asunder . rageprufrock

7/27/2019 Asunder . Rageprufrock

1/64

Asunderrageprufrock

Summary:Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath

joined together, let not man put asunder. (Matthew 19:6)

Notes:

Many thanks to Merelyn for the lovely beta, and also, thanks toTwentysomething for suggesting, "Don't go into Restoration Hardware unlessyou're prepared for Cas to pay $500 for a Vulcan deer," as the summary. Thisis based -- extremely, extremely loosely -- on the Wedding Date. Yeah, you'llsee what I mean when you start reading it.

It's going to be a shitty wedding with shitty people and a shitty atmosphereand Dean feels shitty about going.

But first Jo, and then Ellen, and then Bobby had called in quick successionand informed himin orderthat they had ordered his ass a plane ticket,called him a rental car from the airport, and that he was showing up or soGod help him.

"There is no God," Dean mutters, because there isn't, and it's Mondaymorning at child protective services so it's a sentiment that gets a couple ofalready-tired "hallelujahs" from the rest of the staff.

"You look down," Missouri tells him, because even though she's exquisitelymean to him like all the fucking time, she likes him best. "What's wrong,sug?"

Dean's so sick of explaining to people why he hates Ruby, and why he hatesthat Sam is marrying fucking Ruby, and how betrayed he feels about Samand Ruby, so he says:

"My little brother's getting married; I hate weddings."
http://archiveofourown.org/users/rageprufrock/pseuds/rageprufrockhttp://archiveofourown.org/users/rageprufrock/pseuds/rageprufrockhttp://archiveofourown.org/users/rageprufrock/pseuds/rageprufrock


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Missouri gives him a look that says plainly she knows he's lying. Dean hasno actual preconceived feelings about weddings; he'd gone to a dozen in thelast five years happily, for coworkers and some for his ex-clients, and he'd

been happy at most of them. Weddings are sometimes the only times you see

the best of people, but Dean likes knowing that it's there, underneath thesurface.

"Sure you do," she allows. "Is this to the girl who"

"Yes," Dean cuts her off, and tries to wind around her in the hallway. He hasa stack of case files four inches thick and he woke up this morning to threemessages on his cell phone asking for consult at the local ER, so it's alreadylooking like it's going to be an enormously shitty day.

"Dean Winchester, you" Missouri starts, feathers all ruffled, and Deanknows better than to start shit this early in the morning so he just grabs hiscoffee, pastes on a smile, and says:

"Sorry, Missourihospital consult, you know how it is," and bolts, becauseit may be cowardly, but Dean's always chosen to live to fight another day.

The three requests for consult multiply into six, and Dean spends most of his

day triaging severity over something that shouldn't ever be triaged.

He ends up spending a bunch of red lights between local ERs and one familyplanning clinicshe was only 13, and honestly, Dean's not surprised atfucking anything anymore, but it can still upset himtrying to fill out

paperwork on his steering wheel. He pulls three kids out of their homeslotsa screaming mothers, grandmothers, auntsand swap two out of fostercare into group homes.

He gives an affidavit to the one of the local cops about the 13-year-old in atPlanned Parenthood, and he manages to restrain himself from rattling off the"incest is boot camp for prostitution, so do something or I will fuck you up"lecture, because it's Lloyd and Lloyd's heard it like 46 times at this point.

At half past five, he gets a call from one of the head nurses at Mott.

"You have reached Dean Winchester at Michigan Child Protective Services, Ican't come to the phone right now," Dean starts.


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"Oh, shut up, Dean," Lori sighs. "Cas said to give you a call."

Dean ignores the way something under his breast bone flutters at that,because (a) it's stupid (b) he's a grown-ass man and (c) it's stupid.

I'm not here exclusively for Cas's benefit, you know," Dean says, but he'salready pulling into the exit lane, watching 180B loom.

Lori snorts into the phone and says, "Yeah, okay, I'm going to be a goodperson and not take the cheap shot there," before hanging up.

Dean parks in the structurehe hates the structureand takes the elevatorto the second floor, where he waves at Joanie and Patty at the maple-colored

desk in the lobby.

"Ladies," he says.

He's still single!" Joanie says, instead of hello, because they raise peoplewrong where she came from. Dean scowls at her, which only encouragesPatty to say, "Well you know, he might not be forever."

Dean expands his glare to both of them. "You two chuckleheads keep this up

I'm setting fire to Big Bird," he warns, and strides off to the sound of theirtwin gasps.

He winds past a gaggle of toddlers and a half-dozen pre-teen girls huddledaround Bunny. Bunny, preening under the affection, only makes theoccasional wuffing noise, like obviously this sort of adulation from kids andvisitors is all part of the agonizing work of therapy dogs everywhere.

Dean runs into the usual gang, and most of them only stop long enough to

say hi and tell him that Cas is waiting for him in peds outpatient on three. Ittakes an act of enormous will for him not to point out that he workswith dozens of doctors, at a numberof hospitals every single day.

"Oh my God," he says instead, when he pulls to a stop at the the nursesstation. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Cas looks up from his chart, and then down at himself, blinking widely andwithout any comprehension before he says, "What?"


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Someone's given him maroon scrubs with tiny clown-faces on them, clearlyliberated from one of the broader male nurses, because the neck is so widethey're actually about to slip over one of Cas's sloping shoulders. Underneathhe's wearing a teal long-sleeve t-shirt and the same fucking blood-orange

crocs Dean has begged and begged for him to throw away.

"Did you like, lose a bet?" Dean demands, walking over and straighteningCas's scrub top at least, because seriously, this is appalling.

Castiel's brow wrinkles and his mouth tightens and if it were anybody buthim, Dean would call it a pout. "I thought it would amuse the children."

"You're a freak," Dean tells him, and forces himself to take his hands off of

Cas's shoulders. "What's the case?"

The case is uncomfortable and ugly. The less said, the better, but after theconsult, he and Castiel sit in the waiting room until the police come.

"I hoped I was wrong," Cas tells him.

The first time Dean met Cas was at one of these shitshows, with one sobbingparent and another angry one, a passel of police and reams of paperwork and

everybody calling Dean the bad guy. Mostly what he remembers about thewhole thing is the way Cas sat next to his patient the whole time in anotherroom. Dean watched them play with barbies and plastic velociraptors and

build forts out of mismatched LEGO pieces. And when that was done,Castiel had put one of the GI Joes inside the castle and the boy had put thedinosaur by the gate and Dean tried not to swallow hard around the sentimentin that.

"I always do, too," Dean tells him, and that's when the Ann Arbor PD rolls

in, hats in their hands, "sorry, ma'am" looks on their faces.

They end up in the hospital cafeteria, because Dean's so hungry he's afraid ifhe gets in his car he'll try to eat the upholstery, and Castiel has that defeatedlook on his face Dean usually tries to erase with pie.

There is chocolate, peach, and cherry pie today, and Dean buys one sliceeach for Cas, who gives him that sad-eyed look that practically screamsDIABETES, YOU'RE GOING TO GET DIABETES.


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Dean points his fork at him. "Eat your pie."

"I'm not hungry," Cas says, but he picks up his fork and puts some peach piein his mouth anyway.

And since Cas seems to be assiduously avoiding the chocolate, Dean does thecharitable thing and applies himself to making sure it's not neglected.

Out of nowhere Cas says, "Lori explained to me this is called 'eating yourpain.'"

"Fuck," Dean says, choking on a mouthful of chocolate. "What?"

Cas pokes at the pie some more, still looking demoralized. Even his hairseems to flop downward today from its ordinary startled spikes. "She saysthat when we eat together in the cafeteria she tells everyone I'm eating my

pain with you."

Dean stares at him until Cas looks back up. "It's not working," he elaborates.

Cheerthe fuck up, then, emo kid," Dean tells him, because he's blushing sohard they can probably see him in California. He's not sure how, but he's

getting Lori back for thisshe's probably the one who put Cas in thosescrubs and spread that rumor about them at the New Year's Eve party lastyear, too.

Cas raises his brows. "I was talking about you, Dean."

"What are you talking about?" Dean says, "I'm awesome."

"You're obviously upset about something," Cas prompts, and glances down at

thewell, remains of the chocolate pie.

Dean scowls at him. "I just sent a kid into protective care," he says.

"It's a different kind of upset than that," Castiel retorts, gentle, and Deanalways feels like an asshole when he yells at Cas and Cas lobs backsomething like thatsomething soft and yielding, like he's never properly

been in a fight in his life.

Dean stares at the crumbs on his (Castiel's) plate and herds them around the


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tines of his fork for a long minute. He's known Castiel for half a decade now,but he's kept this secret much longer, and it's hard for him to talk about Samtoo protective, Sam always yelled at him.

"My brother's getting married this weekend," he croaks.

Cas just listens, quiet, and Dean can see Cas's hands folded on the formica ofthe cafeteria table, calm. Dean, in a totally nonsexual way, likes Castiel'shands: they hold babies and listen to heartbeats and they operate on childrenand shake other hands, belonging to grateful parents. Cas does somethingtangible and good, and Dean's always felt comfortable in their sharedsilences.

"To Ruby," Dean says, and Cas just stares at him. "I hate her. A lot," headds finally.

All Castiel says is, "Oh."

Cas is silent a momentit's his signature comment, after allbefore hesays, "Will you attend the wedding?"

Dean would rather burn down a forest filled with baby deer than go to that

fucking wedding, but he thinks about Jo's hollering and Ellen's head-slapsand Bobby's gravelly disappointmenthe can't even think about what Sammight doand he just covers his face with his hands.

