuff."

"Yeah, I think so too."

Sam lays it out there, how he loves Dean and loves Cas and loves that everyone in the middle of this whole thing is happy except him. He wants Dean to know he's angry at being lied to and left out and that he's slowly getting over it, but that he's not upset or freaked out about Dean and Cas being together.

Dean seems relieved and hugs Sam, which earns him a jerk and Dean gives him a bitch in return.

The next morning there's plastic wrap covering the toilet seat, and everything goes back to normal.

* * *

The cold weather slowly begins to warm up again. The flowers bloom, the spring rains come, then Sam's 13th birthday and the end of school, until it's summer again. As the weeks pass, Sam can feel the change in the air, even though the heat of August is stifling everything else.

Cas goes on a trip with his mother to look at colleges, which leaves Dean in a horrible mood because he's not sure what his plans are yet. He's talked about technical schools and automotive training, which Sam thinks is the best idea. Dean can take an engine apart and put it back together again with this eyes closed. All he needs is a piece of paper saying that he's trained and he can be making good money.

At first, though, Dean had his mind made up about what his future should be. Sam, who turns into the voice of reason the moment his brother goes starry-eyed with love, had to explain a few things to set him straight. The conversation they had was fairly short and to the point:

"I want to find an apartment and have Cas move in with me," Dean had said.

"What about college?" Sam had asked.

"I'm not going to college, Sammy."

"I figured that. I was talkin' about Cas."

"I'm gonna tell him I love him so I don't lose him and we're gonna be together."

"No, you idiot, you're gonna tell him you love him -- which you should've done already -- and let him go to college, and be an accountant and all those other things he was talkin' about to become an FBI agent. Don't expect him to give up his dream and rebel for you. You can't use love like some kinda ultimatum," Sam had answered.

And that was that. As much as Dean wants to say otherwise, he knows Sam is right and gives up on the idea.

"How was the college trip, Cas?" Sam asks one hot afternoon down by the lake. They're stretched out the way they always are, with Dean in the middle and Sam and Cas on either side, their heads on Dean's stomach.

"Enlightening. This was only the first trip, however. I have many more to visit before I make a final decision."

Dean taps Cas's forehead. "You sound excited."

"I am. We're going to be juniors. Junior year is very important academically, Dean. I'll have to maintain my GPA as well. I want any potential college or university to be impressed with my grades."

"They will, don't worry. You'll get in anywhere you want."

Cas turns over and props himself up on his elbow to look at Dean. "Why don't you sound excited for me?"

"It's not that."

"Then what, Dean? I don't understand."

"It's just -- "

Sam rolls over and sits up. He can hear the tension in Dean's voice.

"What?" Cas asks, placing his hand on Dean's arm.

"I love you, all right? And all this talk about college and goin' away and leavin' me is makin' me feel like shit."

"That's how you decide to say 'I love you'?" Sam asks. "Like that? Really? Wow, you're romantic."

"Shut up, Sammy."

But Cas only smiles, because he knows Dean as well as Sam does. He leans over and kisses Dean on the lips.

"I told you your brother has a difficult time expressing himself, Sam," Cas says, kissing Dean again.

"Yeah, for like two years," Sam scoffs.

Cas takes Dean's hand. "I love you, too. But you know, Dean, I'm merely attending college, not moving to another country. You can visit whenever you'd like."

"I guess."

"Can I visit too?" Sam asks, and he scowls when Dean answers "No" and Cas answers "Yes" at the same time.

"You won't lose me. Don't worry about that."

"I wasn't," Dean mumbles.

"Yes, you were," Sam says.

"We still have all of this year and all of senior year to look forward to," Cas says. "I'm not leaving yet."

Cas squeezes Dean's hand and kisses him one more time, and then settles back down on Dean's stomach. Dean makes a face at Sam and he in return sticks out his tongue before reclaiming his spot on Dean's right side.

"Now," Cas announces, "I believe this is the time in which you require music, Dean."

"You know me so well," Dean says, reaching behind him for the CD player.

"What do you think Dad is gonna say about this?" Sam asks.

"About me and Cas?"

"Yeah."

Dean sighs and presses Play. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Gonna be an awfully wobbly bridge."

The strains of a recognizable guitar riff start coming through the stereo, and then the drums join in on Dean's other favorite Zeppelin song.

When Dean doesn't say anything else, Sam asks, "What about the junior prom?"

"What about it?"

"Are you guys gonna go together?"

"I believe it's a little early to be thinking about the prom," Cas says.

"No," Dean answers, "I've already thought about it. I have our gowns all picked out."

Sam sits up to look at his brother. "Gowns? That sounds -- "

"He's joking, Sam," Cas says with a laugh.

"Oh. Very funny, Dean," Sam says, and punches Dean's leg. "Ha. Ha."

Sam scowls, but Dean ruffles his hair in apology. "Bitch."

"Jerk," he says, smiling.

