Supernatural: Houses Out of Cardboard Boxes [Part 2/2]
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PART TWO
Dean gets home later than usual the next day, his arms full of a squirming ball of fur.
"You weren't joking, then? About the puppy?"
"I never joke about serious things, Sammy," Dean says with a grin. "What do you think?"
He holds the dog out. It yips and Sam would swear it's smiling. It's big for a puppy, obviously bound to be huge once he's grown up, which is exactly what Sam was hoping for. His ears are floppy and he's got black spots over brown fur, and Sam would want to steal him if he weren't already technically his dog.
Sam reaches out, putting a hand between the puppy's ears and giving its head a good rub. "What's his name?"
"Are you ready for this?" Dean pauses. "Fido."
"Fido," Sam says incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"
"I know, right? What do people even get paid to do at the pound? 'Cause it's not naming dogs."
Sam doesn't even know where to begin, and he's pretty sure Dean's trying to get a rise, so he lets that one slide. "So what are we really gonna call it?"
He's rewarded for his restraint by a disappointed look in Dean's eyes. "No pouting? No forty-minute spiel on the plight of the animal worker and how they deserve my respect?" Dean sets the puppy down and picks Cas up instead. "You're not no fun anymore. It's breaking my heart." Cas greets Dean with a palm over his face, and Dean laughs as he dislodges the little hand. "Hello, good sir? How are you today? Did you see your new friend?"
Cas points at The Puppy Formerly Known as Fido and claps, and Dean sets him back down on the floor. The dog sniffs for a few seconds, Sam tenses, ready to intervene if it goes badly, but then the puppy is the one being climbed on and it seems to be adjusting to its lot in life fairly generously.
"He kinda looks like Sputnik!" Sam says watching as Castiel flops his body over the dog's back. "More white, but…let's call him Sputnik."
"Sputnik? That sounds like a potato."
"It's not a potato." Sam remembers to rein in his attitude. Dean wants to annoy him. Sam is going to be the bigger person. "It's a dog."
"I know who Sputnik is," Dean replies. "Why don't we just call the dog Commie?"
"I don't see you making any grand suggestions."
"I got the damn dog!" Dean defends.
"Yeah, well," Sam replies. "Until you think of something better, I'm calling him Sputnik."
Dean never does think of anything better.
_______________________________________________________________
If Dean's secret plan with getting the dog was to put Sam in a situation where he's forced to go outside on his own at least once a day, it works. At first Sam's nervous about it-sure, they've been living in Saratoga for six months and nothing bad has happened, but Sam hasn't really left the protective bubble of his house much, let alone without Dean. Still, it's good for him, he can secretly admit that much. Cas loves going out regularly, not just on weekends when Dean is home, and Sam starts getting to know neighbors, even has a few casual friends.
He makes it a point to spend at least an hour outside with the dog every day unless it's raining, and after a couple of months he's comfortable enough to go grocery shopping and run quick errands during the day while Dean's at work.
He changes the routine on Halloween, though, just goes for a stroll around the block before Dean gets home so he can spend the time he's usually outside getting ready. Cas isn't old enough to trick-or-treat, and Sam knows Dean will never let him hear the end of this, but he's stupidly excited anyway and can't help himself.
"Honey, I'm home," Dean calls from the door. Sam hears Sputnik's claws scratching on the floors as he runs to greet him. "What's up, Trotsky?"
Sam pads into the living room with Castiel in one arm. "Hey, Dean."
Dean stares, a look of abject horror on his face, and blinks about once a minute. Finally he steps forward and says, "What the hell did you do to our child?"
Sam smiles. "Is this the cutest thing you've ever seen or what?"
Dean pokes at the costume as if the fabric will bite him. "Where did you even get a trench coat this small?" he asks. "Please, please tell me you did not sew it. Sam, the cooking channel is one thing, but-"
"I don't watch the cooking channel!" Sam says with way too much conviction. Dean doesn't know, Sam's pretty sure. There's no way he can know. He can't prove anything. Sam coughs and tries to relax. "I mean, why would I watch the cooking channel?"