"Maybe, I don't know, fuck," he mutters.

Dean hasn't seen Sam in almost six years, since Sam checked himself out ofrehab and Dean handed out his ultimatum. He knows, from when other

people tell him, that Sam just transferred out of a community college to UC

Santa Barbara, that he's said he wants to go to law school, that he's happy,that he and Ruby worked through their individual and conjoined shit and thatthey're healthy, functional people now.

"You don't have to go," Castiel tells him, and his voice is a hush, quiet andsecret between them. "You don't have to let your family pressure you."

The sick thing is that Sam's the only family Dean really has. Dean getsfamily-like shit from Bobby and Ellen and Ellen's hellspawn, and everybody

at CPS is annoying as balls and pesters him about drinking orange juice when


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he's sniffling and torturing him about how he needs to stop dating skanks.

Dean groans. "Yeah, I do, Cas," he mutters. "I'd be a shitty person if I didn'tgo."

Cas is beaming at him when Dean looks up, his Good Job, Dean Winchestersmile, and he says, "And you aren't a shitty person."

Dean feels the corner of his mouth tug up, he can't help it. God damn Castiel."You said a bad word," he says, because he can't help itonce Dean heardhim say "fudge!" and look like he'd sworn in front of a nun. There's still arunning bet among the Mott nurses that Castiel's not even a real boy.

"Lori said I should help you with your manpain," Castiel says. "She also saidyou have manpain."God damn Lori, Dean thinks, and mutters, "If you really wanted to help,you'd come to the wedding and protect me from everybody elseand I donot have manpain."

Cas blinks at him. "Okay," he says. "Where is it?"

"Did I not just say I don't have manpain?" Dean demands.

Cas actually rolls his eyes. "I meant the wedding, Dean."

"Santa Barbara," Dean says stupidly. "What?"

Cas nods, rising to his feet and pushing the last dish of piecherry seepingfrom the sugar-frosted crustin Dean's direction. "I'll go tell my supervisorto move my shifts around," he says, and vanishes.

"What?" Dean asks, mostly himself, and because he's given up on everunderstanding Castiel, ever, he consoles himself with the pie and tries not tothink about it.

Dean realizes that he should have course-corrected far, far too late for it,which is to say, when he gets home that night and Castiel calls to ask whatflight Dean's going out on.

"What? Why?" Dean asks, pulling his casserole out of the oven.


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"Dean," Cas says, disapproving, and knee-jerk, Dean hears himself rattlingoff his flight number, and then when he finds himself digging through his bagand muttering, "Uh, okay, 7B," and "it's an aisle seat, man, I hate sitting bythe window," before returning to the kitchen and realizing that he's left his

stupid garlic bread in too long and now it's all burnt and fucked up and toocrispy.

***

On Wednesday, Cas sends an email:

To: [email protected]: [email protected]

Subject: wedding gift?

Is your brother registered?C=====

Castiel Meyer, M.D.Pediatric SurgeryC.S. Mott Children's Hospital

University of MichiganO#: 734-936-5555M#: 734-555-8745P#: 734-936-0912

"Oh, shit," Dean says, out loud into his cube, because he'd completelyforgotten that he had to buy Sam and his harpy a fuckingpresent.

Jo's tied up at in classes or at the bar most of the day and by the time she gets

back to him to laugh and laugh at the thought that Sam and Ruby would haveregistered for gifts anywhere like a normal couple, it's halfway through SoYou Think You Can Dance, and Dean ends up hauling ass to Castiel's oneand a half story houseperched at the lip of a lake and hidden behind awall of trees, fucking hermitand dragging him out.

Cas is wearing worn-in denim and a frown, a baggy trenchcoat. "When I sentthat email I didn't mean to trigger this sense of urgency, Dean," hereproaches.


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Dean's knuckles tighten on the steering wheel and he says, "I haven't seen theguy in like six years. I don't know what he wants."

"You're his brother," Cas says, dismissing any other arguments as simple as

that.

Dean glances at him out of the corner of his eyes and wants to admit all of it,babble the whole ugly history of it. Cas isn't exactly Dean's friend (exceptwhere he is, and where Dean thinks Castiel might be his bestfriend), butDean finds himself telling Castiel thingslike his flight and seat numberand where he likes to go for lunch and his allergies and that he's going to bemore fucked up than any of the hospital's little cancer kids when Bunny hasto go to that big kennel in the sky. If Dean were to say, "My brother was a

drug addict, for years and years," and "He might still be, for all I know," and"I'm too afraid to find out, I can't do that anymore, Cas," he thinks that Casmight nod at him like he understands and let it bethe way no one elsewho's known the truth of the thing has ever been able to do before."It's...been a long time since we saw each other," Dean says instead, becausehe'd hated admitting Sam was a fucking addict to himself. Scraping it out ofhis throat to tell Cas of all people fells like the first time he broke a bone

pain sharp enough to knock all the breath out of his body.

"Then maybe something that would be useful for a young couple," Castielsuggests, and Dean just nods, feeling a little numb and stupid, at a loss, themall looming up ahead through the rain blurring the windshield.

Dean doesn't know what a young couple needs, really, so he and Cas have along and horrible conversation about shit it took them forever to accumulatein their own respective houses. Dean remembers it took him two years inAnn Arbor before he bought a fucking coffee table, and Cas says he didn'thave a bedside lamp for almost eight months and kept having to get up just

before falling asleep to turn off the overhead after reading journals in bed.

"You read journals in bed?" Dean asks.

Cas actually blushes. "It's important to keep abreast of research," he saysprimly.

"Total fucking nerd," Dean sighs, cases the mall directory, and pointsleft. "Okay, nut up, soldier, we're going to Pottery Barn."


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Pottery Barn is terrible. The first thing Dean sees is a fucking basket of fakecrows with little twist-tie feet so you can hang them from the eaves of yourgorgeous three-story arts and crafts style home that you've decorated withseasonal fruit and a wreath. After that, it's all vaguely Amish dishware and a

shit ton of wine glassesbooze was never Sammy's vice of choice, butDean flinches when Cas glances at them meaningfully, and it doesn't getsuggested againand bedding. Dean refuses to do anything to facilitateSam fucking his albatross girlfriend, so he gives that a straight up pass andsomehow he and Cas end up staring at a bunch of area rugs.

"I thought the comforters were nice," Cas says, giving the carpets a jaundicedlook.

Dean shudders. "They could have sex on those, Cas."

Cas raises both his eyebrows at Dean. "They can have sex on the rug, too,Dean.""Thatyou!" Dean sputters, and concludes, "Fuck, God," and glowersat Cas and Cas's smug little smile, because the asshole is right, and one ofDean's personal favorites had always been sex on the floor. There'ssomething decadent and urgent about it, and Dean hasn't ever minded a littlerugburn, a tiny reminder of how he got it.

The worst part is that there really isn't anything with real utility at PotteryBarn. It's all shit everybody already owns (but more expensive) or doesn'tneed (andsuperexpensive), and Cas keeps saying things like, "I could buythem this antelope statue," like he's serious about dropping $500 on an ugly

paper mache deer, so Dean figures retreat is the better part of valor here anddrags him out of the store.

"We didn't buy anything," Cas says accusingly.

"That store sucked," Dean retorts.

"You're never going to find them a gift like this, Dean," Cas sighs.

Just to spite him, Dean goes and buys the first acceptable thing he sees fromCrate&Barrel, which ends up being a set of throw pillows with felt petalssewn into them in purple and olive green.

"Those are definitely better than a rug," Cas says, enough surplus sarcasm in

it to warrant a government farm aid program, and Dean has to fight to keepthe pout off of his face when he says, "Hey, at least they can't fuck on them,"


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at which point Cas just smirks and says, "They can if they try hard enough,"which is such a terrible image that Dean threatens to leave Cas in the Bathand Body Works without anybody to protect him from all the tweens whothink he's so pale and soulful like their vampire prince come true.

"Okay," Castiel says, after dragging Dean through Macy's, an Anthropologie,a Williams Sonoma and a Restoration Hardware. "Let's go back to PotteryBarn."

"We are not going back to Pottery Barn," Dean disagrees. "You're notbuying that deer."

At Pottery Barn (again), Castiel drops fucking $525 on the deer, which upon

second consideration is even uglier than Dean had originally thought, andnow looks sort of Vulcan on top of everything else. Cas gets one of the girlsat the counterall of whom start giggling just a little bit louder at him whenhe answers one of their questions with, "I'm a pediatric surgeon at Mott'sChildren's Hospital"to wrap it up with a shit ton of ribbon and somethingcalled jute.

"You know, you don't have to come with me," Dean blurts out, nervous,feeling something skittering under his skin like ants crawling.

They're trapped in the mall parking lot, Cas has his massive box of ugly deerin his lap, clutching at it like a kid with a Christmas present. Dean's not sureif he's trying to give Castiel an out here because he genuinely doesn't thinkanybody should have to deal with the shitshow that's his family, or that hedoesn't want Cas to think less of him, to deal with Cas realizing Dean hadabandoned his brother, that Dean had never deserved any of Castiel'sapproving looks.

But Cas only gives him one of those lingering, measured looks and says,"Dean," and Dean just nods, because he's shit at saying 'no' to peopleespecially when they're saying 'yes' to him.

The drive back is quiet, just the radio on low, a murmur in the background,and Dean takes the long way home. Overhead the sky is velvety and purple-

black, interrupted by stars, and all around them the trees are thick, orangeflashes of houses in between, the chemical yellow burn of street lightscasting slats across the seats sometimes as the Impala sails down the long

ribbon of highways and side-roads.


