Continued, Live As If You'll Die Today

[commodoresexual]

Story continues

So naturally, the one day Sam needed everything to be perfect, the one Sunday dinner that needed to be run-of-the-mill, state of normalcy, was the day everything went straight to the diaper pail.

He had figured on a simple family dinner - he made a mean meatloaf and even Ellen approved highly of his garlic mashed potatoes - something Dean could appreciate, being a down-to-earth kind of guy. Apple pie to finish, thanks to Ellen. Jo was going to take care of Mary while he cooked - giving her quality motherhood-zen time to soothe her nerves for dealing with people she didn't particularly like in her home. Ellen and Bobby were firmly on 'Making Sure Dean Got Here' duty, and Ellen put it succinctly, "If I've got to hogtie both of them and tie them to the roof, Sam honey, they're coming to dinner."

Then it was getting enough beers into Dean, and if Sam was being honest enough, getting a few beers in him too. Maybe butter up Castiel ... but Sam had no idea how to do that. Admire the zen way he was redesigning Ellen's garden? How the roof tiles finally looked straight and not crooked, unlike Ash's rather sad attempts in the past? Didn't matter - just as long as the dark haired man who had a hold on his estranged brother felt like he belonged. So Dean would feel like he belonged. That he was a friend, that Sam was willing to make friends with Castiel too if Dean was willing to bury the hatchet with Jo.

And ... and ... somewhere in the planning of that was blabbing about how Dean was his long lost brother and he'd been looking for him since he was fifteen years old and found out he wasn't really his parents kid, and why that was a relief. Why he had left California to Kansas after he graduated college to find out where he came from. How he found Bobby, and Ellen, then Jo and made himself a real family here. Not once though, not for a single moment, did he stop looking for his roots. How it had taken him working his ass off for that jackass Zachariah to get his hands on the files that would give him his family's history, what happened to their parents and eventually what happened to Dean. How he worked, bled, and put in every single favor to get Dean's case. Overturned it so he could have his big brother back after twenty-six years.

Just, you know, less supercilious. Like Dean owed it to him to be his big brother. It wasn't mandatory. Except where it was, as they had the same mother and father, the same blood and once had the same last name.

All right, so he hadn't quite figured out all his closing statements yet.

None of it mattered, though, because Sam's simple family dinner had taken a detour. Straight into a ditch, filled with mud. Jo had gone with Ellen into Hutchinson for the afternoon, only to have car problems that had stranded them. Jo swore up and down it would only taken twenty minutes to fix - that had been two hours ago. Since Jo was trapped in Hutchinson, Sam hadn't been able to go to the grocery store and buy what he needed for meatloaf, not to mention the simple fixings for mashed potatoes. Normally he wouldn't have thought twice about putting Mary in the car and running into the store with her, because she was good as gold and loved car rides besides, but for some reason today she couldn't be put down for a minute. Nothing he did seemed to make her happy, or at least to stop her crying unless she was cradled right next to Sam's chest, both of his arms around her.

So when the doorbell rung at five, Sam was staring balefully down at two pounds of frozen hamburger, cradling his daughter against his chest, his sweatpants and Stanford t-shirt sticky with baby drool, baby tears, and the various baby foods Mary had decided to spit on him. He was somewhere between defeat and utter bafflement. How did everything go so wrong, so fast? It couldn't possibly get worse, could it?

The answer to the latter question was on the other side of the door, looking at him with critical green eyes, hands stuffed in his jeans, plaid shirt neat, and his solemn faced, blue eyed companion peering over his shoulder like some sort of insanely attractive male owl. Both men blinked at him with surprise, then to each other, before looking back at Sam's disheveled state.

Finally, one corner of Dean's mouth lifted upwards, and then the other, as he drawled impishly, "Y'know, Wesson, I've seen bedraggled kittens out in the rain that have looked less pathetic than you."

Sam scowled, and rocked his baby, while behind Dean, Castiel rolled his eyes and gave Dean a shove to the shoulder. Dean looked over his shoulder, muttering, "What? He looks like someone ran over his pony, or something." Castiel gave him this Look, and Sam had seen that look on Jo's face enough times to know it translated to, 'This jackass attitude better stop now or someone will not getting naked fun time.'

Which, ugh, made him think of Dean and Castiel having sex, and while two guys getting it on didn't perturb him? His brother having naked fun did.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to Sam, and Sam tried not to blush about thinking about Dean having sex and how frigging gross that was. So it was a good thing the next thing Dean did shocked him right out of that particular train of thought, as Dean held out his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Baby. Gimme."

Sam blinked, and without thinking handed over Mary. Who opened her eyes, then scrunched up her face so tight that Sam nearly grabbed her back in parental alarm. Dean just shifted her weight, holding her right over his heart, his grip firm but not tight, and Mary settled again, curling her tiny hand into Dean's shirt. Dean nodded his head with approval, before lifting both eyebrows at Sam. "Well? You gonna let us in or stand there catching flies, man?"

Sam out and out stared, closed his mouth with a snap, and with wordless shock stepped aside to let them in. It wasn't until he closed the door behind them, and realized he was, in fact, trailing them into his own kitchen that he found his voice again. "I just - what - I can't - how did you do that?"

Dean shrugged as he looked around the kitchen. "Foster care. Kind of just became a habit, you know, looking after the little ones. Sometimes there was no one but me there who cared."

Sam felt his lips curve upwards, tired smile as it was, and his heart sang a little as the rest of him growled in faint jealousy for all those little brothers and sisters out there who had Dean, but he didn't. He quieted those dark voices, and said instead. "I can see that."

"Yeah, why am I not surprised by that?" Dean snorted softly, as he cradled the baby up against his chest again, looking around. "What I don't see is dinner."

"Uhm. Yeah. About that. It kind of got sidetracked with Jo and Ellen - " Sam started to say, but Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"We know that part - stranded. Bobby dropped us off on the way to go get them." Sam tried not to wince under Dean's intent gaze, "So ... there's nothing to eat and they'll all be home in like, probably an hour?"

Sam sighed softly, running one hand through his too-long, messy and now grimy hair. "Yeah ... that's the long and the short of it. God, am I going to get read the riot act?"

Dean looked at him intently for a moment, before arching an eyebrow at Castiel. It struck Sam, again, at how in sync they were, because Castiel stopped his own perusal of the kitchen to meet Dean's gaze at exactly that moment. Sam watched the dark haired man eye the hamburger, then nod at Dean silently. Dean's smile was quicksilver fast, "Awesome, Cas. You're the best." Dean's gaze shifted back to Sam's. "Okay, go upstairs get yourself clean, Wesson. We got this."