Dean gives him an 'I'm on to you look.' "Oh, right. The 'internet' taught you all those recipes."
Sam nods.
"And Paula Deen had nothing to do with your sudden passion for butter."
Sam raises an eyebrow. "Hate to say it, man, but if you know who Paula Deen is, I may not be the one guilty of cooking channeling here."
Dean tsks. "You forgot to change the channel before you turned it off last week. And you know I've learned how to use the TiVo, right?"
"Oh, whatever!" Sam says. "Like you aren't enjoying it."
Dean smiles triumphantly. "I am. Just had to hear you say it. Now, give me the holy tax accountant. We have more important issues to discuss."
"And what are those?"
"Did you sew this costume? Because if so I am throwing you out and buying a new brother. Cooking is one thing, but this…this is well made, Sam. I cannot have it in my house."
"It's probably worse than that," Sam admits, letting Dean take Cas.
"What could be worse than the thought that while I'm at work all day, getting all manly and covered in sweat, my protégé is at home, crying over Nicolas Sparks movies and sewing?"
"I didn't sew it," Sam says. Dean lets out a relieved breath. "I, uh, bought it online."
"That's not so bad," Dean says.
Sam covers his face with one hand. "From a Supernatural fan website."
Dean's eyes get bigger; he looks down at Cas with disgust. "Oh, for shame, Sammy."
"I know, I know!" Sam laughs a little hysterically. "It's just…I really wanted to try the joke out. And I couldn't find anyone who would sell me a trench coat that small and then I remembered that Chuck's publisher had printed a few books even after he told her not to, and I wanted to see if anyone had thought of this, and they had and…" Sam lifts his hands.
"Just stop talking," Dean says. "Just stop. You know I'm never going to let you hear the end of this, right?"
"Yeah, I figured."
"Good," Dean says, bouncing Cas on his side. "As long as we're clear."
Sam sticks his tongue out. "Whatever, I hate you. I want to leave the house at 7, so if you plan to shower or get in a costume, I suggest you do it while I make dinner."
"Well, obviously I'm dressing up," Dean shifts his weight and gives Sam a piercing look. "Are you dressing up?"
"Of course not," Sam says. "You know I hate Halloween."
"Awful lot of trouble to go through for a holiday you hate?"
Sam pokes Cas in the tummy and gives him a kiss on the forehead. "Aww, but look how happy he is." He stands up and smiles at Dean. "And if you think this is bad, you should see the costume I've got waiting for the dog. That one I made myself."
"You have too much time on your hands," Dean says.
"Well, obviously," Sam replies heatedly, and Dean winces, realizing he said the wrong thing.
"No, look. It's great. I think it's great. What's the dog gonna be?"
Sam averts his eyes, feels his cheeks burning. "I might have made him a cardboard spaceship."
Dean laughs like it's the best thing he's ever heard. "All right, you freak. Go make me dinner. But next year I'm doing costumes."
"The kid's getting wings and a halo and Sputnik is going to be Che Guevara," Sam guesses.
"You suck," Dean says. "Now I'm not even excited."
"Will it make you feel better if I pretend to forget this conversation ever happened?"
"A little," Dean admits.
"What if I agree to dress up next year?"
Dean grins. "Now we're talking."
"Cowboys, huh?"
"Stop guessing!" Dean says, throwing the hand that isn't holding Cas in the air.
_______________________________________________________________
Every few weeks, Dean still goes out. Sam's not surprised, not really, Dean was never good at abstaining and the fact that they've got a kid doesn't really change much. Sam's always around to watch Cas. Dean's got no ties. The only difference is that Sam gets unreasonably jealous now when Dean's hookups used to produce only amusement or the occasional annoyance when Dean didn't focus enough on a job.
There's a knock at Sam's bedroom door, and Sam jolts up, only realizing he was half asleep when he sees Dean in the doorway. "Did I wake you?"
Sam sits up, looking around. The TV is buzzing with some documentary about the Civil War Sam's only half-heard. He smiles at Dean, and allows himself to think that Dean looks gorgeous, because he's still fuzzy from sleep and not at all in his right mind. "I'm up," he says, but it slurs into one syllable.