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"What did you and your wife get?" Dean asks, suddenly, feeling like an idiotfor not asking earlier and for bringing it up now, when they're in a car on adark highway, not far from where the accident had been. "For yourwedding?"

Castiel doesn't look sad, or angry that Dean brought it up, but he does lookwistful, a frown touching the corners of his mouth for a beat before he says,"We got two toasters and someone bought us a fondue pot." He looks atDean from the corner of his eye. "Fittingly, Susan had a gluten allergy andI'm lactose intolerant."

Dean bites back a laugh. He doesn't remember much about Susan, alwaysknew her through the lens of her husband, but it never feels right to laugh

when Cas invites Dean in on these jokes, a little like he's trampling her gravefor no good reason at all.

Up ahead, he can see the roofline of Castiel's fortress of solitude, its widow'swalk a severe horizontal line against the slopes and triangles. It was too bigeven for two people, and now, Dean thinks it must be like a museum on theinside, memories filling up all the empty spaces.

"Well," Dean says, and pulls to a stop in front of Castiel's porch, darkened

and silvered from the moon, "at least they were good for regifting."

***

The next day, Dean sucks it up and calls Bobby.

"Boy, what the hell are you doing?" Bobby says.

Dean resists the urge to pull the handset of the phone away from his face to

stare at it. "I'm...calling to tell you I'm bringing a guest to the wedding?"

"First off," Bobby starts, "just because I'm letting them hold the wedding atmy God damn house doesn't mean I'm planning this shindig. And secondly,why the hell are you bringing one of your skanks to Sam's wedding?"

Dean scowls into the phone and hopes it translates. "I don't date skanks."

"Do you remember Corey? Or Jasmine?" Bobby demands.


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All right, so Corey had been kind of a skank, Dean admits to himself, if notout loud, and asks, "Anyway, who am I supposed to tell about the guest whois not a skank?"

Apparently, he's supposed to call Ellen, who also berates Dean for bringing askank to Sam's wedding and then won't believe Dean when he argues thatCas isn't a skank and concludes the conversation by saying, "Whateverbutkeep in mind, as family you have to stay at the house, and if you two keepme up having unprotected sex, I'm going to kick your ass," and hangs up

before Dean has a chance to finish choking on his tongue and explain howthat shit is so not fucking happening.

He spends his afternoon catching up on paperwork and delegating consults to

the new baby social workers that just tumbled out of their master's programs,spit-shined and earnest in their sensible shoes and best intentions. Dean hassome explicit opinions about his cubiclewhich mostly he uses as storage

so he settles into the break room with his 100 year-old work laptop andhis reading glasses and a mug of coffee, the greatest hits of Zeppelin.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Missouri jerks his headphonesright off his head and snaps, "Dean Winchesterare you taking Castieltoyourbrother's wedding?"

"Jesus Christ," Dean yelps, rubbing at his stinging ear. "What the hell,Missouri!"She glares at him. "Sandy the head nurse in emergency just called me andtold me that she talked with Lori and Lori told her you were takingCastieltoyour brother's weddingare they wrong?" she asks, eyebrow raised inchallenge.

The University of Michigan Hospitals' gossip chain is almost 100 percentaccurate by the time it filters out of the intranet and into the general

population, but that doesn't mean Dean has to be happy about it, so henarrows his eyes and asks, "Maybe it is, so what?"

Missouri slaps him upside the head.

"Fuck, Missouri! What's wrong with you?" Dean asks, shrinking away fromher.

"Nothing," she snaps at him, sounding irritable, like she's annoyed but doesn't

know why or what to do about it, and she glowers at him for another few


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seconds before saying, "Don't screw it up," and storming out of the breakroom again.

Dean stares after her for a long minute, eyes bugging out of his head, before

he pulls up some of the fact sheets he'd helped put together a few years agoabout how to spot dementia in some of their shut-in clients.

And that shit just keeps happening.When Dean goes into the hospital to do a follow-up, Lori corners him nearthe third-floor nurses station and gives him a hug; three internists high-fivehim on the way out the door. The janitor winks. Dean leaves work half anhour early that day because the thought of sitting there like a giant targetwhile everybody drops by to tell him they really hope he and Castiel are

really happy together is fucking terrifying.

By the time he meets Cas at the airport later that night, Dean's a wreck.

"Okay," Dean admits, sitting with Castiel at the gate and watching theglimmer of planes taking off outside the windows, "I wasn't weirded outabout us going before, but now I'm seriously freaked out, and"

Only whatever else he's about to say gets dies on his tongue when Cas

strokes one hand, soothing, down the back of his Dean's neck, his palm hugeand warm against Dean's skin as Cas says, "Dean, everything will be fine."

Dean stares at him, at Castiel's dark-blue eyes and nods once, twice, wary,but Dean loves Castiel's handshe does, he doesand so he leans into thetouch.

***

Cas, taking advantage of the fact that women do not ever say 'no' to him,informs all the flight attendants that Dean will have one Jack and diet Cokeand no more, thanks, no matter how much he whines or pouts or stares atthem meaningfully.

"Man, I hate flying," Dean says, and pastes himself as far away from thewindow as possible. It's a small plane, and Cas has gallantly agreed to takethe window seat and keep the blind down, but there's a sliver of light peepingout reminding Dean that the only things between him and certain, sucking,

agonizing, deoxygenated and rapid death are two sheets of plastic, a piece oftin, and a pediatric surgeon who uses a four year-old pink Motorola Razr


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because it came free with his calling plan and can't be fucked to get a lesshomosexual cell phone. "Aren't you supposed to do no harm?"

Flicking his gaze over the edge of the in-flight magazine, Castiel says,

"Given the situation, I think preventing you from arriving at your brother'swedding drunk is doing no harm."

Scowling, Dean says, "Killjoy."

"So be it," Cas says, meditative, and sticks the magazine in Dean's face. "Ithink I should buy one of these wall crosswords. Or this side-table with ahidden cat box."

Dean takes it away from him, for the good of the world, mostly.

"Those wall crosswords are the devil," he informs Cas, because apparently indoctor school, they don't require Common Sense 101. "And you don't have acat."

"I've been thinking about getting a kitten," Cas tells him. "There was a boxof them at the grocery store last week."

Once upon a time he thought that Castiel had been born in one of the poorerBalkan countries, where everybody was malnourished and came out fuckedup in the head from a childhood in a post-Communist underdevelopedwasteland of bleakness and root vegetables. Then he'd met Cas's assholeolder brother, Michael, who'd spent some time telling Dean about theiridyllic, if strict, upbringing as a member of one of Boston's wealthiestfamilies in between grabbing Dean's ass and trying to lick hisneck. Coincidentally, that was also the first time Dean had ever seen Cas

pitch a shitfit.

"Why are you like this?" Dean asks, not because he thinks that the answer isanything other than, 'because Cas is a weird weirdo who does weird stuff andweirdly misses social cues and barely passes for a norm,' but out of habit.

Cas glares at him, which actually comes out as a pout. "One of them hadyour eyes."

Dean blushes furiously and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose indespair.


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"That doesn't make it better," he says to Cas slowly, at which point the flightattendant returns with $5 in change and Dean's drink, and Dean says, "Oh,thank God," and drinks it in one while Cas looks on in undisguiseddisapproval.

The rest of the flight is pretty much varies between equally terrible andmuch, much worse, like the patch of turbulence over Denver where Deanswallows hard, over and over again, and lets Cas fold Dean's hand into hisown. Dean doesn't have any good reasons for hating flying the way he doesfor hating fires and his father and Ruby and cocaine and Sam, but it burnslike acid in the back of his throat, so he shuts his eyes and lets Cas baby himuntil the plane steadies out.

"Sorry," he says to Cas, because he is. This is fucking embarrassing, all of it:his fear of flying, this bullshit with his family, the way Dean's poorlyconcealed crush gets more poorly concealed every day.

But Cas only smiles at him, earnest and kind. It's his permanent setting, likehow Dean's always stuck on "sort of a dick."

"It's nothing, Dean," he says, and just like that, it is.

"I guess that's your superpower," Dean observes, and a smile swims up out ofnowhere, bubbles to the surface, and he grins and says, "Don't worry aboutit," when Cas tilts his head to the side in that silent question all the pedsnurses find adorable, that makes him look like a bird, perched on a telephoneline watching the world go by.

California is dusky outside the airport when they finally land and he bolts outof the plane as quick as he can on shaky legs. They end up in matchboxJapanese car the color of dishwater with about as much personality, and Dean

ends up sitting in the driver's seat for five minutes, clutching at the steeringwheel and trying to will himself to turn the key in the ignition and failingcompletely.

"Do you want me to drive?" Cas asks out loud; the "are you okay?" isunspoken.

Dean watched his mother burn up in a fucking housefire when he was fourand remembers just enough of her to know that he and his brother lost

something huge and wonderful when she died. Dean remembers enough ofwhat his father was like before his mom died to knows he and Sam got


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fucked both ways. Dean raised Sam mostly by himselftaught him to tiehis shoelaces and fight back when somebody picked on him and drove him tothe ER when he had appendicitis and baked God damn brownies for him forclass. Dean was the one who found his fucking needles and coke and drove

Sam to rehab over and over again, learned how to toss Sam's room and thenput it back together again, mediated whenever John Winchester wentApocalypse Now over whatever the latest development in Sam Winchester:As the Recidivist Junkie Turns saga. And Dean was the one who waited byhis phone every night for a year, hoping Sam would come to his fuckingsenses and call, for Christ's sakeand he was also the one who didn't pickup when Sam did, eventually, just three years too late. Every time, each ofthose bumps in the road, Dean remembers thinking that it was the hardestthing he'd ever do and each time he's wrong.