"Get myself - got what?" Sam said, completely bewildered as Castiel started going through his cupboards, blue eyes sharp and keen as he pulled down a few cans of soup with interest.

Dean snorted softly, "Well, all things considered - apparently everything." He shifted Mary enough so he could put his hand on Sam's shoulder, giving him a crooked smile. "Relax, Wesson. Your silverware sucks, and your baby, while cute, is kinda smelly."

"Mary." Sam said, as he started to move out of the kitchen. "Her name's Mary."

Dean's eyebrows rose together, and Sam watched as Dean looked at the tiny infant in his arms with a lot more interest. "Yeah? No kidding. That's my mom's name."

"Really?" Sam said out loud, and decided now was time to make his cowardly retreat, "Now what are the chances of that?"

He was ten minutes into a hot shower, still berating himself, when it occurred to him that he had just handily given Jo her worst nightmare of all time - he left Dean and Castiel downstairs, in their kitchen, in charge of their daughter. He gnawed on his bottom lip as he sluiced his tall body clean, hands moving over tight skin and muscle in an almost skin-scrapping rhythm. It would be fine. It would be. Dean was a good person and he wasn't going to do anything to Sam's daughter, his niece. Castiel, while quiet, really wasn't that creepy and he seemed too nice to be a serial killer.

Still, Sam didn't relax until he was at the top of the stairs, and he could smell food cooking, and could hear Dean in the kitchen, and the sound of Mary's happy gurgles, a mere step away from a laugh. He straightened the cuffs of his plaid shirt, smiling as he went downstairs again -- and found the living room roundly straightened, if not completely clean, but that was near impossible with a baby in the house anyways. Delicious smells continued to emanate from the kitchen, and Sam followed his nose.

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks, again, for the third time today. Castiel was at the stove, an apron covering his neat blue plaid shirt and jeans, stirring what looked like noodles and something grey and meaty in a saucepan, while he eyed another boiling pot. He looked completely at home, and comfortably domestic, that utterly peaceful expression on his face that he got when Sam saw him gardening, or doing something else with his hands. Suddenly, it wasn't so hard to see why Dean liked Castiel. The man was a well of peace, when he wanted to be, doing the most ordinary things.

Dean, on the other hand ...

Sam couldn't help the snort of laughter that left his lips as he watched Dean push Mary around the kitchen in her little walker, running commentary the entire time while Mary giggled, "Aaaaand it's Mary Wesson on the far corner of the track, vrrrooooom, she's closing in on the leaders, vroooooom, shreeeeeeeik, taking that sharp corner by the dangerous Castiel's Legs turn!" Dean bumped the walker lightly into Castiel's legs, who looked turned to shoot Dean a fond smile that Sam was pretty sure had nothing to do with just 'mansex'. The crinkle of Dean's eyes in turn was brighter than Sam had ever seen it, unexpected from the man not a month ago was glowering at him in that prison parking lot.

He almost didn't want that look to go away, but he had to make himself known. So he cleared his throat, making Mary look towards him and then bang on the white plastic of the front of her walker in glee. Both men looked towards him, surprise flickering over their faces, and while Castiel's retreated into friendly reserve, Dean's face exchanged intimate warmth for a friendly nod, and an evil little smile as he pushed Mary forward and, ".... and Mary Wesson makes the turn, only to be faced by Saaaasquatch, the impentrable human wall!" He rolled the walker into the front of Sam's legs, "Eeeeek, the brakes are squealing, aaaah no! Too late! Boooooom!" Dean straighted, and tutted as he looked down at Mary. "Gone too soon the way of James Dean. We'll mourn you, kid."

Mary tilted her head back and smiled at him, drool dribbling down her chin.

Sam gave Dean a wry look, as Dean picked up his daughter. "I love these habits you're teaching her - fast driving, car racing through kitchens, and of course, running into me."

"Every kid needs to have their teenage rebellion, Wesson. Be glad I'm getting her past hers at the tender age of six months." Dean said with a straight face, as he curled his arm around Mary, letting her whack him in the chin with her small hand. Then, apropos of nothing, he turned around, eyed Castiel's back and stated, "You were the man-nanny for three adorable children."

Castiel let out a soft snort, before shaking his head 'No', quite firmly. Sam blinked, baffled, as Dean sighed and held out Mary to him, who Sam noted was in a clean jumper and smelled like fresh baby powder. Dean lifted the walker out of the way, and said over his shoulder. "This had to be a tough one, didn't it?"

One eyebrow raised in amusement, Castiel turned back to the stove, and Dean turned back around to meet Sam's bemused look. Sam lifted his daughter up on his shoulder, just looking at Dean, then Castiel. Dean cleared his throat, "It's, ah. It's a game we play. He's got so many weird talents - I like to guess where they came from. Like cooking, for example. Fry cook for a bunch of monks?"

Castiel's answer was another snort, and another negative head shake. Sam felt his lips quirk upwards as he answered honestly, "It smells great, whatever it is."

"Poor Man's Stroganoff." Dean answered, as he tilted his head towards the fridge. "Beer?"

"In the fridge - and please, grab me one, and Castiel is more than welcome to one." Sam sat himself down, putting himself down in a kitchen chair, nodding in thanks as Dean cracked open all three beers and put one in front of him. "Thanks. Seriously. I owe you two."

Dean flopped down into a chair, letting out a snort. "Don't be too grateful. Half of this is because I'm starving, and the other half is because Jo promised horrible things would happen to us if dinner went bad."

Sam's smile widened, as he turned Mary around and bounced her on his knee. "Here that, baby girl? Mommy loves Daddy."

"Yeah she does - sweetly promising violence for you, where ever she goes." Dean said dryly, taking a sip off his beer bottle.

"Ah, well." Sam smiled down for a moment, before he met his brother's gaze again. "Don't take it too personally. Jo's just very protective of people hurting me. She thinks I'm too trusting. To her credit there have been a few people I've tried to help in the past, who haven't turned out that great. Not to mention my adoptive parents."

"Well, she's got good instincts - not about Cas and me - but at least I get where she's coming from. You are too trusting." Dean waved his beer bottle, before he tilted his head back, a curious look on his face. "You were adopted?"

Sam slid his eyes away from Dean, and put them on the baby riding his knee. "Yeah, when I was just a baby. The Wessons -- they aren't ... bad people, just not very loving. They had a child because having a child is what's 'done', and they couldn't naturally conceive so of course the right thing to do is adopt. They raised me, fed me, sent me to best schools -- because that's what you're supposed to do. I think they just had this basic outline of what parents were supposed to be and they just stuck with it. Hell, I didn't even know anything was wrong with that until I got to school, met other kids with happier families. It was only then that I understood what was so fundamentally wrong with our relationship. I wanted parents and they wanted, in essence, an awarding winning creature that looked good in photographs and brought home lots of trophies that they could point to and look smug about."