Dean laughs. "Sorry, man."
Sam shakes his head. "No, no, I should probably change and brush my teeth and stuff anyway." He rubs his eyes and yawns. "Did you have a good night?"
"Yeah," Dean says, relaxing against the frame of Sam's door. "You?"
"Fine," Sam says.
"Cas sleeping?"
"Miraculously. There was a marathon of that farm show he likes so much on earlier, the one that's literally just farm animals making farm animal sounds." Sam shudders. "I thought he would never fall asleep."
"The horror," Dean says.
"Mmm, you should see my battle scars."
Dean fidgets uncomfortably in the doorway, and Sam wonders if he should invite him in. But obviously Dean knows he doesn't need permission to come into Sam's room, so if he's in the doorway, that's where he wants to be.
"You meet any girls at the bar?" Sam asks, trying to sound uninterested.
"A couple," Dean replies, cocky grin that's all Dean and Sam wants to die. He has no right to be upset, obviously, but all he can think on nights like this is, I bought you that bed, how can you bring some girl home to it?, as if he's Dean's cuckolded wife and not his brother who should give not one damn who Dean does or does not sleep with or where he does it. "But, I uh. I dunno. Wasn't really feeling it."
Sam manages to refrain from looking too happy about it. "Maybe next time?"
Dean shrugs. "Whatever. I'm getting too old for this shit." He kicks the doorframe lightly, and Sam decides to cut Dean's foot off if there's a scuff there tomorrow.
He frowns. Ever since Lisa and Ben, Dean's not really been himself with girls. A distant ache pulls at Sam's chest, and he thinks of Jess, of how long it took him to accept he wasn't gonna get that again and of how much he would give for Dean not to have to feel that way. "If you want to go back to them," Sam finds himself blurting out, "now that you really are safe and she won't remember any of the…Cas would be better off with a real family."
Dean's eyes flash. "I thought we weren't gonna talk about that."
"I know, it's just-"
Dean finally takes a few steps into the room, sits on the opposite side of Sam's bed. "Sam, I'm not going to pretend that wasn't great while it lasted. But it's over now. And…we're Cas' family. This is a real family."
"But you-"
"Anyway, I just stopped by to say goodnight," Dean interrupts. "So, goodnight."
Sam watches him stand and thinks, stay, please stay, oh god, don't leave. He can't bear the idea of Dean going to bed angry at him just because he couldn't shut up for five seconds. Dean doesn't hear his silent pleas, and Sam manages to hold them in until Dean has one foot out the door.
"Hey," he says. Dean stops and turns to look at him, clearly worried about what stupid thing Sam will say next. Sam smiles apologetically and lifts the hand he's holding the remote in. "Wanna stay and watch some TV for awhile? I'll let you control the remote."
Dean's smile begins as a quiet one and spreads slowly. "Really?"
"I mean, I was planning to watch Lifetime all night, but I can compromise."
Dean laughs, sitting back on the bed and grinning. He stays until well past midnight, and it's familiar and comfortable and new all at once. Dean's default is to stop on anything that has something blowing up as he channel surfs, so they end up watching Die Hard, making commentary until Sam's too tired to talk and Dean notices and lets him rest.
Dean comes up the next night with a beer for each of them and this time he hears Sam's silent begging, stays without being asked. It's stupid: they have a bigger TV with an impossibly comfortable couch downstairs, but sitting here on top of the blankets, still in street clothes, and getting buzzed-it makes Sam's room more like a motel than anything. Somehow, after 8 months of living in it, that's the first time Sam really feels home.
_______________________________________________________________
There's a bark from the door and then the telling, "Good evening to you, too, Comrade Stalin. Committed any human rights offenses today?"
Sam's already in the living room watching cartoons while Cas crawls around on the floor. Dean walks further into the room and gives Sam a nod in greeting.
"I don't know about human rights offenses," Sam says turning on the couch. "But he did chew your shoes."
Dean stoops down and begins to play with the dog, letting Sputnik lick his face. "Why do you hate America, Comrade?" he asks as a tongue swipes over his right eye.
