We Three Kings 2/3
When the doctors told them he needed to stay in the hospital to undergo counseling, Sam signed himself out against medical orders. Dean returned from his brief sojourn to coffee to find his brother’s bed empty and called Cas in a panic.
After that, there was no turning back.
Sam showed up randomly, only to crash on their sofa. Dean tried coaxing, tried bribing, tried screaming, but nothing prevented his brother from growing thinner, paler, and disappearing.
Dean and Cas found cash gone from their wallets. They found beer and wine and whiskey gone from their cabinets. They found empty dime bags and syringes in their trash cans.
Cas had held Dean on the rare occasions he'd cried. Rubbed his back, murmured platitudes, promised to right the universe. But somewhere along the way, he could no longer bring himself to say everything will be fine when Dean confessed his terror that his brother would die.
Now
Cas winced at the sound of Sam retching for the fourth time in a row. Dean crouched behind him in the downstairs bathroom, one hand clenching his forehead to keep him from smashing his forehead on the porcelain, the other resting on his shoulder.
“Didn’t-” Sam heaved-“even get the-” he coughed, hard, and spit into the bowl-“fun of a damn-high.”
“Shove it,” Dean muttered. Sam groaned and spit a few more times, then sat back, weakly. Cas handed a glass of water to Dean, who got Sam to spit and drink.
“M’cold,” Sam shivered. Dean had Sam’s favorite brown hoodie on hand, and helped him into it. A half hour ago Sam had been moaning for ice because he claimed to be burning up. Now he yanked his sweatshirt close and shivered as if against a fierce winter wind.
“Think you could lay down?” Dean asked. Sam nodded. Dean helped him to his feet, a reassuring hand on his brother’s chest when Sam swayed, then helped him the few feet from the small downstairs bathroom to the pullout sofa. Sam flopped onto it, still shaking, eyes anxiously tracking his brother’s movements.
“Dean?”
“Just popping into the kitchen, Sammy,” he said, casually, but with a small, reassuring smile in his brother’s direction. “Grab some of that red crap you like, okay?”
“Are you mad at me?”
Dean sighed and glanced at Cas. Cas squeezed his boyfriend’s arm lightly. “I’ll grab us all something to drink.” He didn’t miss the relief in Sam’s face, or the appreciation in Dean’s. When Sam’s anxiety hit its peaks, he often convinced himself that Dean was not only mad, but fully prepared to abandon him. It tried Dean to the edges of his patience, and, though he never admitted it, Cas knew it hurt him terribly that, no matter how steadfast his devotion, Sam allowed his mind to convince him that Dean would give him up.
In their small, cozy kitchen, he pulled down two glasses and filled them with cold water from their Brita filter, then found another glass and poured in some Gatorade Fruit Punch with lots of ice for Sam. For whatever reason, it was the only thing he'd drink when he was sick--he claimed water was "too salty" (although Gatorade had significantly more sodium)--and any other flavor was too "chemically" (although the young man had been clogging his veins with illegal chemicals for months). After his admission to Rosemount, Dean and Cas always kept a supply on hand, and had a bottle or two chilling in the fridge in case Sam stopped by and needed it.
When he returned to the livingroom Sam had rolled away from Dean, forehead on his arm, breathing hard. Dean crouched over him, a steady hand on his brother’s back, talking in a soft, steady stream.
“Sam?” Cas asked softly. “Can you try to drink something?”
The brown head shook a weak ‘no.’ Cas felt like an interloper when Dean leaned down and spoke softly and, seconds later, Sam raised his head and took the glass of Gatorade with shaky fingers.
“Sit up,” Dean scolded lightly, and Sam obeyed, managing a few small sips before his hand seemed to go limp. Dean quickly caught the glass and passed to it back to Cas, then stretched out alongside Sam, propping himself partially up on pillows while Sam curled tightly.
"What's the name of that song?" Cas asked. “Brown paper packages tied up with strings..."
The Winchesters turned and glared at the exact same time, so in-sync they could be twins. Cas can't help but grin. "C'mon. Sam, if this were a movie, you'd be like Dean always says--'emo.'" Sam and Dean snort, yet again, as if on cue. Cas clears his throat dramatically. "When the dog bites, when the bee stings..."
"Sorry, Cas, but I don't remember some perky little British chick whirling around singing 'when withdrawal from heavy-duty-illegal-opiate-narcotic-substances-kicks in," Dean smirked, hand rubbing a reassuring circle on his brother's back.