"Huh. Sounds like they would have been better off with a poodle." Sam grinned wryly at Dean's comment, as Dean smiled back and continued to look at him curiously. "So ... how did you end up here, of all places? Haven, Kansas?"

"Well, I was born here. Not here in town, but in Kansas." Sam adjusted Mary on his knee, so he could keep her balanced and drink from his beer. He looked up to find Castiel had turned away from the kitchen with interest, and he flushed a little under the extra attention. "My adopted parents literally did what I've heard called a drive-by adoption. They came from California, swooped me up, and then took me back to Orange County. When I turned fifteen I was, I don't know. Lonely. Looking for a connection, tired of feeling like a freak with the fucked up family. My parents were gone to some charity weekend, on my birthday, and while they left me a hefty gift card to spend on whatever I wanted -- I don't know, it wasn't what I needed. I started going through our family albums, just trying to find some sort of connection between us - I didn't even look like either one of them, which really just made me feel more alien ... and when I found out that there weren't any pictures of me, before six months old, I just ... I just knew.. I wasn't really their kid. I was someone else's son, and it's weird, but it made my life so much easier to deal with."

Dean's eyes slid over to Castiel, who staring at Sam with something like sympathy, mixed in with a peculiar understanding, and then Sam felt Dean's eyes on him again, his eyes a mirror of the same emotions. After a moment, Dean cleared his throat, "So - ah - I guess you went looking for your real family?"

"Not until years later - I wanted to look for my parents on my own terms, without my parents trying to forbid me or stop me in any way. I wanted to make some changes in my life, and pushing them too far ... well, it wouldn't have worked with my plans." He smiled, remembering those first heady days of emotional freedom. "My Grandfather - and I'm always going to think of my grandfather, adopted or no - left me a trust fund I couldn't touch until I was twenty-one. So the day I graduated from Stanford, instead of getting on a plane and heading off to Harvard Law School, I told my adopted parents that I was leaving, took my bags and headed off to Kansas to find my real family." He smiled at Mary, who looked up at him with loving, happy wonder. "And I did, sort of. Through a little bit of internet wrangling, I found Bobby, who knew my real Dad and Mom. I met Ellen, and I met Jo .... and Jo became my whole world, that summer. Nineteen years old, acted twice that old and knew my number, from day one. I asked her to marry me the first week we knew each other. But she didn't say yes until she finished her criminal justice degree, about the same time I was finished with Kansas State law school. She never wanted to the person who held me back, and she wouldn't let anyone hold her back, either. After we got married, well, Bobby and Ellen had already adopted me in. Then we had Mary and ... well, I was happy. I've tried to invite my adoptive parents out to see me, maybe close some of those old distances between us - but, well, nothing doing."

Dean was sitting back in his chair, a contemplative look on his face, a face that Sam could tell held the traces of both their parents, from the scant pictures Bobby had been able to give them. Castiel was looking hard at him, as if Sam was a particularly interesting puzzle he hadn't figured out yet, arms folded over his apron, a wooden spoon in one hand. Like a solemn, blue eyed Egyptian prince.
Silence held for moment, only broken when the front door opened and Jo called out from the front door, easing the tension in Sam's chest, "Baby? I'm home! God, I am so sorry about today -- you would not believe what blew on the car ... what smells so good?"

Sam turned to answer over his shoulder, "Poor man's Stroganoff. When you get in here, be sure to thank Castiel." That would give Jo a few moments of surprise, so he rose and handed Mary back to Dean, who still looked thoughtful. Sam was halfway to the kitchen door before he heard Dean asked, "Hey - wait - how does this fairy tale end? What happened with your real parents?"

Sam stopped, his gaze narrowing in on Dean, even though he felt Castiel still watching him. "They died, shortly after I was born."

Dean's expression fell a little, and he hugged the baby to him. "Wow, that sucks. That makes you the last of your real family, huh?" Sam watched Dean flicker a rueful smile, as he lifted Mary to his shoulder, "Well, more or less, I suppose."

Sam felt his heart lurch in his chest, thinking this was the moment, the final argument ... but all that came out of his mouth when he spoke was, "More or less."

Then he fled back towards the front door, mentally slapping himself in the forehead, and hoping that Jo felt bad enough about today to not give him a hard time about avoiding telling Dean the truth, for one more day.

********************

Sunday rolled on into Friday, and it was with a lot of trepidation and hope that Dean approached Bobby about getting out early. Bobby arched an eyebrow at him as he wiped his hands clean from putting an engine back together, his voice rough but kind, "No need to look like I'm about to cancel Christmas, boy. Sure, you can take off early." The older man chuffed. "What, you got a hot date?" Dean cleared his throat, rocked from foot to foot, and Bobby blinked. "Oh. Oh ... well, all right. Yeah, definitely. You two boys... have fun, then."

Dean smiled then, then felt stupid about the rush of relief that went through him. For fuck's sake, it wasn't like he and Castiel were in high school anymore. This wasn't a big fucking deal. So what if he had finally decided they needed to get out of the damned house. So what if he made sure to shower twice that day, or that he actually put on aftershave, something from the Axe line. Who gave a damn if he checked to make sure there was a movie playing that Castiel might actually like, or found a diner on the far side of town. So what if he broke down and asked Ellen if he could borrow her truck, because he didn't want him and Cas to hoof it all over the place.

Wasn't a big deal. Mostly.

And it didn't help that he wasn't actually sure how this Not Important First Date was going, either. Castiel had seemed more than glad enough when the idea came up, but when Dean came back home Castiel looked wane and restless. He still made it emphatically clear that he wanted to go out, even when Dean and Ellen both asked if he was really feeling up to it. Dean gave Ellen a sideways glance, but she just shrugged as Castiel went upstairs to grab a shower and change himself.

Now that they were at the diner, though, Dean was the one making most of the conversation. Well, more of the conversation than usual. Searching for something to say, he found himself on Wesson, and Sunday dinner. "He's not a bad guy, Wesson." Dean said, as he dipped his fry into ketchup, swirling it around as he looked up at Castiel. "I mean, for a weird ass lawyer who lets criminals into his life on a constant basis. He's good people. Like the rest of his family."

Castiel nodded his head in agreement, and Dean watched as the man pushed his food around his plate. He frowned, pointing a fry in Castiel's direction. "Y'know, if you didn't want it, you shouldn't have ordered it."