"No," Dean says, answering both questions at once, and starts the car.

Bobby's ranch in outside Santa Barbara is a two and a half our drivenorthwest from LAX, through Inglewood and Santa Ynez, the glitter of WestHollywood a blur outside that fades out into something smokey and dark bythe time they wind their way through Thousand Oaks, down 154 toward SanMarcos Pass. California plunged into night is beautiful and artfully lit in the

places that stretch out between cities tucked away between highway markers,

and Dean tries not to think about the last time he drove down this way he wasdriving away from Sam for the last time, packing up and picking up andmoving across the country to colder climes, where he hoped the distance andthe weather would numb himjust a little.

Cas is a quiet passenger, leaning against the car window and watching theother cars and trees blurring around them, eyelids drooping. Dean can't help

but to wonder if Cas was the last thing that Susan had seen that night, beforetheir car had hit black ice and spun out, tires streaking across asphalt without

purchase, before they'd hit the tree. He thinks that if it were him that night,he might be okay with that, that his last image was Cas, drowsing beside him.

Dean doesn't remember much about Susan, mostly her absent smile from theMott Christmas party that first year he'd been in Ann Arbor, the way shewore her honey-blonde hair down, a cascade of silk, her amber eyes. Shewas the type of gorgeous you saw in cornflakes ads and on pin-up postersabout patriotism and she wore dry-clean only Sunday dresses when she andCas went to 9 a.m. service at St. Anthony's. She'd never liked Dean, but he

didn't exactly blame her; he's always fucking terrible at disguising his crushesat the very beginning.


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Dean remembers standing on Cas's right side during the funeral, the way Cashad been wreck, the way he sort of still is, actually, and what a fucking pairthey are, Dean thinks.

When he pulls off and takes the turn onto Alisos Canyon Road, he canalready smell the vineyard, the rolling hill and valley through his rolled-downwindow. It's dark and quiet and private out here, no other homes for acresand acres.

Dean hasn't been to Bobby's in years, since he left California in his dust andSam behind and took Missouri's advice to try and live for himself for fuckingonce, but puttering down the drivewaygreen on either side of the laneit all comes pouring back. Bobby hates people but he likes space, and he's

independently wealthy through a series of dubious and not-entirely-clear-even-to-himself transactions, so he bought a fucking vineyard and let it go toseed. Oh he harvests some God damn grapes every year, but he eats themwith a side of Pabst and an aperitif of bourbon and whittles on the back

porch.

Dean remembers from long, aimless summers spent here that there'rejackrabbits and deer and entire fields of lavender and wildflowers haveovertaken the once-meticulously maintained orchards, the hills of wine

grapes.

Dad had taught Dean how to build an engine block but Bobby was the firstone to let Dean do it, bequeathing him a series of increasingly shitty cars heseemed to pull out of his ass and neighboring barns. He set Dean underneaththem during long, windy summers to keep him out of troublebecauseeverybody's forgotten, but he was the fucked up one when they were kidsand Dean would put them back together again with meticulous care in

between shooting dented Coors cans off of wooden fences with bebe guns

before graduating to Bobby's terrifying array of shotguns.

(Dean loves Bobby like a second father, but he's going to be surprised not atall when CNN starts showing aerial shots of Bobby's ranch with anannouncer talking frantically about it being "just like Waco," and using

phrases like "a stunning stockpile of guns" and "shouting about Ron Paul.")

It wasn't an idyllic childhood, but it was Dean's, and he'd loved it, neverregretted it, but he looks back on it now and aches because he wonders if it

began thenif he could have stopped it by dragging Sam out of the housemore, not letting him get lost in his books, lost in his head. Sam stopped


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wanting to follow Dean around about the time he stopped being a pain in theass and Dean would have let him start to get away with it, and he can't help

but wonder if everything would be different if only.

Intellectually, he knows it's all bullshit. Dean's not as book smart as Sam, buthe got his fucking masters, thank you very much, and like everybody relatedto an addict, he's gotten good at reading between the lines.

He knows Sam started using his third year of college, that before that it wasthe occasional joint and too much booze, and he'd laughed it off becausegetting baked and puking in bushes is practically part of the collegecurriculum. He knows it started with a few bumps that had somehowescalated to heroin, and after Dean found out and sent Sam to rehab that first

time, Sam had come out contrite, ready to changeand met Ruby and fellin love with oxycontin.

That was years and three rounds of rehab ago. Dean doesn't know whatSam's drug of choice at the end waswhat it is nowbut he knows hecan't do it anymore, that he was so fucked up by he time he left that it tookhim moving to Michigan and fucking a bunch of skanks and five years beforehe was okay enough to be here, parked in Bobby's driveway trying to makehimself breath.

He sits in the car for a long time, in the dark quiet of the driveway, listeningto cicadas singing to one another and Cas breathe and debating if it's too lateto turn back for the airport before he thinks about John Winchester, the raspyscrape of his voice saying, "Be brave for your brother, Dean."

So Dean takes one last deep breath, reaches over, closes a hand over Castiel'sshoulder, and says, "Heywe're here."

***

It's all dark through the house, but there's a note taped to the back doorreading, "Deanwe decided to make it an early night. Key's under the fakerock in the dead cactus pot. You and your 'guest' are in the second door onthe right on the second floor. Bobby."

"Assholes," Dean mutters to himself.

"'Guest'?" Cas asks.


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"In my defense," Dean says, rooting around the dead cactus pot until heproduces the key, "I tried telling them you weren't one of my skanks."

Cas is smiling at him when Dean looks up from where he's wrestling with the

creaky, half-rusted back door. "Excellent work," he says.

Dean glares at him. "You're supposed to be on my side, dude," he remindsCas, which for some reason makes Castiel sober, makes him close his hand

which is warm and comforting and all the things Dean thinks he gaspingfor insidearound Dean's wrist and say, too earnest, "I am, Dean. I alwayswill be."

Oh Jesus Christ. What do you even say to that? Dean wonders, so he

defaults to his baseline of "awkward, sort of a dick" and grins, hears himselfsay, "That's why you're my boo, Cas," and rushes to push open the backdoor,almost trips over himself dashing inside, where it's only old ghosts waitingfor him and nothing to do with Cas's wide blue eyes, the way he's alwayshovering just over Dean's shoulder, at the edges of his thoughtsexpectingthings, doing things, being good to Dean.

And because Cas is possibly the greatest ever, he doesn't say a word aboutthe way Dean tiptoes past the first-floor bedroom he knows belongs to

Bobby, careful not to let out a sound because there's light shimmering fromunderneath the closed door.

"Your courage astonishes me each day," Cas tells him flatly, and Deanfigures he should be grateful that at least Castiel held that shit in until afterthey got into their room and Dean shut the door behind them with infinitecare. It's the room Bobby always assigned him during Dean's lost summershere, and it squeaks unless you close it just so.

"Nobody asked for your opinion," Dean retorts, dropping his bags andflopping down on his old beda battered double with faded blue sheets andtwo flattish pillowsand he stares at the ceiling feeling sorry for himselfuntil Cas sits down next to him.

"There's only one bed," he observes, and leaning over Dean so that all he cansee is Cas's wide, guileless gaze, Cas says, "They really didn't believe youabout the not skank thing."Ofcourse no one believed Dean's protests he was bringing (a) a non-skank

and (b) a friend, Dean thinks bitterly. There isn't a cot or any extra sheets, soDean begins constructing an elaborate argument for why Cas should take the


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bed and let Dean sleep on the floor andfor when that probably failshow to prevent himself from rubbing one out against the small of Castiel's

back in the middle of the night.

"I could arm-wrestle you for the bed," Dean says, grinning.

Cas looks away, blushing, folding his hands together in his lap, and Deanpushes himself up on his elbows and watches him.

"It's okay," Cas says, quiet, "I can sleep on the floor."

There's a determined, resigned edge in his voice, which is enough to remindDean how totally fuckingstupidthis is. They're grown-ups, or at least Cas is

and Dean fakes it.

Besides which, Cas is technically here as his guest and even Dean's not "sortof a dick" enough make the guy sleep on the floor because Dean's scaredengage in unidirectional frottage in his sleep, so Dean says, "Nobody'ssleeping on the floorwe can share," and before Cas can protest, Deanstarts unbuttoning his shirt. "Dibs on the shower."

The bathroom attached to their room is small and dingy with its years, but the

water is hot and pounds down on him like a rain of fists, so he closes his eyesand washes his hair and tries not to think about how Cas is probably alreadygoing to be asleep on the floor all pitiful and wan under like, the shittiest,most threadbare blanket in the world when he gets out, and the fight Dean'sgoing to end up picking about this.

But when he gets out of the shower, instead of a fight he gets Cas, alreadyhalf-asleep under the blankets, looking exhausted in the soft orange bedsidelight. Castiel is always a surprise. One of his arms is hanging out from

underneath the blankets and off the side of the mattress, and Dean letshimself stare for a minute before he gets under the covers on his own side,sits frozen in indecision for a while before he reaches overcareful to archhis bodyover Cas to turn off the light.

And as soon as it's dark, Cas whispers, "Dean?"

Dean freezes where he is, hand still resting on the edge of the night table, hisbody twisted, leaning over Cas, and he's close enough that when Cas turns to

catch Dean's gaze with his eyesjust a sickle-moon gleam in the darktheir bodies press up together, hot and slotting together like puzzle pieces.


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Swallowing hard, Dean says, "Yeah?"