“Fine. Favorite things-spoken.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly. Me first. Warm towels. Sam?”
Sam’s breath hitched as a shudder gripped him. “You don’t want to know,” he grumbled.
“Dean?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Fine, back to me. Coffee, first thing. Sam?”
“Ugh,” he moaned.
“Dean?”
Dean looked at him over Sam’s dark head, irritated. “My car,” he huffed. Cas smiled.
“Rainy Sundays.”
“The smell of my car.”
“Saturday’s off.”
“Driving my car.”
“Breakfast for dinner.”
“Gassing up my car.”
“Pizza on a graveyard shift.”
“Listening to music while cruising around in my car.”
“Patients going home healthy.”
“Cleaning-”
“Shut--up about the--damn--car,” Sam moaned. Dean grinned and thumped his brother’s shoulder.
“I will if you’ll think of one.”
“Can’t.”
“Fine. Cleaning my car.”
“Dean’s hamburgers,” Cas said.
“Eating my hamburgers in my car.”
“My chicken marasala.”
Dean made a face. “Tuning up my car.”
“Christmas trees.”
“Getting fuel for my baby under the Christmas tree and putting it in my car.”
“I’m going to kill you-” Sam shuddered-"both. And put the--bodies in--the trunk of--your-- God--damn car."
“C’mon, Sammy. Just one, teeny, weeny, legal thing.”
Sam was quiet for almost a full minute. Then, so soft Cas almost missed it, he said: “cold rootbeer.”
Dean beamed at his boyfriend. Cas smiled back. “Donuts in the coffee room.”
“Rock hits count-downs during work hours,” Dean said. Sam was quiet again. Then:
“Watching bad--scary movies with--Dean.”
“See?” Dean proclaimed. “Someone appreciates me.”
“He doesn’t watch them, he shouts at them,” Cas protested. Sam smiled.
“That’s why it’s-” another shudder, “-funny. He gets so-involved. Even if we’ve seen it-before. He-yells like-he can-change it.”
"If they'd listen I could. 'Look, there's an alien-serial killer on the loose who hides in pitch dark-alleyways, and my best friend just screamed and vanished. I have no weapon, no defense skills, and I can't see a goddamn thing. Should I call the police? Ambulance? Run to the nearest, well-lit location and ask a nice store manager for help? No. I'll stroll on down the damned black alley, tentatively calling said-friends' name, all the while breathing loud enough to ensure I can be located by any minimally functional human being within a four mile-radius."
"Like--you'd--leave-me-or--Cas--in- a--dark--alley," Sam teased.
"You're Goddamn right I would. Not leaving my baby an orphan."
"Here I thought I loved a loyal man," Cas said.
"Loyalty stops where the dark alley begins."
"I love when you get romantic."
Sam laughed softly. "Got--another. Favorite."
"Shoot," Dean grinned.
"When--me and Cas--team up on--Dean."
"Which is totally uncalled for, by the way. You two wouldn't even know each other if it weren't for my stunning good looks and superior brothering."
"Well, I second Sam's favorite," Cas said.
"Fine. My favorite is when my dork little brother and my equally geeky boyfriend fall asleep on the couch and leave me control of the remote."
Sam swallowed, hard. Cas reached behind him and brought the Gatorade over, letting Dean guide the glass to his brother's lips. Sam drank slowly, thanking them softly while Cas set the cup back down.
"I liked when--Jess used to--team up on--me with--Dean," he managed, voice wavering slightly.
"I second that," Dean said, voice calm and rock solid. He glanced at Cas, who kept their gazes locked.
"I liked when the four of us spent Sundays watching a game and having dinner," he admitted.
"I liked when Jess made us all dress up for Halloween," Dean said.
"I liked when--she called you--both to come over when I--was stressed and- studying and--then made--me take a--break."
"I liked when the four of us went to the movies."
"I liked that Jess, like me, would talk at the movies."
"I liked--that you--and--Jess ate all the--popcorn."
"I liked that they'd make us take them out for burgers after they ate all the popcorn."
"I liked that Jess made Sammy eat more than rabbit food."
"I--liked that--you and--Jess were--the girlfriends," Sam teased. Dean swore. Cas grinned.
"I like that Dean's still the girlfriend."