Dean reaches over and takes Cas's hand, and Sam lies back down again. He knows that his brother and Cas are in for a difficult road ahead, dealing with parents, teachers, classmates, and probably most of the damn town. They don't seem to realize it yet, based on how happy they are right now. Sam knows he'll be standing beside them the entire way regardless.

Life is going to be difficult, but as far as Sam's concerned, when Dean starts tapping his fingers on Sam's chest in time to the drums in Travelling Riverside Blues, he feels like everything will be okay.

* * *

Epilogue

It's the summer just after Sam turns 23 when Cas -- wearing a trench coat -- and Dean roll up in a government-issued sedan and honk the horn.

"Cas! Dean!" he shouts from where he's loading boxes into the U-Haul.

Sam steps down from the truck in one stride and envelops both his brother and Cas in a giant hug.

"Why didn't you call me? I didn't know you were coming."

"I called Dad and wanted to surprise you. We thought we'd escort you to your new apartment, Mr. Stanford Law," Dean says, rubbing Sam's head affectionately.

"I thought you guys were still in Denver."

"No," Cas says, "I've recently been assigned to a different field office. Sacramento."

"Sacramento? You're kidding! That's like a 2-and-a-half hour drive from school. Jess and I can come visit."

"How is she, by the way?" Dean asks, lifting a box into the U-Haul.

"She's staying with friends near the new apartment while I pack up whatever I still have at the house here. Dad gave us that leather couch, the giant rug from the den, and a couple of end tables."

"Any little bit helps for the poor law student," Dean says.

"That's for sure. What about you? Are you all settled in Sacramento?"

"We've been there for about three weeks. It was kinda sudden and we didn't have much time to prepare. Sorry I didn't call you," Dean says.

Sam waves Dean's concern away. "I've been so busy I probably wouldn't have been able to call you back anyway."

"I found a job pretty quick. Cas is lucky I'm a great mechanic."

"I am," Cas says. "I've been assigned to four different FBI field offices in the past year and a half. He puts up with a lot in our relationship."

"I'm used to it," Dean says. "You remember how it was, Sammy."

"Yeah, I do. Listen, I'm almost done here. Do you guys wanna go out for an early lunch or somethin'?"

"Actually, we thought we might go down to the lake," Cas says.

"How come?"

"We probably won't be together like this again for a long time," Dean says, and shrugs. "Thought it'd be nice."

"Yeah, okay."

This time they drive down instead of biking. Sam gets stuck carrying all the fishing poles and gear, as usual, but happily not much has changed since they were last here -- except the fact that Sam now has to duck before walking under the birch tree.

He baits their hooks and sets the bobbers the right distance on the lines, and hands over the poles. Cas effortlessly casts next to the fallen log, his bobber landing with barely a ripple. Sam chooses the tall weeds near the left bank and drops his line right where he wants it.

"Goddammit!" Dean curses, as a huge tangle of line from his reel falls to his feet.

"Seriously, Dean?"

"I hate this thing! I'm 27 years old. I should've figured this out by now!"

"Yes," Sam answers, nodding. "Yes, you should've."

"Ugh!"

Sam shakes his head. "You can rebuild a carburetor but you can't master the subtle challenges of the spinning reel. Hold line, flip bail, cast. Y'know, the way Cas taught you when you were 15."

"Shut up, Sammy."

Cas merely chuckles and stands up next to Dean, where he calmly and fastidiously untangles Dean's handiwork. Dean watches him, glancing back and forth between Cas's hands and eyes, like always. This time he kisses Cas when he's done.

"You should have done that when you were 15, too. Saved me a lot of stress," Sam says.

Dean finally gets his line in the water, and the three of them sit down in the sand together. Sam is glad they chose to do this because the chances of it happening again are slim. They'll drift apart eventually. Dean and Cas will have their life in Sacramento, and he and Jess will make theirs in Stanford. He's already thinking about popping the question.

He should feel different, he thinks, based on past events that have already shaped his life. High school, college, meeting Jess...he's grown and not the 11-year-old kid he was when he first came here. But sitting there with Dean and Cas, he feels the same way he did when the only care in the world they had was making sure there were enough worms to last them the afternoon.

Sam sighs and stands up to put his pole aside. He looks over at Dean, and without saying a word Dean tosses his and leans back in the sand, closing his eyes. Cas immediately follows suit and stretches out, trench coat and all. Dean lifts his arm so Cas can put his head on Dean's stomach.

Sam smiles down at the both of them, and sings, "Leaves are falling all around. It's time I was on my way."

Dean's eyes pop open. "Led Zeppelin again?" he grins.

"Yeah, Led Zeppelin, Dean," Sam says. "Nothin' is better than this."

"Thanks to you, I'm much obliged for such a pleasant stay," Cas sings.

Sam walks across to Dean's right side as he sings, But now it's time for me to go. The autumn moon lights my way. He lies down next to Dean in the sand and puts his head on Dean's stomach, too.

"For now I smell the rain, and with it pain," Dean sings, "and it's headed my way."

"Sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I've got one thing I got to do -- "

Then all three of them sing the chorus together, and Dean places his hands on both Sam's and Cas's chests to tap his fingers in time to the music.