Castiel looked up at him, blue eyes large and sad, before he took a deep breath and then stuck his fork into his mashed potatoes. He wrapped his mouth around them, swallowed, and smiled briefly at Dean -- before he turned even paler and got abruptly up from the table and ran for the bathroom. Dean sighed, and flopped back against the booth, completely at a loss. He was nervous too -- but Castiel seemed downright washed out. Pale, faintly sweating, and even looking at food made him sick? That was either a superior case of nerves or --

His thought trailed off abruptly when a group of burly men banged into the diner, making Dean narrow his gaze on them distrustfully. Fantastic, just what he needed, a group of 'good ole boys'. They didn't give him much of a second look, except for the tall bearded guy the waitress address as 'Al', who gave a Dean a, 'What the fuck do you think you're looking at, asshole?' look. Dean let his eyes narrow and then worked on ignoring them, although it was hard. Where-ever they had been before, it had a lot of beer, and it showed as they started hooting, making grabs at their waitress, who skirted out of the way with a nervous look in her eye.

Dean made himself a fucking mental note - get Cas out of here, and then call the mother fucking cops, before those drunken idiots did something everyone would regret. However, all thoughts of them flew from his brain when he saw Cas come out of the bathroom, his blue eyes wide and his cheeks flushed bright red. He leaned against the door frame and pressed a hand against his stomach, grimacing slightly, before he moved towards Dean, who was already out of his seat and heading towards him. He caught Castiel by the arm and pressed his palm to Castiel's burning forehead, before letting out a harassed breath. "You dumb shit - why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?"

Castiel looked up at him with a truly pathetic expression, resting one hand gently on Dean's chest, before he tilted his head down, looking embarrassed. Obviously, tonight had been as important to Castiel as it had been to Dean - he could see the smooth, shaven lines of Castiel's face, smell toothpaste and something faintly spicy and definitely male. Something warm surged in Dean's veins, and he leaned into the other man, lowering his voice, "Cas ... it's okay. We can go out again - we will. But how about we just call it a night? You look like crap, and if I break you, Ellen's gonna have my ass."

Castiel sighed, noisily, but he nodded, letting himself lean on Dean so far that Dean put his arm around Castiel's waist and lead them back to the table. He took little notice of the Good Ol' Boys staring sideways at the two of them, and muttering amongst themselves, Al being the bastardly loudest. Instead, he just focused on their waitress, who hurried over to them with a nervous look. He was five seconds away from asking for the bill, when she blurted out, "You're Ellen Singer's boys, aren't you? The ones at her boarding house?"

Dean blinked for a moment, before sharing a baffled look with Castiel, who furrowed his brow in confusion. Dean answered slowly, "Ah - yeah - that's us."

The waitress - Sarah - her nametag said - nodded her head fervently. "Okay. Good. Here's your check." She met Dean's gaze, and held it. "Be careful going out to the parking lot. It's dark out, now. All manners of critters out there."

Dean felt his gaze flick over to the Good Ol' Boys, then he looked back to Rachel, nodding slowly. "We will. Thanks."

He put down an entire twenty, and wrapped one arm around Castiel's waist, as he looked up at her again as she moved away from their table, and towards the backroom. "Hey? Keep the change?" She nodded at him, before disappearing, and Dean kept Castiel leaning on him, leaning over to whisper as soon as they hit the door to the diner. "Those assholes inside are looking for trouble. We need to book, Cas." Castiel met his gaze, and nodded his head, but when they got to their parking space, he suddenly grabbed the bumper of the truck and tilted over, puking again. Dean let out a curse and stepped back quickly, but one hand went to the back of Castiel's neck, even as his eyes shifted to the front of the diner.

God, his luck was shit. All of them decided they wanted to have themselves a little gay bashing fun, and Dean was looking at five or six drunk hicks, who were picking up things from the parking lot like bottles and bits of brick. Dean sucked in a breath - and felt that old feeling settle over his skin. The 'yard' feeling, the one where you always watched your back and if you got into a fight, you made damn sure you were the only one walking out of there in one fucking piece. Some dim part of him realized that he was going to be completely fucking up his parole on these shits, but the larger part didn't care. They were threatening what was his, and that was not happening.

He focused in on the leader, Al, who was tossing a bottle up in the air with all the playful smile of a sociopathic killer. Al grinned meanly and drawled out, "Looks like we got ourselves a pair of faggots here boys. Goddamned motherfucking faggots."

Dean wrapped his hand into a fist, coldly meeting Al's gaze, not flinching for a moment at the man's tone. He was icy, frost-covered and far away, as he said evenly, "You come near either one of us, and I will fucking make everyone in this little hate circle bleed."

Al paused, so the rest of the men paused, and all of them looked around with some trepidation. Dean's smile was thin-lipped, yeah, this wasn't in their little circle-jerk handbook, was it? He didn't have a weapon, but who gave a fuck? A weapon was only as good as long as you were still holding onto it, after all. He stepped further away from Castiel, putting himself between the Ol'Boys and the man trying to heave himself upwards.

It took old Al a moment to get his composure back, and he lifted the bottle in his hand threateningly. "Listen you faggot, I'm going to smash this damned bottle in your face! Then I'm going to take the broken pieces and fuck your pretty ass boyfriend up the ass with them! What do you think of bleeding like that, huh?"

"I think it lacks the originality of what I'm going to use that bottle, when I get my hands on it." Dean said, almost silkily, "And carve my boyfriend's initials into your goddamned forehead."

Al's brotherhood of gaybashers started to look nervous, and Al himself swallowed once or two, before shouting at them. "What the hell are you waiting for, assholes? There's five of us and just him! The other one's too goddamned sick of the come in his belly to fight. We can take him."

There was the pop sound of a revolver going off, the bottle in Al's hand shattered into a million pieces, and the man dropped it with a surprised yelp. Dean felt all that cold anger rush out of him in a surprised sort of panic - what kind of ridiculousness was all this? He jerked his chin to the direction where the shot had come from, and for the first time, his jaw dropped open in shock. Jo stood there, both hands wrapped around her service revolver, dark eyes flat with anger. She was driving Wesson's car, but was wearing her uniform. Dean had no idea why she was here - but he had never been so glad to see her in all his days. Especially when she started to talk, "Alistar Perkins, does your father the Reverend Perkins know that you're out here, making a damned bigoted fool of yourself and about to get an solid ten years for assault with a deadly weapon?"

Al's eyes were big as he looked from the shattered bottle in his hand, and then over to Jo standing in a loose, comfortable shooting pose. He swallowed, and shook his head, "No ma'am."

"Well then, before I need to start filling in some messy ass paperwork about discharging my firearm to stop a possible hate crime - maybe you, and your boys, should get the Hell out of my sight." Jo spoke clearly and crisply. "Right now."