"You wish I was--"
"Too much--information!" Sam shouted, as much as he could shout. Dean and Cas exchanged a glance, and even Sam smiled, and then a sharp, vicious tremor rocked him, and Sam's fingers tangled in Dean's shirt, and Cas pressed the heat pat against the vibrating muscles of his friend's abdomen, and the two pressed close against the shaking body between them.
"Oh--God--" Sam gasped. "Dean," he sobbed.
"I gotcha," Dean whispered, smoothing Sam's hair. "You're alright, Sammy."
Sam huddled closer to his brother, if that was even possible. Cas dabbed the washcloth over his friend's face, hushing gently. Sam let out a wild laugh that had Dean looking, panicked, at his boyfriend.
"I still want to use," Sam half-laughed, half-sobbed. "How screwed up is that?"
"It's normal," Cas answered, trying to ignore Dean's devastated face.
"I--I want it. I can't--stop wanting it." He pushed his cheek against Dean's shirt, eyes scrunched tight. "Sometimes when I--used I'd--take too--much. I'd--mix a bunch and--hope--I'd--hope I'd--I didn't--want to--wake--up." A tear escaped his eye. "God--Dean--I--sometimes--I don't--want to--wake--up."
Dean closed his eyes, a lone tear escaping. He slowly, gently smoothed his younger brother's hair, tucking stray strands behind his ear, brushing bangs off his forehead. "So...why'd you stop?" he murmured.
"'Cause--you said--said I couldn't--come back." Sam let out a sob. "I--I wanted to--to come--back--"
"Shhh...you're back," Dean's voice broke. Cas engulfed them both under his arm.
"You're home, Sam," he said firmly, watching Dean bury his chin in his brother's hair. "This is your home. With us. You can always come here."
"I-miss-them-so-much," Sam sobbed. "I--destroy--every--thing."
"No. Sammy--"
"Sam, you're sick," Cas wiped Sam's sweaty brow again. "That's okay."
"I--I lied I--stole I--hurt you. Both--and you've been--nothing--nothing but--good to me."
"You were high," Dean murmured. "You were hooked on something and it altered your thinking. It took you over, but it's not you."
"You'd say that--about Dad."
"Goddamnit, Sammy, Dad never fought! He took Mom's death as a license to do anything he wanted." Dean grasped his brother's shoulders and shoved him back into Cas. "Please, Sammy, let it go. This...guilt is going to kill you before the drugs ever do."
"We're your family, Sam," Cas said softly. "We know it's hard, but you've been clean and sober eight months. It'll only get easier."
"Re--re--relapsed, to-to-tonight," he gasped, shuddering.
"No," Cas snapped. "Relapse is willingly going back completely--physically, emotionally, psychologically. This is not that. It's a--hiccup."
"Hiccup?" Sam and Dean said at the same time. Cas shrugged.
"Uh..."
"That your--professional--opin--in--inion--ion, doctor?"
"Christ, what do you think he calls people with actual hiccups?"
"Ba--ba--babies."
"God, what does he call babies?"
"What happened to Sam being on my side?" Cas said with fake hurt. Dean grinned.
"Sorry, but he was mine first."
"Ugh, no--no--gay--jokes." He shuddered. "Bad enough I don't--don't--know where--these--sheets have--been."
"Right, because heteros don't have sex on sheets."
"No--no--no--no--sex! No--brother--sex!"
“So, is Cas sex fair game?”
“Cas-is-a-brother.”
Dean made a face. “Thanks, Sammy. I’m never going to get laid again.”
Sam smiled-a small, sweaty, sweet smile. Undoubtedly, one of Cas’ favorite things.
Then
Cas didn’t know what had sparked the fight, or what was exchanged during it. Even Missouri couldn’t get it out of them-it was too painful, and shameful, for either of them to speak of.
All Cas knows is he came home and the brothers were both bloody, sweaty, and wild with fury. Sam used his slightly larger frame to slam his brother to the floor and got him in a choke hold, only to take a ferocious punch to the chin.
“Stop it!” Cas had wailed, throwing himself between them. “Sam, Dean-not this!”
“I’m the one in denial?”Sam had shouted in his brother's face.
“You’re a thug and a liar and not anyone I’d want to be blood with!”
“Stop!” Cas pleaded, his own heart breaking. It was too much like his own home, his own brothers. Not the Winchesters. Not his Winchesters.