"You don't have to tell me," Cas says, because he doesn't really need to askthe question, it's been hanging in the air for ages now, since the hospital

cafeteria and buzzing around them on the airplane, filling up the cabin of thecar and now bursting out of the windows here, in Dean's old room in this oldhouse on a 100 acres of abandoned vineyard. "But if you want to, I wouldlike to know."

It's no big deal, Dean tells himself, and tries not to think about the year heand Sam and their father spent on the road, right after Mom died, when theylived out of shitty motels and he always woke up with Sam's octopus armswrapped around his face, and how even for years after, they'd lived out of

each other's pockets. How he'd been so fuckinggratefulto have a place tostay when Dad had finally plastered over his grief enough to play at being anormal person, even if he always seemed fucking surprised when he gothome at night and found out he hadsons. Dean learned how to forge JohnWinchester's signature not to get out of his own trouble, but to sign Sammy'sfucking report card and field trip slips, that he'd learned to cook so Sam didn'thave to eat cold cereal and canned ravioli every day like they were thefucking Boxcar Children or something. Dean is Sam's brother, but Deanfucking raised him. He changed Sam's diapers and took care of him when he

was sick, was the first person Sam ran to when he was in trouble and got allof Sam's best gap-toothed grins and A+ papers and Dean doesn't thinkthere're words in any language for how much he loves Sam, for how much ithurt, how much it still hurts, to have left him.

And habit says, don't say a thing, Dean Winchester, but he keeps staringdown into Cas's faceresolving into familiar lines and curves as Dean'seyes adjust to the darkand he thinks that there's no where else to putthis. Dean's out of space in his head and in his chest, that he's filled up his

fingers and toes and the spaces in between all of his atoms with his lonelinessand how furious he is and how afraid he is to be here, and that if all of it isgoing to come spilling it out, it might as well spill into Castiel's hands. Deanhas always liked them.

He says, "Sam's a drug addict."

Cas blinks up at him. "Lie down," he says, and Dean does, and lets Cas pullhim a little closer, their bodies curved like parentheses toward one another,

and Cas says, "Okay, keep going," and Dean does, pouring all of it out ofhimself into the space in between.


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***

"You're not fooling anybody! There's an extra car in theJesus mother offuck."

Dean opens his eyes and sees nothing at first, just a blur, and then he blinkstwice and sees the divot of Cas's collarbone, the curve of hisshoulder. Everything else starts filtering in in pieces: the weight of Castiel'sarm across his side, their legs tangled together, howohJesus mother of

fuck indeed, Dean thinks, half-awakeCas had tucked Dean's head underhis chin, fingers carded loosely through Dean's hair.

And when Dean tilts his head up a little, pulls away, he sees Cas is nowwide-awake, too, blue eyes huge with that shocked-conscious look. Dean's

seen it more than a few times before, when Cas bolts out of on-call rooms,seizing up charts and still toeing on Crocs.

"What's happening?" Cas rasps, and Dean tells him, "Relax," before pushinghimself up and glaring over Cas's t-shirt covered shoulder and saying, "JoIswear to God."But she only keeps making thatJesus mother of fuckface at him, becauseDean guesses it's one thing to participate in the family sport of calling Dean amanwhore and another to see Dean in medias something Dean's not calling a

cuddle. The worst part is no sex was even involved. Jesus Christ, Deanthinks with detached horror, last night, he might have cried. In front ofanotherperson.

"Jo," Dean growls again, and it seems to knock her out of it enough for her toturn bright red, spin around in the doorway and call over her shoulder:

"Breakfast is readyyou guys better be down in five!"

Cas is still blinking rapidly at him, trying to wake up, when Dean catches hiseyes again.

"I still don't know what's happening," Cas says, hoarse with sleep, and it'sfucking adorable: Cas's hair sticking up at 45 degree angles and pillowcreases on his face, the way he hasn't moved at all, curled up like a harbor forDean.

Dean can't resist reaching one hand up, and it feels hot against the cooler air

of the room, running it over Cas's bangs, pushing them out of his face as he


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says, "That was our wake-up call." He checks his watch: eight a.m., thosemotherfuckers. "Breakfast."

Cas gives him a look of real, actual despair. "I never eat breakfast." The

unspoken follow-up to this is: I would rather sleep, like, really a lot.

"And I would rather hide from my family," Dean mutters.

Cas sighs sadly, pushing his face into the pillow. "If we don't go downstairs,is she going to come back upstairs and yell some more?"

Castiel hates yelling. It's one of the most baffling things about him, how hegot through 12 years of primary school and college and fucking med

schooland hates yelling; Dean grew up in a family of yellers and then hewent and trained to be an EMT and because that wasn't screamy enough, hegot into social work.

"Probably," Dean admits, and then says, "There'll be coffee."

"I do love coffee," Cas agrees glumly.

It takes them another three minutes of disentanglement and negotiation of

space before the single sink in the bathroom with a detour to convince Castielthat it's okay to show their faces in pajamas, no, really, before they make itdownstairs.

"It would only take me a minute to dress," Cas says, freezing at the bottom ofthe staircase and fretting, tugging at the hem of his UMICH t-shirt andsmoothing his palms over his flannel-covered thighs over and over again.

Dean would think Cas is doing it to keep Dean from freaking out about thefact that they're ETA 30 seconds away from making second-contact withSam and Ruby, but Cas looks so genuinely upset about itand then there'sthat whole thing about the Meyer family dinners he'd endured growing up,which Michael said had involved a butler.

"Nobody cares that you're in your pajamas," Dean tells Cas.

"It's inappropriate," Cas says, stricken, and before Dean can shove him intothe kitchen, where there are a murmur of warm voices and the clatter andclinks of dishes and flatware, Sam is shoved out of the kitchen instead,looking scared and giant and


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He looks scared and giant and healthy. He's all California tanned and his hairis too long and covering his ears and in his eyes and he's wearing a hideousSmurf t-shirt that's seen better days and he's barefoot, in ugly graysweatpants. But he's broad and filled out and all there100 percent

checked in in a way that Dean hasn't seen since Sam was 19 years-old andmooning over some girl named Jess. No needle marks on his arms orshadows under his eyes and no hollows in his cheeks.

Dean stares. Sam stares back. Cas stares at both of them. There's a lot ofstaring.

"Um," Sam croaks, finally. "Hi."

This is my brother, Dean thinks. He's never seen Sam like this, all of hisbaby brother's post-adolescence subsumed into too-skinny arms and trackmarks, like Sam had drifted out of his coltish teenaged years and straight intothe makeup trailer for a shitty revival ofTrainspotting. Only now he looksgood, he looks well, and Dean can't even measure how that makes him feel,it's wadded up in his throat and congested in his chest, and he's torn betweenterror and suspicion and longing and naked happinessto see Sam lookingto good, so obviously clean, and it takes Cas touching Dean's wrist gently

before he manages to swallow hard and say, "Hi. Sam."

They're probably about to stare at each other some more and feel horrible andawkward about and try not to re-enact any chick flick moments here, but Castakes mercy on them both and lets his freak flag fly.

"Dean said pajamas would be acceptable for breakfast," he offers, andsounding hopeful he adds, "If he lied, we can change."

Knee jerk, Dean turns to him and says, "Oh my God, really? You're still on

this?""These aresleeping clothes," Castiel hisses at him him, severe.

"Pajamas are fine," Sam blurts out, looking panicked and funny and sonormal. "We're all wearing pajamas. It's totally fine."

It's probably the stupidest, most tragic conversation Dean's ever failed tohave, he thinks, and says, "Right," and turns to Cas to say, "See?"

Cas gives both Dean and Sam a look that conveys sympatheticunderstanding. He gives it to patients at the hospital when he's handing out


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bad news, too. "I do," he tells them sadly, and before Dean can ask him justwhat the hell thatmeans, Bobby pokes his head out of the kitchen and says:

"Jesus Christ, will you three idjits get the hell in here already? Food's getting

cold!"

And that seems to shatter some of the tension, knock it right out of Sam'sbones, and he laughsit's his familiar, awkward, stupid laugh that Deannever knew he loved but he lovesand says, "He's rightand it'll be evenworse then," before loping into the next room, all long arms and legs.

Dean stares after him for too long, he knows, but for so long he hadn't beenable to imagine Sam healthy, Sam happy, Sam anything but messed up and

angry with Dean and miserable with himself and killing himself. He doesn'tknow what he was expecting to find here in California, find here in Bobby'shouse, but he thinks he wasn't letting himself hope, and now

Then Castiel touches Dean's hand, and when Dean turns to look at him,Castiel doesn't take his hand away the way he always does, and he slides his

palm down, laces their fingers together instead and smiles at Dean, small andsweet and just for him.

"He looks good," Cas says to him.

Dean smiles back. "He does," he says, quiet.

Cas squeezes his hand, and Dean doesn't even have a chance to feel like apussy, or make a totally self-defeating no homo joke. He's so grateful he'sdrowning in it, and he's so grateful that Cas is here, that Cas is holding hishand.

"He also seems to think breakfast is going to be terrible," Cas says, pulling aserious face.

"Come on," Deans says to him, tugging Cas toward the kitchen door, becauseright now, he doesn't care that Ruby's in there, he doesn't care that Ellen ismad at him and Jo thinks Cas is one of his skanks. "Not even Bobby canmess up coffee."

***


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Ten minutes later, Cas sighs down at the mug Bobby had put down in frontof him and gives Dean a baleful stare.

"You lied," he accuses.