'Well,' Dean thought dimly, as all five men scurried out of there like the rats they were, 'That's one way to sober the fuck up. ' He looked at Jo, Jo looked at him, and whatever he was going to say - thanks or otherwise, was lost to Dean's lips when he heard Castiel groan behind him. Automatically he spun around, pulling a miserable looking Castiel to his feet, cursing harshly as he took in Castiel's pasty, sweat-damp skin. He looked over to Jo, and he didn't know what was in his face, but he was sure it was alarming because Jo looked alarmed. He croaked out, "Hospital - we need to get him to a hospital. He's burning up, and he's been throwing up everything."

Jo's brown eyes went wide, and she jerked her chin towards the car. "Come on - I've got my extra police light in the glove box. Leave the truck, Daddy can come and pick it up later."

Dean nodded his head gratefully, before he angled both himself and Castiel into the back seat of the car. Castiel lolled against him, and Dean wrapped one arm around his chest, the other one around his waist, holding him in place. Jo climbed into the driver's side, slammed shut the door, and Wesson's responsible vehicle jerked from park into drive so fast that Dean felt some vague sympathy for the gears. He kept stroking Castiel's hair, away from his forehead as he muttered. "I don't even know how we'll pay for this."

"We'll find a way, Dean. We'll manage." Jo said soothingly, as she pulled her police light from the glove box and put it on the dashboard of the car.

Dean nodded his head numbly, just holding Castiel tightly to his chest, and wondered bleakly if he was going to have to face another person he cared about deeply dying, right before his very eyes.

*******************

Life, sometimes, came at you sideways. No one knew that better than Joanna Beth Singer-Wesson.

If anyone had told her seven years ago she'd meet the love of her life while he was searching for his dead parents at her father's small auto shop, she would have asked if they had regular appointments with their head doctors. She never expected Sam, so she never expected her life with him would be the fullest and most complete she had ever known, and that life without him would have been unbearable.

She didn't expect Mary, and what a wonderful addition to her life her daughter had been.

She didn't expect a million things.

Like today, she didn't expect to find herself saving her unknowing of his status as her brother-in-law - brother-in-law, from a group of back-country bastards. She didn't expect to be driving him, and his erstwhile hobo mute lover to the hospital soon after that.

After all that, though, the thing that shocked her the most was the fact that Castiel, of all of them, had an insurance card for a fairly major insurance company, nestled innocently in his wallet next to a ten dollar bill and some receipt . Sam and Jo had good insurance - Sam insisted on it for Jo and Mary, and he carried that insistence over to Bobby and Ellen. Dean would be on it soon enough - but Castiel? Castiel had the Platinum Edition insurance - which baffled Jo to no end. How did a wandering mute man afford that? It was under his real name - Jo had checked that much - and it covered everything, according to the nurse who took the filled in information packet that Jo had carefully filled out from the information she had gotten out of Castiel's wallet.

When she handed the clipboard back over, she headed over to where Dean was seated. She opened her mouth to tell him the insurance angle was fine - more than fine - but at the look on his face, she abruptly let it drop. His arms were folded over his chest, legs stuck out, and his face was closed off in a way she hadn't seen - well, not really since the first time she met him. She dropped in the chair next to him, her voice quiet. "He's all checked in. The nurse said they're taking him straight back, and a doctor will be out soon to talk to us."

Dean nodded his head silently, and without thinking about it too hard, Jo put a hand on his arm, and kept it there, as they both stared at the ER surgery door in silence.

After about five minutes, Dean spoke roughly, "Two years ago, I stole a car. When the judge asked me why I did it, I lied and said it was a stupid, drunk act. "

Jo jerked with surprise, but there was something in Dean's eyes that said the answer was going to be like him, like Castiel. A constant surprise to her. She wet her lips, then asked quietly, "Why did you take the car?"

"It was a 1967 Chevy Impala." Dean said softly, "Do you know what kind of car that is?"

She certainly did. Her father and John Winchester had put that very car together, piece by piece, a promise made between two war buddies from Vietnam, years ago, before she was born. Her father had put the engine together himself, a wedding present for John and his new bride Mary. It was the car that allowed Sam to Google search his way into her life, using the old vin number. It was the car sitting in their garage, old and unused, but it was one of the two things Sam had left from his real parents, the other being the stony faced man sitting next to her. She swallowed, hard. "Got a passing acquaintance to it, being a grease monkey's daughter."

"Two years and some change ago, I saw one. In crap condition. The guy in the bar where I was at drove it up into the parking lot outside, and he slammed the door so hard the frame shuddered. The paint job was shit, the chrome was all rusted - and man, that engine -- it was groaning." Dean shook his head, his voice going softer. "It could have been this beautiful machine, but this jackass had gotten ahold of it and just ... treated her like shit. I was in a bad way - my foster mom, Missouri, had just died from ovarian cancer. She was the last family I had, outside a little brother I knew for six months before they took him away from me. I was drunk, and suddenly I was drunk and angry, because this stupid shit car ...it was just this fucking metaphor for my life. Other people with their hands all over it, or Fate, or God or whatever, and doing what they liked with it."

Her voice was soft when she answered. "So you took the car, trying to take control of your own life."

"Yeah. And how stupid am I, huh? Committing a major felony to change my life around. " A bitter snort left Dean's lips, his green eyes crinkled with dark humor. "Most people just go and take a fucking yoga class." He rubbed his mouth, his voice going rough. "And that was it - one speedy trial and shit lawyer later, I'm in the pen for two years with guys who reminded me of every crap foster dad I had ever had. And I had to fight, from day one, and keep fighting because ... well, like the car. They wanted things from me that I didn't want to give. I seriously thought that was all my life was gonna be - fighting, with the world, to keep the air in my own fucking lungs. And then ....and then your crazy ass, shaggy-headed Gigantor of a husband came along. Gave me my freedom, then your parents gave me a second chance - and you ..."

"I gave you a fucking hard time?" She said, her tone rueful and just a touch sardonic. At herself. At Dean.

"Yeah - but ... more important you gave me perspective." Dean waved his hand around in the air. "This - all this - everything I had gotten ... I couldn't take it for granted. Not the roof over my head and the food in my belly. Not my freedom. It's a gift, and you gave me gratitude." He paused and smirked gently at her, "And attitude."

She swatted him, gently, but couldn't help to ask, "And Castiel? What did he give you?"