"Why must you do that every time?"
"Do what?" Dean asks innocently.
"The dog name thing!" Sam complains. "You're only going to confuse him."
"He always knows who I'm talking to."
Sam shakes his head, allowing a laugh. "What are we going to do if he goes missing? I can see the signs already. 'Answers to Sputnik and Comrade Stalin.'"
"And Toto," Dean offers helpfully. "I tried that the other day just to see if he would go for it. That dog'll give it up for anything, Sam."
"Did you try Lassie, too?"
"Yeah, that's the only one that didn't work. He turned tail and ran off for his food dish. I think he wanted to be sure I didn't confuse him for someone helpful."
Sam shakes his head. "You are disturbed in every possible way."
"At least our dog will get found," Dean points out. "Who's going to forget a sign that says, 'Call it what you want, our dog is a name slut'?"
"In some weird, twisted way that makes good sense." Sam pauses. "Oh, God. You're making sense. I must really need to get out."
"I've been wondering about that lately, actually," Dean admits, dropping onto the couch and kicking his feet up on Sam's coffee table. Sam tries to glare them off, but Dean doesn't notice. "Don't you ever get tired of being stuck with just me and these brats for company?"
Dean points at the 'brats' and Sam glances in the direction he's indicating. Cas is drooling on a building block and Sputnik is knocking things over with his nose. There's nothing in the world Sam would rather be looking at.
"Come on." Dean claps Sam on the back, encouraging, and Sam can see where this is going. "Let me stay home and watch him, give you a night off. I promise not to break anything."
Sam sighs. He knows Dean, and Dean is not going to give up on this. If he's decided it's time for Sam to face the world, the real world, not the dog-park-and-then-back or the sure-I'll-go-to-a-restaurant-in-town-but-only-if-you-come-too world, it's time. Anyway, Sam is getting a little high strung lately.
"I've got a few friends who live down the block," Sam says. "Their retriever and Sputnik play at the park sometimes, so we talk. They've invited me to dinner a few times."
Dean grins. "Fantastic! Next time, you take them up on it."
Do I have to? Sam wants to ask but instead he nods.
The next offer comes a few days later. Sam goes over to Julie and Tim's place for a Thursday night dinner thing they have every week. There are a few other couples, and Sam feels awkward immediately when he realizes he's odd man out. Still, he makes good conversation, meets some nice people, gets another invite for next Thursday from Julie when she's escorting him to the door at the end of the night.
"I'm sorry if I didn't make it clear-we didn't mean to make you come alone. There's a girl named Sophie across the street from you guys who babysits, she's a sweetheart. I can get you her number if you want to bring your boyfriend next time."
Sam's eyes nearly explode out of his head. "My-who?"
"Your boyfriend," she says, leaning in with a pretty, sly smile. "Come on, Sam. We all know."
Sam swallows hard. It's not like it's surprising that people think that, it's not like people haven't been thinking it pretty much since Sam turned 16. It never used to bother him. In fact, it used to amuse him just because of how freaked Dean got. Now it hurts.
"No," Sam says. "He's not my-I mean, we don't…"
"Are you sure?" she asks, eyebrows crawling up her forehead.
As if Sam isn't painfully aware of just how much he is not fucking Dean. "Pretty sure I'd remember."
Julie laughs. "Oh, well, then. Sorry! To, uh. That mistake." She shrugs. "You can still bring him along if he wants to come."
Sam envisions Dean sitting in a room full of middle aged couples playing charades, getting drunk on wine and hitting on married women in front of their husbands. It garners a chuckle, definitely a mental image worth saving, but it's still probably the worst idea in the history of bad ideas (including the time Dean came home with the pineapple and the neighbor's lawnmower back when Sam was in high school, and that turned out to be a pretty terrible idea).
"Thanks, but, uh, Dean's not really the type. He'd probably never forgive me if I made him come to something like this." He realizes how that came off the moment it's out of his mouth. "I mean, not that this wasn't lovely! It was! Dean just can't hold a real conversation for five minutes at a time."