"Dude, I didn't think it was possible," Dean says, marveling, but seriously, hedidn't think it was possible, but apparently Bobby is an even worse cook thanEllen, which he also hadn't thought was possible, so you know. It's a day forall new discoveries. The eggs are crunchy, the toast is burnt, the bacon israw, and Dean has decided to chose cowardice over trying whatever the hellthe brown thing in the corner is.

The kitchen is warm and tiled in white and bright blue, and Ruby is sitting

awkwardly at one end of the breakfast table, exchanging looks once in awhile with Jo in the secret language of women who hate Dean.

So far, in between Cas taking sullen sips of the horrible coffee and poking athis breakfast suspiciously, Dean and Sam and Jo and Ellen have talked abouthow the weather is great, how the wedding and reception will be held in the

backyard"Overlooking Bobby's dead-ass vineyarow!" Jo had offered,and then been interruptedand how everybody slept.

Ellen cleared her throat. "So. Dean, you haven't introduced your guest," shesaid, with zero subtlety and no intent of it anyway.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Castiel, meet Ellen. Ellen, Cas."

"Pleasure," Ellen tells Cas, leveling him with an appraising stare over hercoffee mug, and Dean feels his stomach flip a little to see her watching Casso intently. He'd spent the ages of 9 through 19 nursing the most God awfulcrush on her, and he hasn't talked to her much lately, but he wants her to like

Cas. God damn it, Dean thinks. This is why he doesn't like having friends,shit like this is fucking stressful.

Cas gives back as good as he gets, tilting his head to one side as he says,"Likewise."

"So, Cas," Ellen asks, and Dean thinks, oh God, "what is it you do? How didyou meet our Dean?"


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And some things, no matter how defunct, just slot into place, don't they?Dean thinks, and catches Sam's eyes, automatic, across the table, mouthing,'Our Dean?' as Sam shrugs helplessly and mouths back, 'Fuck if I know.'

Cas just stares back at Ellen, unblinking as he says, "I'm a pediatric surgeonat Mott Children's HospitalI met Dean through work."

"Dean's a case manager at DHS," Ellen shoots back immediately. "Funnyhow that and surgery would intersect."

Jo bites her lip, hard, and Dean glowers at her, warning, before trying, "Ellen"

"Shut up, Dean," Bobby instructs casually, and Dean's jaw snaps shut,reflexive, and Bobby says, "Go on," to Castiel, adding, "I'm Bobby, by theway. This ranch is 177 acres and I own a lot of shovels and guns."

"Oh God," Ruby chokes, and mutters an "excuse me" into her napkin whileSam solicitously pats her on the back, carefully avoiding making eye contactwith anybody.

"I do rotations in the clinic and in the outpatient center," Cas answers

smoothly, not breaking a sweat, and Dean thinks he's going to fucking oweCasforeverfor this shit.

Bobby narrows his eyes, and Ellen asks, "You guys known each other long?"

Sam spent the better part of Dean's teens accusing him of having no shame,but he was wrong, wrong, totally wrong, because Dean is dying. Heis mortified. He turning bright fucking red at the table and like, Ruby, thecrazy cokehead brother-stealing skankbasket is making sympathetic faces at

him. It's gotta be the end of the world.

"Guys," he says weakly, but Cas just smiles, serene, and says, "We met fiveyears ago," before applying himself again to his coffee and making adisgusted-cat face.

"It's like everybody's having a weird-off," Jo whispers to Sam.

"Shut up, Jo," Sam mutters back.


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"I think this is worse than the hospital coffee," Castiel reports, and Dean letsout a bark of laughter, because now Cas has done it: if Bobby could kill a

bitch with his eyes, Cas would be a greasy smear right now.

"If you think you can do better, then by all means," Bobby growls at him.

"Excellent," Cas says, and pushes away from the table, making off for thecounter, which leaves Bobby scrambling to follow him, saying, "Now wait

just a God damn minute."

Dean turns back to smile winningly at the rest of the table. "The best part is,"he confides, "he can't cook either."

***

In terms of degrees of terrible, though, Cas's overdone scrambled eggs andtoo-crisp bacon are a blessing compared to Bobby's...whatever the hell thathad been, and when Cas comes back to the table holding a massive skillet,scraping eggs and bacon onto Dean's plate, Dean just tilts his head up andgrins at him. And then it's a matter of everybody redirecting their attentionsfrom asking invasive questions about Cas to making fun of Bobby's cookingto Bobby reminding everybody that he owns like 600 rifles to everybody

talking about the weather again, to Dean saying, "I think I'll give Cas the 25-cent tour now," and everybody rolling their eyes at the excuse they know itis.

And it is, sort of. Jo was right, Bobby does own a massive, dead-assvineyard, but a dead-ass vineyard is actually sort of fucking awesome. Thevines are overgrown, run wild, and in the summers and late springs, beforeautumn melts everything into browns and awful grays, the entire ranch is a

blur of greens, lush. Upstairs, Dean hustles Cas into jeans and a t-shirt and

drags him out back, takes him down worn and vanishing dirt pathways fromanother owner ago, before Bobby emancipated the ranch.

"It doesn't look very dead," Cas murmurs, when they step out into thesunshine, the wind whipping through his hair, and even though the vineyardisn't his, and the ranch isn't his, this 25-cent tour is, and Dean grins, as wildas this land, and grabs Cas's hand, jerking him into the greenery.

Cas is quiet, let's Dean tug him along, through the brushy leaves and prickly

vines, and Dean points out the lavender and wild rosemary and violets, thewild roses that sprang up. There're rustles from rabbits and Cas gasps and


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points like a little girl, whispering, "look!" when he sees a baby deer, and inthe flat expanses between the abandoned fields are entire oceans and carpetsof wildflowers: purple and yellow and cornflower blue the color of Castiel'seyes.

And the deeper Dean takes him, the wilder it gets, the more overgrown, thesunlight going from searing overhead to dappled along the ground as thecover of young trees and trellised grape vines grows thicker overhead. Casasks, uncertain, "Dean?" and Dean just tightens his grip on Cas's hand, says,"Hold on, it gets better," before tugging Cas through one final bramble.

"Oh," Cas says, hushed.

Dean doesn't know the story behind it, but long ago, when it was a workingvineyard someone had clustered a some of the bleached wooden frames,either on purpose or by accident, near a copse of trees. In the years ofneglect since Bobby purchased the property, the ivy that had cling to the treeshad married into the grape vines, and the entire corner of the vineyardmostly hiddenhad vanished into a tiny hill of green leaves. The orderlydirt paths underneath had grown over with clover and moss and underneaththe canopy of leaves and vines, the light fractured and filtered into somethinggreen and cool even on the hottest of summer days, and Dean had taken

muscle car magazines and cassette players and stolen beers here over theyears, sprawled out under lazily-blooming flowers and leaned up againstmossy green tree roots and slept alway long afternoons.

It had been just his, even when the whole concept of owning something thatdidn't belong to anybody else, also was foreign, and Dean had always kept ita secret, all these years, guarding it jealously even from Sam, who got first

pick in everything and all of Dean's attention and anything Dean could affordto give him, always.

And now Cas is staring around the tiny hollow, looking hazy with wonder,blue eyes dark and starry, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as heinspects the space for long, quiet moments before his gaze settles back onDean.

"This was your hideaway," Cas says to him, quiet.

Dean smiles. "Yeah," he agrees, and tugging at Cas's hand again, he says,

"Come on."


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They settle on the ground, and Dean laughs and laughs watching Cas sitawkwardly among the clover, trying twice before he manages to get himselfsituated, Indian-style and pouting like he's forgotten how to be a kid, ormaybe he never was. Whenever Dean has seen Castiel interact with his

patients, he's been kind and enchanted and careful, because Cas fails atordinary affection but he loves his patients to distraction, like he doesn'tremember being an 8-year-old asshole, or that 8-year-olds can be assholes,like if he wears enough clown scrubs everybody will be happy.

The hollow is smaller than Dean remembers, now that Dean's shot up his lastthree inches and into his 32 year-old body and is sharing the space with Cas,who leans his weight back on straight arms, palms pushing into the groundand stares up some more, smiling lazily.

You know, Dean thinks suddenly, Cas is the only person I'm ever quiet with.

"I used to hide on our widow's walk," Cas says suddenly, reaching up to trailhis fingers through the leaves overhead, fingers trailing along the knotted

bodies of vines. "During the school year, I wasn't at home anyway, butduring the summers, we'd always go up to the Cape and the only place Icould ever be free from from my brothers was the roof."

Dean knows that Cas was young, once, that when they first met five yearsago, Cas was younger than he is now, but it's hard to wrap his mind around:Cas seems so still, and deep like one of those quarry pools, clear and cooland bottomless and unchanging. Dean knowsfrom that horrible, awful,disastrous time he ran into Michaelthat Cas is the baby of the family.

"What your brothers and sisters like?" Dean asks, transparent and hungry tothink about something other than Sam, something other than the fear that isstarting to replace his elation, the doubt that's already creeping back in. It's

been a long time since Dean believed Sam and got kicked in the teeth for itover and over againbut he remembers what it felt like, every time.

Cas gives up on sitting, lying down in the shade and closing his eyes,stretching out his fingers and toes, languid in the grass, and Dean wants tolean over him, to kiss the curve of his jaw, to press his face into the line ofCas's neck.

"I have two older brothers and a sister: Zachariah's the oldest, and Michael

and Anna are in the middle, and then there was me," Cas


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murmurs. "Zachariah and Michael inherited the family bank and Anna runsone of our hedge funds."

Dean stares at him. "So the Boston Fidelity wing being built at Mott," he

prompts.