“Forget it,” Sam hissed. “I’m leaving. You don't know me--neither one of you do. You never have, and you never will!"
"You walk out," Dean roared, "don't you--ever--come back."
Sam had spat at their feet. He had slammed the door.
Now
"Cas?"
Cas turned and grinned at Sam. "Hey. You feel you could eat something? I was making eggs."
Sam shivered but nodded. "Can I help?"
"Sure. You want to put coffee on?"
"God, yes." He offered his own small smile and moved toward the coffee maker. Cas went back to the stove, pulling down plates as he went. "Dean still out?"
"Yeah. He was up with me around four."
"Sorry. I don't even remember falling asleep."
"It was your night off." Sam's voice faltered. He spooned coffee into the filter and started it brewing, eyes on the doorway. "Cas...I'm so sorry."
"Sam, you didn't do anything wrong."
"No, you...you have your own family. You and Dean..." his voice hitched. "I wanted him to...to be happy and not...have to think...about me. And here you...you take care of me as much as him. It's not what you signed on for. I'm so damn sorry."
Cas just smiled. "Sam," he soothed, "you know what a mess my family is. They take off the second there's the littlest disagreement. Two of my brothers stormed out once when we were trying decide between white lights and colored lights on the Christmas tree. Seeing you and Dean...you're the family I always dreamed of." Sam snorted in disbelief. "I want to fit in with you two. You'd do anything for each other. You take care of each other."
"I'm dead weight," Sam said miserably, slumping against the fridge. "Dean's so strong. I've wanted to be like him my whole life."
"Going through rehab? Staying sober? Carrying on through all the hits life's given you? You're doing better than I would. Better than anyone." Cas grinned and dumped the eggs onto a plate. "You're my friend too, Sam."
"But not your brother." The younger Winchester scrubbed at his eyes. "You have so little time off...you shouldn't have to spend it worried about me."
"I don't. I choose to. Because I want to learn what it's like to have a family that endures everything and anything, and you and Dean teach me that every day. And it's better than what I envisioned."
Sam stared at him with such shock and admiration and sudden, complete love that Cas couldn't help but beam. And then his over-tired boyfriend cleared his throat from the doorway.
"If you two are done menstruating, I'd love some Goddamn breakfast," he grumbled. Sam smiled and glanced at Cas, who tossed him a wink and went back to the stove.
Part I Next
After that, there was no turning back.
Sam showed up randomly, only to crash on their sofa. Dean tried coaxing, tried bribing, tried screaming, but nothing prevented his brother from growing thinner, paler, and disappearing.
Dean and Cas found cash gone from their wallets. They found beer and wine and whiskey gone from their cabinets. They found empty dime bags and syringes in their trash cans.
Cas had held Dean on the rare occasions he'd cried. Rubbed his back, murmured platitudes, promised to right the universe. But somewhere along the way, he could no longer bring himself to say everything will be fine when Dean confessed his terror that his brother would die.
Now
Cas winced at the sound of Sam retching for the fourth time in a row. Dean crouched behind him in the downstairs bathroom, one hand clenching his forehead to keep him from smashing his forehead on the porcelain, the other resting on his shoulder.
“Didn’t-” Sam heaved-“even get the-” he coughed, hard, and spit into the bowl-“fun of a damn-high.”
“Shove it,” Dean muttered. Sam groaned and spit a few more times, then sat back, weakly. Cas handed a glass of water to Dean, who got Sam to spit and drink.
“M’cold,” Sam shivered. Dean had Sam’s favorite brown hoodie on hand, and helped him into it. A half hour ago Sam had been moaning for ice because he claimed to be burning up. Now he yanked his sweatshirt close and shivered as if against a fierce winter wind.
“Think you could lay down?” Dean asked. Sam nodded. Dean helped him to his feet, a reassuring hand on his brother’s chest when Sam swayed, then helped him the few feet from the small downstairs bathroom to the pullout sofa. Sam flopped onto it, still shaking, eyes anxiously tracking his brother’s movements.
“Dean?”
“Just popping into the kitchen, Sammy,” he said, casually, but with a small, reassuring smile in his brother’s direction. “Grab some of that red crap you like, okay?”
“Are you mad at me?”