"Ah," she says, clucking her tongue. "Well, you two like poker?"
"Actually, yeah."
"Tim and a few of these guys play every few Sundays. I'll make sure to let you know when they're due for it."
"Sounds great. Thanks so much. For, you know. Inviting me to stuff."
Julie waves his gratitude away. "Our pleasure." Sam turns and she grabs his wrist. "You know, before you go. If you're really on the market, I have a friend who would be absolutely great for you. She's smart and funny. Her name's Amanda-I can invite her next time we do this."
Sam considers it for a moment, then remembers he hasn't so much as looked at anyone but Dean in so long it's kind of really pathetic. "I'm, uh, don't really, thanks, but-"
"It was worth a shot," she says, laughing a little. "Couldn't let a looker like you go without at least trying to do a friend a favor."
The last thing Sam sees is a wink and then he's on his way back down the street, glad he came out, but eager for the warm light he can see shining out through his living room window.
_______________________________________________________________
"Dada?"
"Daddy's at work," Sam mumbles. "You're gonna have to settle for me. Honestly. I do all the work and it's still Daddy you ask for."
Sam pauses. Reflects for a few seconds. Turns slowly to stare at Cas.
"Dada!" Cas says again.
"Oh my God!" Sam says. "Holy shit! You said something!"
Cas turns his head to one side and drools out some of his oatmeal. Sam wipes at his mouth. "Say, 'daddy,' Cas."
"Dada."
"Good enough! Now say 'papa.'"
"Dada."
"You suck," Sam tells him.
"Suck!" Cas parrots.
"Oh, lovely," Sam says with a sigh. "Come on. Say 'papa,' Cas."
"Transubstantiation."
Sam stares at Cas. "What…did…you…?"
"Dada?" Cas says again, no sign that anything out of the ordinary just happened as he grabs for the bowl in Sam's hand.
"Yeah," Sam says, still dazed. "All right."
He walks on eggshells after that, still a little creeped, but Cas is acting like a regular baby again with no signs of angelic residue, so Sam ignores it. And keeps trying to get Cas to say papa. Because, goddamn it, why does Dean get to be dad?
"I brought KFC," Dean announces on his way through the door. "I am the best ever. No, Fidel. The chicken is people food, not dog food."
Sam approaches with Cas and hands him to Dean as he takes the bucket. "He's been asking for you all day."
"Well, of course he has. He's a man of taste."
"No, Dean," Sam says, slow to make sure Dean picks up on the significance. "He has literally been asking for you all day."
"Huh?" Dean asks, just as Cas tries to climb onto his shoulder and cries, "Dada!"
Dean's eyes go wide, he begins to smile, and then his lips turn down. "I…I missed his first word?"
"His first three, actually." Sam gives him a sorry look. "But it was dada, not papa. That's something, right?"
"I guess," Dean says solemnly. "What was the other one?"
"The other two. He still hasn't said papa. I'm only a little upset."
Dean laughs, knocking Sam as he passes him. "So, what were they?"
"Suck," Dean grins and tries to high five Cas, "and transubstantiation."
"Transa-what now?"
"Transubstantiation. I think it was his highly religious way to tell me to hurry up and feed him."
"Sam, are you sure he wasn't just mumbling out baby talk and it sounded like that? I mean, as far as I'm concerned, that's not really a word."
"I wish I could convince myself that's what happened, but he sounded as clear as my theology professor sophomore year. It was terrifying."
"I wonder what other neat tricks he can do." Dean sits Cas in his high chair and gives him a penetrating look. "Can you fly, Cas? Because I could really use a trip to Hawaii, and planes aren't really for me."
Cas blows a raspberry.
"Just keep it in mind," Dean says. "Consider it with some of your other options, check your finances, and we'll see how you feel in January."
"Dean, why do you always insist on talking to him like an adult? You know he doesn’t get a word of it, right?"
"I guess not. Maybe," Dean says, turning to look at Sam over his shoulder. "But whenever I try to baby talk, I imagine Castiel doing that unimpressed staring thing he used to do. You know. The one where it was like: stare, stare, stare, blink, staaaaarrreeeee." Sam stares until he needs to blink, and Dean smiles. "Yes, that! Exactly."