Cas grins, crooked. "Michael's Christmas slash apology present to me," helaughs, rueful, and cracks one eye open to look at Dean. "He asked me to tellyou he was sorry about his aggressive groping, too, by the way."

"Jesus Christ," Dean manages.

"I never fit in, and they never understood me," Cas tells him, watching Dean

lazily now, both eyes open. "But they love me."

Dean feels drugged, drowning in the green light of late morning, underneaththe canopy, and it smells like currants and earth and lavender, the brightCalifornia air and it hums with something electric. He lies down, too

because suddenly it's exhausting to sit up when Cas is sprawled out like that,across the lush green clover and fallen leaves in the springand Cas makesroom for him, lets Dean press close to him before he says:

"You'll have to talk to Sam eventually, you know. You can't just hide here."

Dean swallows hard, shuts his eyes. "II can't go through it again," hemanages.

"Yes you can," Cas tells him, and Dean feels Castiel's hand close over Dean'seyes, the pink light underneath his eyelids going dark beneath the touch asCas says, "And maybe you'll have to, but it's the only way you'll ever haveSam."

It's a long time before Dean chokes out, "He broke my heart, Cas."

"You don't seem broken to me," Cas promises, and Dean puts his own handover Cas's, plunges himself into darkness and lies still there, safe andlistening to the trees rustle overhead, listens to the wind sing over the hills,and thinks that the worst part about all of this is that Cas is right.

***


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It's past noon by the time they get back to the house, leaves still stuck in thehair, and Ellen spares them an appraising look before she says, "Castiel, joinme," and carries him off, brandishing a nailgun and a saw when Dean tries tofollow.

"You guys have to cut it out, Cas isn't" Dean starts, stomping into thekitchen.

The only person in there is Ruby, who is tying tiny bunches of white flowerstogether with curly purple ribbon, holding a pair of scissors in her mouth bythe handle.

"You're not Bobby," he says, faltering, and Ruby lets the scissors drop out of

her mouth.

"No shit, Sherlock," she says, and glancing over his shoulder, she says, "Iguess Ellen got a hold of your skank."

"Cas is not askank," Dean snaps, settling at the kitchen table. "He'sa doctor."Ruby reapplies herself to the bouquets, giving Dean a disbelievinglook. "Doctors are the worstskanksdo you even watch Grey's Anatomy?"

she asks, and slaps Dean's hands away from the pile of flowers. "Don't fiddleunless you're going to help."

Which is how Dean ends up tying miniature bouquets50 of themwithhis brother's crazy cokehead skankbasket fiancee, the two of them stewing inthe most epic uncomfortable silence in the history of time. Dean puts upwith it until he gets to his tenth bouquet, and then he bursts out with:

"Dude, what the hell are thesefor?"

"The tablesone at each guest's seat," Ruby sighs as she glances up atDean from beneath her lashes, and he must pull a face because she says,defensive, "Hey, this was your brother's stupid idea."

Disgusted, Dean says, "I know. It fucking reeks of SamGod, could he bemore gay?"

"I fucking know, right?" she mutters, snipping another few lengths ofribbon. "And you know what he's doing now instead of helping? Pretendinghe's a real boy, out back fussing at Bobby and Jo about the tent."


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Which, oh fuck, means that Bobby, Ellen, Jo and Sam have Cas, Dean thinks,and before he can push himself away from the table, Ruby slaps a hand onhis wrist and holds it to the scratched wood, saying, "Dean, wait."

Dean hasn't seen Ruby in longer than he hasn't seen Sam, but when he turnsto look at her, he can't help but see her the way he saw the first timewhenshe was shy and thin, that dark-haired girl Sam met at group, the rich girlwho carried a co-op tote because all her money went up her nose. Ruby is

bitchy and hilarious and awful, and if Ruby was a character in a book Deanwould fucking love her: the way she drinks too much and always has the bestdrugs, the shortest skirts, the way she laughs, raucous and consuming, howshe lives like a fucking house on fire.

She's different now, Dean admits, looking at her thin cheeks, her dark brows,the way she's put on some weight, how she looks in a blue sundress, sitting atthe kitchen table with a carpet of discarded flowers at her feet. Dean doesn'tknow why Sam loves her, why he couldn't have kept on loving Meredith orKate or Abby or Jess, any of the girls who came before, who didn't whip Saminto a frenzy, make him into the worst version of himself, who didn't teachhim how to lie to Dean seamlessly, how to keep secrets.

"Give me a chance," Ruby says, and her hand is still tight over

Dean's. "Dean, you"

"You gave my brother drugs," Dean bites out, digging his nails into thetable.

She flinches at the words, from them like the blow they are. "I'm sorry. Iwas sick."

"So was he," Dean spits at her. "He was getting better, and you"

And Ruby fucking laughs at him, the kind of punched-out-of-the-gut laughthat hits you like a semi, in utter surprise, that knocks the wind out of you."HeDean, he was not getting better," she says, incredulous. "You don'tevenhe was not getting better, God, you don't even know."

"He was!" Dean yells at her. "He was in school again! He was dating"

"Yeah, he was datingJess," Ruby interrupts, and she looks so sad at that, like

there's something underneath the truth there. "Dean, he wasn't getting better,


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and if he actually had been, he wouldn't have asked me for the pills to beginwith."

It cuts the legs out from underneath him, and Dean feels all of his muscles

liquify, his chest collapse in on itself as he stares at Ruby, at her dark andearnest face, the flush high in her cheeks. It's stupid, but Dean hadn't everconsidered that was how it had happened, that Sam might have pushed, thatRuby might have tried to talk him out of it, that it was anything other thanher laughing and slipping pills to him in between drugged kisses, dragginghim down with her.

"We were awful, Dean," Ruby keeps going, whispering now, urgent, "and wewere awful to everybody around us, and it took us a long, long time, but

we're better now, and I love Sam. I love his stupid greasy hair and his uglypink shirts and his probably-sexual relationship with that air pump he cleanshis laptop keyboard with, and I love that he's making me tie bouquets for ourwedding and he loves you" her voice cracks "heloves you. You haveto be okay with us, Dean, you have to""Shut up," Dean croaks, "justjust shut the fuck up, Ruby."

"No," she counters. "No, I'm not going to. Because he didn't sleep at all lastnight, listened to all the creaking noises from down the hall all night and

panicked about what you would think, about what you would say, and"

"God," Dean groans, pulling his hand away so he can cover his face. Hecan't think. His head hurts. "Why? Why did he...what the fuck washethinking?"

Ruby swallows hard enough Dean can hear it. "I don't know," she lies, andDean can tell she's lying, it's so God damn obvious, but she just says, "Butlook, the point is that shit is all in the past, okay? That's not us anymore."

"Fuck you, Ruby," Dean laughs, harsh, "Do you know how many times I'veheard that?"

"Probably a lot," Ruby shoots back, eyes blazing, "I said it to my Dad a lot,too. But he didn't come and you did, so you're the only one who gets to hearit this time."

Jesus fucking Christ, that makes it God damn hard to be mean to her, and all

Dean can do is glare at her, mute and furious, because fuck, fuckfuckingfuck, she's right.


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It's pointless to get mad about how it had happened, or why, oror any ofit, because it happened, and now apparently it's not happening anymore, andRuby is looking at him like she's going to scratch his eyes out because Deancould skip out on the wedding and break Sam's heart. It's been a long time

since Dean remembered it was actually a two-way street here, this thingbetween him and his brother.

"God damn it," Dean says, and snatches some ribbon. "Give me somefucking flowers."

That's how Sam finds them an hour later when he staggers back into thehouse, looking sunburnt and harassed and freezing in his tracks, staring atDean and Ruby.

"Uh," Sam says intelligently. "You guys are...have scissors."

Dean looks up from where he and Ruby are curling all the long tongues ofpurple ribbon into tight, corkscrews, gleaming. "Uh, yeah, genius," he says.

"We decided you'd probably want to puss these flowers up some more,"Ruby supplies.

Sam magically turns an even darker color of red, and Dean thinks, very veryquietly, that he wants to like Ruby, he really does.

"They'repretty," Sam snaps at them both, scowling. "It's a wedding. Theyare supposed to be nice."

Dean gives Ruby a meaningful look and finds her already giving him one inreturn.

"God," Sam mutters, thudding out of the kitchen, "I think this is worse thanwhen you guys hated each other."

Cas tramps in not long after that, and Ruby liberates Dean from ribbon dutywith a totallyfilthy wink, waving them off, mouthing,'Worst. Skanks. Seriously.'

There's a bridge of freckles emerging across Castiel's nose, his cheeks, andthe back of his neck is bright red; he's got a bunch of weird cuts on his handsand a cut on the webbing between his fingers from when he got into it with ahand tool and got his ass kicked. He smells like sweat and sunshine and his


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t-shirt is sticking to him, across his chest, his shoulders, and he's smiling atDean.

"That looked friendly," Cas says, falling into step with Dean on the staircase.

"Probably friendlier than Sam and Bobby and Ellen and Jo were," Deanretorts, brushing their shoulders together on the way up, their footfallsslightly off, a clatter on the creaking wood. "You okay?"

"Dean," Cas laughs when they hit the upstairs landing, "I went to prep schoolthose guys were nothing."Dean laughs, because he didn't know that, and he can imagine it, the way Caswould break out his blankest of blank expressions and how that would shut

Jo right now. How Ellen might needle and needle and get absolutelynothing; how Bobby would wax poetic about his shotguns and Cas wouldn'teven pretend to be politely interested. And Jesus, Sam would try to talkabout Cas'sfeelings, and Dean would pay money to see that.