Dean's eyes darkened, a little, and they drifted over to the ER doors again. "Everything. He ... gave me everything. First moment I met him, he pulled me up, and out, and just made simple shit - like sitting on a roof looking at stars -- new, and interesting. I lost a lot of - I dunno - life? Joy de fucking vivre? In prison. He sat on a fucking roof and stared at me, and I ... I started to get it all back again." His voice went a little hoarse, but he didn't cry. "He pulled me out of my own personal Hell, and now I don't know how to do this without him."

Jo gnawed on her lip, before she tucked her arm under his and put her cheek on his shoulder. "He's going to be fine, Dean."

"Yeah? Who told you that? God?" She winced at the harshness and the bitter disbelief in his tone. "I'm not counting on God for any fucking favors. I'm not one of his fucking faithful. Not now. Not after all this shit."

The doors leading into the ER swung open, and Sam came running through, his gaze wide as he looked around and spotted Dean and Jo together. Relief and then worry came over his face, and he moved towards them quickly.

Jo watched some relief slide over Dean's face, and she herself exhaled, releasing some of the tightness in her body. She squeezed Dean's arm again, hard, as she murmured. "That's okay. We'll have faith for you." Dean looked over at her with surprise, as she started to rise up to her feet. She gave him a warm smile. "That's what families do."

************************

"Dean Winchester?" A man in a white lab coat said out-loud, and Dean sprung to his feet abruptly out of the hospital chair, ignoring the scream of agony his stiff legs and back gave. Wesson and Jo rose to their feet with him.

"That's me." He swallowed, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets, to keep them from twitching too much. The man seemed to take that into account, because he offered a smile first. "I'm Dr. Garrison - I've been treating your ... boyfriend?" Dean nodded once, curtly, "Boyfriend, Mr. Novak. Now, normally we're not allowed to give out this information to anyone but family --"

"We are his family, Dr. Garrison." Wesson said firmly from his elbow, and Dean seriously could have hugged the guy.

Dr. Garrison paused, and his smile grew. "Good. First, the bad news. We had to sedate Castiel, because he's going to require emergency surgery."

Dean flinched. He spoke quickly, his voice tense. "What happened? Is he all right?"

"He's got a case of acute appendicitis. In men of his age, it can be fatal if not treated immediately -- " Dean felt the blood rush out of his face, and Dr. Garrison quickly added, "But that's not what happened here. I understand you caught the first warning signs - fever, vomiting, and brought him right in?" Dean nodded his head numbly, and Dr. Garrision spoke calmly, "Then I have to let you know that you saved his life. If you hadn't brought him in immediately - his appendix could have become even more infected, would have released infection into the bloodstream, and he could have died."

Dean nodded his head fervently, his hands still clenching, "So he's going into surgery - or already has been?"

"We've been waiting for an open OR - but they're prepping him now and he'll be going in shortly. We'll go in, remove his appendix and .... barring any complications, he'll be fine." Dr. Garrison offered them a hopeful smile. "You should see him up and on his feet in a few weeks."

At that, Dean's heart started whooping and hollering inside of his chest, and he smiled, relief making it almost blinding as he turned to Wesson and Jo, who held similar looks. He turned swiftly back to Dr. Garrison. "Can I see him?"

"You can, but like I said, he is sedated for the pain so he won't be able to respond to you." Dr. Garrision gave Wesson and Jo sympathetic looks. "I'm sorry, you're not on Castiel's emergency contact list, so you'll have to stay here."

"That's fine." Wesson answered quickly, waving his hand. "It's all right, we'll just hang out here."

"We'll run down to the cafeteria while you're visiting, Dean. Get us all some coffee and some sandwiches." Jo added, giving Dean's arm a squeeze.

"Thanks." Was all Dean could manage, a paltry kind of thanks for staying with him all this time, but he didn't have time to add more now. He'd find a way to thank them both properly, later. Right now, he dogged on Dr. Garrison's heels, right through the double doors he'd been staring at for hours, and into curtained-off area, right outside the surgery room doors.

Dr. Garrison nodded to the drawn curtain closest to the window. "Castiel is right there. I have to scrub up for surgery - we'll be bringing him back in about fifteen minutes."

Dean nodded, and headed over directly to the curtained area, ducking behind it to find Castiel lying there, blanket pulled up to his chest, looking pale but without that ugly red flush to him. Dean let out a long, soft sigh and moved up towards the head of Castiel's bed, putting one hand into that thick dark hair, his voice quiet. "Well, doesn't it figure. They put you in the ugliest garment known to man - even uglier than that stupid trenchcoat - and you still manage to make it look hot. Must be some kind of ... magical Crazy Roof Guy power." He smiled a little, as he shifted his hand, brushing his fingers over Castiel's forehead, and closed eyelids. "Just in case you didn't already know? You pull this shit on me again and I'm going to be the one who puts you in the hospital .. .or you just get pinned to the bed for the rest of your life. Your choice."

He was silently wondering how Castiel could already be sporting two days worth of stubble, that he didn't really heed the coming rush of footsteps until the curtain was dragged quickly back, and a short man in a very expensive looking suit was staring at him, blurting out angrily, "Who the fuck are you?"

Dean took in the suit, the brown hair that swept off the guy's head in an expensive haircut, the narrow face and too sharp nose, brown eyes radiating anger. A brief, sick thought was this was one of Castiel's former lovers - or still one - and he stepped closer to Castiel's bed and growled, "I'm Dean fucking Winchester. Who the fuck are you?"

The man blinked, surprise rolling over his face, as he put a hand to his chest. "Gabe. Gabe Novak."

It was Dean's turn to look shellshocked. "Gabe ... you're Cas's older brother."

Both corner of the man's mouth lifted up, and he could see a hint, finally, of Castiel in Gabe's smile. "The one and the same. And you're the famous Dean, or as I've taken to teasing my baby brother - the Second Coming." He held out his hand to shake.

Dean exhaled, stuck out his hand and shook it warily as he asked, uncertain, "Cas ... talks about me."

Gabe's happy expression fell a little, and he looked down at his prone brother, "No ... no, Cas hasn't really talked since Jimmy died. But, y'know, older brother prerogative. Since he checked himself out of the hospital, I've made him write me postcards, letters, in exchange for not getting on his wandering Kung Fu vibe." Gabe sighed as he came closer to the bed, and Dean watched as Gabe carefully smoothed out Castiel's blankets. "Not like I could stop him - Castiel ... Castiel has always marched to his own drummer."

"Hospital?" Dean said, his voice a little sharp, and he looked down at Castiel, his jaw working a little. Was Castiel - well he always called him Crazy Roof Guy ... but he didn't think Castiel - his Cas was that sick in the head.