"He can't fly," Sam says, ignoring Dean's continued attempts to recreate Castiel's staring. "He's not an angel. There are just a few things every now and then."
"I know," Dean says, his voice gentler than it needs to be. "I know that, Sammy, I was kidding around."
"Anyway, it was weird. I didn't like it. And I want to be Dad."
Dean snorts, slapping Sam on the back too hard. "I called dibs."
"You can't just call dibs. That isn't fair." Sam sounds petulant, every bit the little brother he tried to outgrow 10 years ago, and Dean deals with it exactly the same now as he did when Sam really was a whining kid. He ignores it.
"Cas, can you do me a favor here? Sammy wants a little attention. Could you say, 'mama' for him?"
"Papa," Cas says.
"See?" says Dean, sitting up. "He totally gets what I'm saying."
But Sam's not really paying attention to him. "He said papa!" Sam says, pulling Cas out of the chair and holding him up above his head, rubbing their noses together. "That's my good boy."
Cas coos as Sam lowers him. Dean smiles, but Sam realizes he still looks a little bummed. "You're gonna be learning to walk pretty soon, huh, little guy?" Sam looks up at Dean, making sure to meet his eyes. "You'll be here for that."
"Promise?" Dean asks, though Sam knows Dean doesn't really doubt him.
"Cross my heart and hope to-"
"Let's not tempt fate, Sammy."
_______________________________________________________________
"I know what you want from me," Dean says as Sam's hanging his coat. "You can't have it."
Sam feels a little prick of dread, but he continues through it, finds Cas sitting at the table with orange smeared all over his face, bib, the rug. Sam doesn't know why he bothers with the rug anymore. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says. He tries to think back on the last few days. He's been pretty good about hiding his crush, or at least he hasn't been any worse than usual.
"Oh, sure, play innocent. But I know you want this baby carrot," Dean points to the plate on the table where one last, uncrushed carrot has been spared Cas' wrath, "it's mine and you can't have it."
"You know I'm an adult now and that if either of us has to trick the other into eating vegetables, I have to trick you, right?"
Dean flicks him off. "I'm serious, though. These things are delicious. And so convenient. But there are none left for you. Tough break, dude."
Suddenly, Sam really wants to mess with Dean by taking that carrot. He slips his left hand onto Dean's back and leans in very close, placing his face on Dean's shoulder and whispering right against his ear, "Wanna know a secret?"
Dean's body goes rigid, he turns his face toward Sam's. "What's that?"
Sam smiles, snaking his other hand onto Dean's plate while his brother's distracted.
"It's my carrot now," he says, pulling away. He stands and takes a bite. "Wow, you're right, Dean. Very good carrot, thanks."
Dean grabs him and pulls him into a headlock. "Pain in the ass little brother."
"Stop it!" Sam says, flailing his arms. "You're going to teach our son violence and profanity all in one go."
Dean lets go of him with a shove. "Oh, yeah. Hide behind the kid, Sam. Real brave."
Sam tries to look innocent. "How was your night, Dean?"
"Eh," Dean says. "Pretty fun. We found some movie with talking dogs and cats and Chairman Mao-"
"Sputnik."
"Philemon," Cas offers with a giggle.
"No, Cas, dear," Sam says. "No naming the dog for you."
"Right, where was I? Oh, yeah. Ho Chi Min barked at it for like an hour."
"Wow, that sounds insufferable."
Dean gives Sam a flat look. "Not worse than your night. Was it wine tasting and trivial pursuit or cranium this time?"
"Bite me," Sam replies.
"Now, sit down. Watch this awesome trick I taught Cas."
"He's not a dog, Dean. You don't teach him tri-"
"Shh!" Dean says, waving a hand in Sam's face. He picks up a spoonful of crushed carrots. "You hungry?"
Cas nods.
"Want the carrots?"
Cas nods again, looking more annoyed this time.
"You can't have them."
"What? Dean, you can't pick on a two-year-old."