Dean sighed and glanced at Cas. Cas squeezed his boyfriend’s arm lightly. “I’ll grab us all something to drink.” He didn’t miss the relief in Sam’s face, or the appreciation in Dean’s. When Sam’s anxiety hit its peaks, he often convinced himself that Dean was not only mad, but fully prepared to abandon him. It tried Dean to the edges of his patience, and, though he never admitted it, Cas knew it hurt him terribly that, no matter how steadfast his devotion, Sam allowed his mind to convince him that Dean would give him up.
In their small, cozy kitchen, he pulled down two glasses and filled them with cold water from their Brita filter, then found another glass and poured in some Gatorade Fruit Punch with lots of ice for Sam. For whatever reason, it was the only thing he'd drink when he was sick--he claimed water was "too salty" (although Gatorade had significantly more sodium)--and any other flavor was too "chemically" (although the young man had been clogging his veins with illegal chemicals for months). After his admission to Rosemount, Dean and Cas always kept a supply on hand, and had a bottle or two chilling in the fridge in case Sam stopped by and needed it.
When he returned to the livingroom Sam had rolled away from Dean, forehead on his arm, breathing hard. Dean crouched over him, a steady hand on his brother’s back, talking in a soft, steady stream.
“Sam?” Cas asked softly. “Can you try to drink something?”
The brown head shook a weak ‘no.’ Cas felt like an interloper when Dean leaned down and spoke softly and, seconds later, Sam raised his head and took the glass of Gatorade with shaky fingers.
“Sit up,” Dean scolded lightly, and Sam obeyed, managing a few small sips before his hand seemed to go limp. Dean quickly caught the glass and passed to it back to Cas, then stretched out alongside Sam, propping himself partially up on pillows while Sam curled tightly.
"What's the name of that song?" Cas asked. “Brown paper packages tied up with strings..."
The Winchesters turned and glared at the exact same time, so in-sync they could be twins. Cas can't help but grin. "C'mon. Sam, if this were a movie, you'd be like Dean always says--'emo.'" Sam and Dean snort, yet again, as if on cue. Cas clears his throat dramatically. "When the dog bites, when the bee stings..."
"Sorry, Cas, but I don't remember some perky little British chick whirling around singing 'when withdrawal from heavy-duty-illegal-opiate-narcotic-substances-kicks in," Dean smirked, hand rubbing a reassuring circle on his brother's back.
“Fine. Favorite things-spoken.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly. Me first. Warm towels. Sam?”
Sam’s breath hitched as a shudder gripped him. “You don’t want to know,” he grumbled.
“Dean?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Fine, back to me. Coffee, first thing. Sam?”
“Ugh,” he moaned.
“Dean?”
Dean looked at him over Sam’s dark head, irritated. “My car,” he huffed. Cas smiled.
“Rainy Sundays.”
“The smell of my car.”
“Saturday’s off.”
“Driving my car.”
“Breakfast for dinner.”
“Gassing up my car.”
“Pizza on a graveyard shift.”
“Listening to music while cruising around in my car.”
“Patients going home healthy.”
“Cleaning-”
“Shut--up about the--damn--car,” Sam moaned. Dean grinned and thumped his brother’s shoulder.
“I will if you’ll think of one.”
“Can’t.”
“Fine. Cleaning my car.”
“Dean’s hamburgers,” Cas said.
“Eating my hamburgers in my car.”
“My chicken marasala.”
Dean made a face. “Tuning up my car.”
“Christmas trees.”
“Getting fuel for my baby under the Christmas tree and putting it in my car.”
“I’m going to kill you-” Sam shuddered-"both. And put the--bodies in--the trunk of--your-- God--damn car."
“C’mon, Sammy. Just one, teeny, weeny, legal thing.”
Sam was quiet for almost a full minute. Then, so soft Cas almost missed it, he said: “cold rootbeer.”
Dean beamed at his boyfriend. Cas smiled back. “Donuts in the coffee room.”
“Rock hits count-downs during work hours,” Dean said. Sam was quiet again. Then:
“Watching bad--scary movies with--Dean.”
“See?” Dean proclaimed. “Someone appreciates me.”
“He doesn’t watch them, he shouts at them,” Cas protested. Sam smiled.
“That’s why it’s-” another shudder, “-funny. He gets so-involved. Even if we’ve seen it-before. He-yells like-he can-change it.”