Gabriel nodded his head, and looked at Dean, before comprehension passed Castiel's brother's face and he waved his hand, "No, no. Nothing like he hears the voices of angels in his head, or anything. Just - when Jimmy died -- he went mute. Again. I was worried, thought it might have brought up some old memories from the past --" He stopped, giving Dean a considering look, "Probably ... a past he hasn't told you much about, I'm guessing."

Dean swallowed, and without even realizing it, his hand was in Castiel's hair. "He told me about, you know, you. What happened with Jimmy, Andrea, and Claire. But stuff from your childhood -- no. Never." He inhaled, deeply, before looking at the other man steadily, "If he's worried what I'll think of him..."

"Castiel - Cas, that's ... interesting -- no, never. He thinks the sun rises and sets out of your tight little ass." Gabe gave him a considering look. "Me, I'll reserve my judgment until you hear the whole story."

Dean felt his chin tilt back up in challenge, but that was the moment that Dr. Garrison arrived with the nurses to take Castiel back for surgery. He and Gabe walked together, side by side, right next to Castiel, and while Dean just stayed silent and held Castiel's hand tight until the moment they rolled him into the operation theater, Gabe leaned over and whispered the whole time. Things like, "You're going to be fine, kiddo." and "When you wake up you can bitch at me for being such a worrywart that I flew all the way from Chicago."

Then the doors closed, and he and Gabe were left in the hallway. Gabe let out a long sigh, and ran his fingers through his hair, and tilted his head towards Dean while still staring at the door. "Seriously - best idea ever - getting him health insurance. Other brothers probably get their brothers iPods for Christmas, and imagine how fucked we'd be if I had given into that impulse. Big brothers ahould look after little ones."

Dean nodded his head, slowly, thinking briefly of Sammy, before he shook his head a little. He put his gaze back on Gabe, his voice deceptively mild. "So - what exactly are you protecting him from now?"

Gabe slowly turned his head towards Dean, giving him a long, considering look. "You know ... I'm not really sure. I thought it was bullshit lust bunnies, the way my brother talked about you. Now I'm not so sure." Something in his expression changed, tightened and grew more fierce. "But let me tell you, Dean, if I'm right about you, and you hurt my brother because you can't handle our family shit?"

Dean's jaw tightened, and he jerked his chin up a little. "Benches. Right over there. Because I can handle any and all kinds of shit." He marched over there, anger simmering through him, dropped himself on the bench and the moment Gabe sat down, he gave the other man his hardest stare. "Start talking."

Gabe took a deep breath, and set his hands in front of him, before he met Dean's look. "My father is - was - a good man - but a very religious and upright Catholic. To that end, he followed all the tenants of that particular religion - married before sex, church every Sunday and every holiday, and he was ... very fruitful and multiplied. First there was our eldest brother Michael, then Raphael, me - all of us named after angels, my sister Anael, but everyone called her Ana, and the youngest - Castiel, named after the angel of Thursday, and James, who was named after - well. James. In the Bible. You getting the picture?"

Dean slowly nodded his head. "Very uptight, very strict rigid family."

"Exactly - we followed all the rules. Don't swear, don't eat meat on Friday, keep family business within the family." Gabriel's mouth twisted, bitterly. "Yeah, that one came around to bite us in the ass ... anyways, Mom died not long after the twins were born - she already had a delicate sort of health and giving birth to six kids, two years after another? It had it's toll on her. Well, Dad kind of ... he kind of cracked, when that happened. Didn't go crazy, exactly, more like just became more focused on religion and less on our family. Which was why when our Aunt Lillith came to help raise us, Dad just sort of abandoned us into her .... not so tender care."

Dean could feel the pit of his stomach drop. "When you say not so tender ... "

Gabe's eyes looked past to Dean, into a past he clearly didn't want to go back to. "Every living nightmare you've ever heard of. If Dad was in a religious fervor -- God. Lillith was a fucking religious psycho nutbag, and worse. She'd make us sit on our knees, for hours, and if we move even an inch -- she'd beat us about the head and make us all stay there longer. She'd starve us, at random. Called it cleansing fasting, and we needed it to save our damned souls. Then, of course, there was her 'special confession time'." He looked at Dean, his face bleak, "Open only to us boys -- and only at a certain .... tender age."

That pit continued to drop into a yawning abyss, and Dean swallowed his own anger and horror. "So you -- "

"It was Michael first - but she got bored with him when he started being less like a boy, and more like a man. Raph next, and then me. From the ages of ten to twelve - God, so much therapy. So much therapy and I can still feel her breath on my neck.... " Gabriel's lips twisted, eyes dark. "But whenever I think of her, I think of Castiel, and it gets better. You see, what you have to understand is that Castiel ... Castiel was different from all of us. He always was. Sure, he'd follow us when it came to following the day to day rules - but he always questioned what he didn't think was right. He was just that kind of kid -- and because of that, Lillith hated him. Besides the fact that Castiel was constantly protecting Jimmy from her, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it."

Dean's eyebrows rose, together. "Protected Jimmy? Protected Jimmy how?"

Gabe sighed, and looked at his hands. "I'm not proud saying this - about any of us - but ... not one of us would lift a hand to help the others, when it came to Lillith. We were all too scared of her, and too scared that she'd tell our father we had disobeyed, and he'd kick us out, curse us to Hell, or worse. Not Castiel, though. He didn't give a damn. He'd take his lickings, and then he'd go back and take Jimmy's too. Lillith could never tell them apart, you see, and it drove her crazy. She had some sort of ... weird obsession with Jimmy, what with him being the baby of the family and all, but Castiel was there, every single turn. Keeping her away from him. It got so bad that he just stopped talking about it - closed himself off , went completely mute. The only person who could understand him was Jimmy, so Castiel became Jimmy's shield, and Jimmy became Cas's voice. Jimmy knew he wasn't strong enough to be brave for himself, but for Castiel? In a heartbeat. And Castiel? God - was and still is the bravest kid I know."

Dean felt a surge of fierce pride at those words, for Castiel, Still, he held off his appalause, or whatever else, until the end of the tale. "So -- what happened? Did she ...to Cas? And Jimmy?"

Gabe's brown eyes suddenly flashed, a little embarrassed, and a little proud. "No. Because, well, a week before they turned ten ... I convinced them to run away with me. I was fourteen, just out of her range finally -- and that should have been enough for me. Michael had left as soon as he could, Raphael had one foot out the door and Ana wasn't far behind him. I could have turned my back - we all had for years - and we all knew Cas could take whatever Lillith threw out and throw it right back." He paused, mournful, "When you're fourteen, and stupid ... you only think of 'well it could be worse.' But I couldn't. I could see, every day closer to their birthday, Lillith's sick, disgusting looks when she looked at Jimmy. I saw Castiel go waner, and yet stronger and more determined each day for every new beating he got -- as if that would make him strong enough to deal with what was going to happen. And ...I heard Jimmy crying. Our little Jimmy, still sweet, still pure... I couldn't. I just couldn't. So late one night I came into their room, told them to pack their bags and to keep quiet - that they were coming with me. Jimmy just sat in his bed and stared at me - but Castiel grabbed two old army duffel bags from the closet, packed for both of them, and all but shoved Jimmy out the second story window of our house."