"I'm glad I don't have to try and kick all of their asses, then," Dean says.

Castiel looks at him with terrifying affection. "You don't have to protect me,Dean."

If anybody asks, Dean doesn't blush. "I know that," he mutters.

"Good," Cas says, the corners of his mouth tugging up, "good."

***

The wedding is scheduled for Sunday, 11 a.m. It's casual, with drinks andsnacks"Canapes," Sam corrected, and Ruby had shot Dean a look ofgenuine despairat the reception. There'll be 40 guests, mostly peopleDean doesn't know, since most of Sam's old friends don't talk to himanymore, and according to Ruby, she doesn't remember most of her 20s soshe's not actually sure if she has any friends.

Sam blushes. "Oh, God, Ruby," he moans.

"Addict humor," she chirps sweetly.

They're eating lunch on the patio, the half-finished tent glaring white in thesun, one untethered cloth whipping in the wind. Cas is fresh out of his


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shower, savoring his egg salad and potato chips and Sam and Ruby stealingthings out of each other's lunches while Bobby and Ellen shout at each otherabout how they're going to run the wiring for the lights in the tent. Jo isstaring at Cas, which Dean notes she's been doing nonstop since they got

here, and if Cas were less weird or possibly at all aware of his surroundings,he'd probably be freaked out by it the way Dean is freaked out by it.

"It's delightful," Cas tells Ruby, utterly flat.

"It's like he's a robot," Jo says, marveling, and Dean kicks her under the tablefor that, and because Jo is Jo and raised by Ellen, she kicks him back, andfrom there it takes about 0.0003 seconds for it to get sort of out of hand.

"Don't make me make you guys muck out the stables," Ellen warns, slappingJo and Dean upside the head at the same time.

Jo throws another wad of egg salad at him. "Bobby doesn't even havehorses."

"Seconded," Dean agrees, and throws a handful of chip crumbs back at her.

"I will shit on hay myself if you two don't cut it out," Bobby warns.

"I'm having a really violent flashback to the summer after fifth grade rightnow," Sam says, under his breath and to Ruby, who responds by smushingthe last bit of her sandwich in his face.

It's such a banal, ordinary thing, to have an unguarded moment like this, to sitwith Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Cas and his brother, but to Dean it feelslike knitting together two hemispheres of the world for the first time. His lifehas been divided between Sam and After Sam for so long now it's strange to

see it any other way, and he startles when Cas touches his wrist.

"Everything okay?" Cas asks.

Dean looks at him for a long time, at his big blue eyes and his three o'clockshadow, the soft moue of his mouth. When Dean is honest with himselfand that's rare, that shit is dangeroushe knows that maybe he has been inlove with Cas forever, since the first time he'd seen Cas sticking Legostogether with that little kid, or when Cas had spent the Mott Christmas partysitting outside in the freezing cold, snatching cigarettes out of Dean's mouth

because it was Christmas and Cas has no concept of personal space. And all


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this time, Dean feels like he's been writing a letter in his head to his kidbrother, pages and pages of the most absolutely embarrassing shit: aboutCas's good heart and steady hands, about how Sam would like him, howthey're both freaks, how Dean must have a soft spot for them.

It's not anything Dean had ever let himself hope he'd get to tell Sam inperson.

And now it's a letter in reverse, and Dean thinks of all the things he's toldCas: about Sam's addiction and how sometimes he was so lost in all the

paraphernalia of being betrayed that he forgot to be hurt by it.

"Yeah," Dean says, scrapes it out of his throat, but he means it, and he means

the smile that comes on the heels of the words. "Yeah, I'm great, Cas."

And Castiel smiles back at him. "Good," he says, and Jo groans, "Oh myGod, you guys are disgusting," in the background, which serves to rescue themoment from hopeless gayness as well as wrecking it entirely. Dean figuresthe fistful of breadcrumbs she gets for her trouble is only fair compensation.

***

Everybody vanishes after lunch. Bobby goes to Home Depot for a list thatincludes things like, "wood," and "wood glue," and "get the fuck outta thehouse, Bobby." Ruby disappears on the pretense of buying gifts for theguests, which Dean has to admit is possibly legitimate, but there's no way Joand Ellen need Cas to help them hang the last few strands of sparkle lightsfor the tent in the backyard.

Even more glaringly obvious, it all happens in under 10 minutes, and thensuddenly the only sounds in the house are the windchimes hanging in the

patio doorway and Sam's awkward discomfort, broadcasting so loudly Deancan hear it like a fucking foghorn.

There'd been a time what feels like a million years ago, now, that Sam wasusually the first thought on Dean's mind first thing in the morning and the lastthing at night. He'd spent years being responsible for getting Sam dressedand fed and sent to school, and he'd pretended to worry about Sam doing hishomework, even though Sam had always been better at that part than Deancould even bother to fake. And when Sam got older he'd changed, into this

ridiculously cool teenager, who got good grades and made all the teachers attheir high school smile and who looked like he had the best of everything


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coming to him, Dean had been proud to be in his orbit, to be able to say,"Yeah, that's my brother."

And mathematically, five years is nothing compared to the almost two

decades Sam had been Dean's best friend and confidant and constantresponsibilitybut desertion changes you, Dean thinks, and he swallowshard, watching Sam putter around the kitchen putting dishes in thewasher. Even his shoulders are nervous.

Dean's not sure he even remembers how to talk to Sam, but he wants to, hemisses him so much. It's like how he felt as a kid during horror flicks, whenhe was hungry to know and eager to go and excited to get let in and thenscared shitless in the process, hesitating: this is Sam, this is his brother; but

this is Sam, this is his brother.

"So, why aren't you setting up the tent with them?" Dean asks, because thissilence is starting to choke him and its' the first thing that comes out of hismouth. He's already got three jokes about Sam being a girl lined up.

Sam pulls a faceclassic Sam Winchester, at least that hasn'tchanged. "Apparently my understanding of right angles is only theoretical,"he says. "And I think that Jo wanted a turn interrogating the man who's

stealing her lifelong crush away from her."

"Jesus Christ," Dean says. He can feel himself blushing, and wonders if heshould clear the air about the Cas situation, explain the "not one of myskanks" situation once and for allbut Cas seems happy to play along, is

perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and it's nice, for now, topretend. If Dean has to deal with fucking Ellen and Bobby crawling up hisass and Sam staring at him like Dean's about to break his heart and Rubytrying to fucking bondwith him, he deserves to lie to himself a little.

"She looked like her cat died that morning when she came down fromwaking you up," Sam teases, a cautious smile tugging at his mouth.

Dean glares at him. "Anyway."

"Anyway," Sam agrees, and he looks down at his hands for a moment, drawsa shaky breath, before he says, "OkayI have a speech prepared."

"What? No. Really?" Dean asks, wary.


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"It's part of the program," Sam snaps at him. "I'm supposed to make sincerereparations to all the people I hurt."

"Wow, that's going to take fucking forever," Dean says, knee-jerk, and the

minute the last syllable trips out of his mouth he already regrets it, becauseSam's eyes are getting that red tinge that means he's holding back a bellyfulof giant, girlish tears, and Dean couldn't deal with that shit when Sam wasfivehe can't handle it now. "Fuck. I didn't mean that."

Sam just shakes his head. "Yes you did," he says fiercely. "And you'reright. I'mit's going to take forever."

"Sam, seriously," Dean says. "You don't have to."

His voice is shaking and his hands are shaking and he feels lightheaded;Dean's been skimming the surface of all the fury he'd tamped down and allhis guilt and his terror and hurt and he doesn't want Sam to shove himthrough the fucking ice. If they're careful, they can just hover on the surfaceof this, and Dean can grit out smiles at Ruby and go to Sam's wedding andeverything will be fine, and his thin coating of Teflon will keep him sane forwhen this whole thing goes to shit again.

"Yes I do," Sam insists, and his eyes are bright now, and red, and Dean can'thelp but think that almost crying, Sam looks a lot like he did when he was onsmack, which is just a fucking delightful thing to remember right God damnnow. "I have toand youI know you don't believe me, but I'm clean,and I'm so sorry"

"Sam, seriously, shut up," Dean manages. "I don't want to talk about this."

"I was horrible to you," Sam says.

It sounds like he's scraping out deep out of his guts, just pulling handfuls ofhimself inside out to say it, and Dean wishes he'd just fuckingstop. Whatcan this help? What does this do? Dean's heard so many iterations of thissame fucking confession and he thinks that it only makes Sam feel better.

"I was horrible to a lot of people, but mostly to you," Sam goes on. "I foughtyou every step of the way and I especially when you tried to get me help. I

fuck, Dean, I hit you."


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Sam had, just once or twice, in the middle of some pretty amazingly terriblefights about rehab, about methadone, about group. Dean just closes his eyesand leans against the kitchen wall, because Sam has given him split lips andlong sleepless nights but it's always that gut-clenching pain that lingers long

after even all the echoes have petered out of their always sort-of-shittyapartments, the slightly sub-par lives Dean had managed to carve out forthem.

"I stole money from you, I ran away from rehab, I dropped out of school, Ilost my scholarships," Sam chokes out. "I crashed the Impala."

Dean doesn't even remember some of this shit. Most of Sam's late teens andearly 20s are lost in this long fucking blur of drug counseling centers where

he was purportedly giving people advice about getting their loved ones off offucking crystal meth or oxycontin and trying not to laugh at the agonizinghypocrisy of it. Dean loves kids but he sort of defaulted into child services

because technically, it was the sector of social work he'd failed the leastspectacula

asunder . rageprufrock

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