"If they'd listen I could. 'Look, there's an alien-serial killer on the loose who hides in pitch dark-alleyways, and my best friend just screamed and vanished. I have no weapon, no defense skills, and I can't see a goddamn thing. Should I call the police? Ambulance? Run to the nearest, well-lit location and ask a nice store manager for help? No. I'll stroll on down the damned black alley, tentatively calling said-friends' name, all the while breathing loud enough to ensure I can be located by any minimally functional human being within a four mile-radius."
"Like--you'd--leave-me-or--Cas--in- a--dark--alley," Sam teased.
"You're Goddamn right I would. Not leaving my baby an orphan."
"Here I thought I loved a loyal man," Cas said.
"Loyalty stops where the dark alley begins."
"I love when you get romantic."
Sam laughed softly. "Got--another. Favorite."
"Shoot," Dean grinned.
"When--me and Cas--team up on--Dean."
"Which is totally uncalled for, by the way. You two wouldn't even know each other if it weren't for my stunning good looks and superior brothering."
"Well, I second Sam's favorite," Cas said.
"Fine. My favorite is when my dork little brother and my equally geeky boyfriend fall asleep on the couch and leave me control of the remote."
Sam swallowed, hard. Cas reached behind him and brought the Gatorade over, letting Dean guide the glass to his brother's lips. Sam drank slowly, thanking them softly while Cas set the cup back down.
"I liked when--Jess used to--team up on--me with--Dean," he managed, voice wavering slightly.
"I second that," Dean said, voice calm and rock solid. He glanced at Cas, who kept their gazes locked.
"I liked when the four of us spent Sundays watching a game and having dinner," he admitted.
"I liked when Jess made us all dress up for Halloween," Dean said.
"I liked when--she called you--both to come over when I--was stressed and- studying and--then made--me take a--break."
"I liked when the four of us went to the movies."
"I liked that Jess, like me, would talk at the movies."
"I liked--that you--and--Jess ate all the--popcorn."
"I liked that they'd make us take them out for burgers after they ate all the popcorn."
"I liked that Jess made Sammy eat more than rabbit food."
"I--liked that--you and--Jess were--the girlfriends," Sam teased. Dean swore. Cas grinned.
"I like that Dean's still the girlfriend."
"You wish I was--"
"Too much--information!" Sam shouted, as much as he could shout. Dean and Cas exchanged a glance, and even Sam smiled, and then a sharp, vicious tremor rocked him, and Sam's fingers tangled in Dean's shirt, and Cas pressed the heat pat against the vibrating muscles of his friend's abdomen, and the two pressed close against the shaking body between them.
"Oh--God--" Sam gasped. "Dean," he sobbed.
"I gotcha," Dean whispered, smoothing Sam's hair. "You're alright, Sammy."
Sam huddled closer to his brother, if that was even possible. Cas dabbed the washcloth over his friend's face, hushing gently. Sam let out a wild laugh that had Dean looking, panicked, at his boyfriend.
"I still want to use," Sam half-laughed, half-sobbed. "How screwed up is that?"
"It's normal," Cas answered, trying to ignore Dean's devastated face.
"I--I want it. I can't--stop wanting it." He pushed his cheek against Dean's shirt, eyes scrunched tight. "Sometimes when I--used I'd--take too--much. I'd--mix a bunch and--hope--I'd--hope I'd--I didn't--want to--wake--up." A tear escaped his eye. "God--Dean--I--sometimes--I don't--want to--wake--up."
Dean closed his eyes, a lone tear escaping. He slowly, gently smoothed his younger brother's hair, tucking stray strands behind his ear, brushing bangs off his forehead. "So...why'd you stop?" he murmured.
"'Cause--you said--said I couldn't--come back." Sam let out a sob. "I--I wanted to--to come--back--"
"Shhh...you're back," Dean's voice broke. Cas engulfed them both under his arm.
"You're home, Sam," he said firmly, watching Dean bury his chin in his brother's hair. "This is your home. With us. You can always come here."
"I-miss-them-so-much," Sam sobbed. "I--destroy--every--thing."
"No. Sammy--"
"Sam, you're sick," Cas wiped Sam's sweaty brow again. "That's okay."
"I--I lied I--stole I--hurt you. Both--and you've been--nothing--nothing but--good to me."
"You were high," Dean murmured. "You were hooked on something and it altered your thinking. It took you over, but it's not you."
"You'd say that--about Dad."
"Goddamnit, Sammy, Dad never fought! He took Mom's death as a license to do anything he wanted." Dean grasped his brother's shoulders and shoved him back into Cas. "Please, Sammy, let it go. This...guilt is going to kill you before the drugs ever do."