He exhaled, slowly, "We left and we never looked back. Not once. Six months later we were living in Chicago on our own. I worked whatever hours I could after school, so we'd have food on the table. Jimmy had a head for math, so he kept all our accounts and made sure we had money when we needed it. Castiel ... well, he took care of us. He made the food, he cleaned the shitty little apartment. We were safe, and that's when Castiel started to talk again. Not a lot - but enough to keep teachers from looking after us worriedly. That should have been it, really. The happy fucking ending - with the three brothers making a new life, growing up, moving on. I grew up, went into Communications for school. Castiel took up Landscape Design, when he entered collge, and Jimmy went with Accounting. We grew up, grew apart - well, at least I did from the twins. I'd still call them once a week, or they'd call me. But Jimmy and Castiel had been inseparable in the womb, and they were right until Jimmy died."

"Then Castiel went mute again, because ... well. He lost the only person who understood him, right?" Dean asked quietly.

Gabe blinked at him, nodding his head slowly. "Exactly right. I put him in the hospital - for what I thought was his own good -- but he left a week later, with the same damned old duffel bag, and a note telling me not to look for him, that he was lost and he needed to find his own way back home again."

Dean folded his hands in front of him, nodding his head a little, absorbing all this. He looked up to find Gabe's piercing look at him, and slowly Dean's eyebrow rose, before realization hit, and he snorted softly. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you think a little traumatic childhood and later adulthood are seriously going to fucking scare me off your brother? Jesus, Gabe, have you met him? He sits on fucking roofs and stares at people. He steals books. Hell, he wants me. I knew there was something wrong with him the first day I met the nutso roof stalking bastard."

Shock flooded Gabe's face, followed by a sudden, sharp laugh. "Yeah - well - Castiel doesn't let a lot of people inside. I guess ... I guess you really understand him."

Dean felt heat flood his face, and he shrugged again. "Guess it helps that he really knows me, too." He took in a deep breath, before looking at Gabe seriously. "I don't care if Castiel's broken from his past - I am too. Maybe all that's left of either one of is jagged around the edges. What that means to me is that we just ... fit better together now."

Gabe's smile was lopsided, but warm, and he leaned back against the bench with a content sigh. "I like you, Dean. You're refreshingly blunt and yet unbelievably understated. I bet your brother has a hard time telling you're in love, too."

Dean was about to make some sort of protest about being 'in love' - sure, it would be weak and paper thin - but then his mind caught on the rest of the words, with a snap-grab from his synapses. "Wait brother? How do you know my brother?"

"Sam? He's the guy in the lobby with his wife, right? He pointed me back here, told me about Castiel's condition ... what?" Did I say something wrong?" Gabriel's voice seemed far away, as Dean's ears suddenly pounded with blood, and his hands started to shake again with the power of the tension in his body.

He stumbled to his feet, staring at Gabriel. "My brother. Sam. In the lobby."

"Ye-eah ..." Gabe's eyes widened, and he gestured with his hands. "You know, super tall guy. Has your eyes, but in brown, and kind of the same smile? He called himself Sam Wesson."

Dean nodded his head slowly, a million and one thoughts pounding through his head as he focused in on Gabe again. "I'm going to -- I have to talk to him, actually, about something. Something very important. Could you come and get me when Cas is out of surgery?"

Gabe nodded his assent, although Dean could still tell that the other man was confused, and he wasn't the only one. Suddenly, a million little things started making more sense. Why Wes - Sam fought so hard to get him out of jail without some sort of bump in her career. Why Jo had been wary of him, why Bobby and Ellen kept on giving him searching looks, as if looking for someone they has lost a long time again.

Sam.

Sam.

Baby brother Sam sitting his crib, sucking on his foot and grinning at Dean.

Adult Sam sitting there , sharing his beer, telling Dean about his own past.

He wasn't sure what emotion he was going to be overwhelmed with first, with this revelation of the stupid. Anger, disappointment, confusion - all of those were pretty nasty indicators that he didn't want any kind of fraternal relationship with his goddamned lying lawyer brother.

Would he be sort of ... happy? Relieved? Excited to have Sammy back in his life?

Or would he lose his temper and pound someone's face in. Hopefully not Sam, although it was very tempting. At the end of the five minute bitchfest in his own head, he decided that he'd just go with whatever emotion he was feeling first when he saw Sam's face in - well, thirty seconds.

He pushed open the doors, back into the lobby, and searched around for Sam - Sam - with a quick, sharp sweep of the room. Wasn't hard to miss him, as he stood up the moment he saw Dean. Dean marched over to his little brother - Sam, Sammy, Samuel - and the first thing that went through his head was a good punch to the jaw. Considering the fact that he was on probation, and Jo, and security guards? He settled for getting right up to into Sam's space, grabbing his shirt and giving him a good hard shake that still got Jo on her feet, but he stopped her dead in her tracks when he growled at Sam. "I've got one fucking thing to say to you, Sam Wesson, about fucking knowing you were my brother for an entire fucking month, and never saying a word to me. One thing."

Sam's expression went from shocked, straight to dismayed, then slipped behind a stoic mask that was leaking hurt and rejection all over the place. "I'm ... I'm sorry. I meant to tell you. I - just ... never mind. I guess it's not important now." He swallowed, hard, "One thing. What is it?"

Dean glared at him for another minute, before stepping up, wrapping his arms around his little brother - baby brother Sammy - holding on tight with all that was in him, rasping out harshly. "if you ever lie to me again about anything this big - ever - I'm taking the older brother prerogative and kicking your ass from here to the Kansas border, and back again. You understanding me, Samuel Wesson ... Winchester?"

From the direction of his shoulder, he heard a muffled noise. It could of have been a snort, it could have been a sob. He wasn't looking, but he did hear when Sam said softly. "I hear you."

"Good." Over Sam's overly large mammoth shoulder, he could see Jo actually beaming behind him, and he gave her a half-hearted glower, before he turned his head a little and gave Sam another squeeze before stepping back and pointing a finger in Sam's blotchy, tear streaked face. "Bitch."

Sam's smile was watery, but as bright as the sky, as he said back with heartfelt and what Dean considered awesome brotherly affection. "Jerk."

*************
Epilogue is here.