"We're your family, Sam," Cas said softly. "We know it's hard, but you've been clean and sober eight months. It'll only get easier."
"Re--re--relapsed, to-to-tonight," he gasped, shuddering.
"No," Cas snapped. "Relapse is willingly going back completely--physically, emotionally, psychologically. This is not that. It's a--hiccup."
"Hiccup?" Sam and Dean said at the same time. Cas shrugged.
"Uh..."
"That your--professional--opin--in--inion--ion, doctor?"
"Christ, what do you think he calls people with actual hiccups?"
"Ba--ba--babies."
"God, what does he call babies?"
"What happened to Sam being on my side?" Cas said with fake hurt. Dean grinned.
"Sorry, but he was mine first."
"Ugh, no--no--gay--jokes." He shuddered. "Bad enough I don't--don't--know where--these--sheets have--been."
"Right, because heteros don't have sex on sheets."
"No--no--no--no--sex! No--brother--sex!"
“So, is Cas sex fair game?”
“Cas-is-a-brother.”
Dean made a face. “Thanks, Sammy. I’m never going to get laid again.”
Sam smiled-a small, sweaty, sweet smile. Undoubtedly, one of Cas’ favorite things.
Then
Cas didn’t know what had sparked the fight, or what was exchanged during it. Even Missouri couldn’t get it out of them-it was too painful, and shameful, for either of them to speak of.
All Cas knows is he came home and the brothers were both bloody, sweaty, and wild with fury. Sam used his slightly larger frame to slam his brother to the floor and got him in a choke hold, only to take a ferocious punch to the chin.
“Stop it!” Cas had wailed, throwing himself between them. “Sam, Dean-not this!”
“I’m the one in denial?”Sam had shouted in his brother's face.
“You’re a thug and a liar and not anyone I’d want to be blood with!”
“Stop!” Cas pleaded, his own heart breaking. It was too much like his own home, his own brothers. Not the Winchesters. Not his Winchesters.
“Forget it,” Sam hissed. “I’m leaving. You don't know me--neither one of you do. You never have, and you never will!"
"You walk out," Dean roared, "don't you--ever--come back."
Sam had spat at their feet. He had slammed the door.
Now
"Cas?"
Cas turned and grinned at Sam. "Hey. You feel you could eat something? I was making eggs."
Sam shivered but nodded. "Can I help?"
"Sure. You want to put coffee on?"
"God, yes." He offered his own small smile and moved toward the coffee maker. Cas went back to the stove, pulling down plates as he went. "Dean still out?"
"Yeah. He was up with me around four."
"Sorry. I don't even remember falling asleep."
"It was your night off." Sam's voice faltered. He spooned coffee into the filter and started it brewing, eyes on the doorway. "Cas...I'm so sorry."
"Sam, you didn't do anything wrong."
"No, you...you have your own family. You and Dean..." his voice hitched. "I wanted him to...to be happy and not...have to think...about me. And here you...you take care of me as much as him. It's not what you signed on for. I'm so damn sorry."
Cas just smiled. "Sam," he soothed, "you know what a mess my family is. They take off the second there's the littlest disagreement. Two of my brothers stormed out once when we were trying decide between white lights and colored lights on the Christmas tree. Seeing you and Dean...you're the family I always dreamed of." Sam snorted in disbelief. "I want to fit in with you two. You'd do anything for each other. You take care of each other."
"I'm dead weight," Sam said miserably, slumping against the fridge. "Dean's so strong. I've wanted to be like him my whole life."
"Going through rehab? Staying sober? Carrying on through all the hits life's given you? You're doing better than I would. Better than anyone." Cas grinned and dumped the eggs onto a plate. "You're my friend too, Sam."
"But not your brother." The younger Winchester scrubbed at his eyes. "You have so little time off...you shouldn't have to spend it worried about me."
"I don't. I choose to. Because I want to learn what it's like to have a family that endures everything and anything, and you and Dean teach me that every day. And it's better than what I envisioned."
Sam stared at him with such shock and admiration and sudden, complete love that Cas couldn't help but beam. And then his over-tired boyfriend cleared his throat from the doorway.
"If you two are done menstruating, I'd love some Goddamn breakfast," he grumbled. Sam smiled and glanced at Cas, who tossed him a wink and went back to the stove.
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