"Here, hold this," Dean says, sliding a Bible across the table until it's right in front of Sam. "Pick a verse, any verse."
Sam turns it over. "Where did we even get this?"
"I stole it from a nightstand in a motel back during the Apocalypse." Dean smirks as he lifts his head. Sam lets out a long breath and rubs at this temple. "Don't give me that look, it was useful!"
"But why is it at our table-?"
"Pick a verse!"
"Um." Sam flips the Bible open to a random page. "Leviticus 5:1."
"No, no. That Leviticus guy was an asshole. Pick something else."
Sam chuckles as he flips through more pages. "When did you become a Bible scholar, Dean?"
"So much free time, Sammy," he whines. "I don't know how you do it all day every day. This house gets boring when it's just me, Lenin, Cas, and cartoons. Now pick a verse."
"You missed me. That's sweet." Sam dodges Dean's playful hit by hiding behind the book and hopes that's not some kind of sin he's about to find out about. "Micah 6:8?"
Cas begins to recite the passage word for word from the top of his head. Dean gives him the last of the carrots when he finishes.
"Wow," Sam says. "The whole thing?"
"The whole thing." Dean wipes Cas' chin off.
Sam turns to another verse and Cas recites that one, and another, and another until he realizes it's actually getting late, and, while Cas still seems to think the Bible is the greatest toy ever, Sam is going to scream the next time he hears anyone say 'lord.' "Bedtime," Sam announces.
"Aww," Dean and Cas say in unison.
_______________________________________________________________
Cas doesn't have nightmares. Or, at least, with his third birthday quickly approaching and not a single nightmare to speak of, Sam has taken it for granted that some side effect of his cosmic origins wards them away. Maybe the part of his brain that stored the entire Bible and can call upon it without even meaning to is too advanced to let something petty like a bad dream upset it. Or, God-God had looked out for Castiel before, maybe he was finally doing his part as a parent.
Maybe these were just things Sam told himself to try and forget the inevitable. When he hears the crying from down the hall, Sam automatically knows what it means. Deep down he's been dreading it for years.
Cas is sitting up in bed, tears streaming down his face, by the time Sam makes it to his room. He sits on the bed and scoops the toddler into his arms, and Cas buries his face in Sam's shirt.
"They're mad at me," Cas cries. "They're so mad."
"Shh," Sam says, trying to sooth Cas with a hand in his hair, the way Dean used to do for him. God, where the hell is Dean, anyway? He's much better at this stuff. "Shh, baby. What's wrong?"
"The man in my dream," Cas says, still crying. "He said I was bad and that my father was mad. He said they were going to kill me."
Sam hears the door opening and breathes out a sigh of relief. He sits back, settling Cas into bed, and shoots a look at Dean. Dean looks worried, but he seems to get what's going on as soon as he meets Sam's eyes. He nods and Sam makes room so the he can sit next to Cas, too.
"Hey, Cas," Dean says, pushing hair out of his face. "What's wrong, little guy?"
"They're gonna kill me," Cas says. "I'm scared."
"It was a nightmare," Sam tells him. "It was just a bad dream, Cas. No one's gonna hurt you."
"They are! They said so. My father is mad and he's going to hurt me."
Dean looks at Sam and Sam thinks he must be high, because Dean actually smiles a bit before turning back to Cas. "All right, here's what I want you to do. Next time you have a nightmare like this, you tell your father or your brother or your sisters, whoever's picking on you, you tell them that if your father even thinks of trying anything, your dads are gonna kick his ass. You got that?"
Cas nods, sniffling a little as he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Good," Dean says, leaning in to press his lips to Cas' forehead as he tucks the toddler in. "No more waking us up with this, okay?"
"Okay, daddy," Cas says.
Dean stands and goes, waiting by the light switch at the door for Sam to join him. Sam stays seated a few seconds longer. Cas has burrowed under the covers, and while he seems pacified in regards to the nightmare, it's obvious he's still shaken. "You wanna come sleep with papa tonight?"
Cas peeks up over the covers. "Can I really?"
"Yeah," Sam says, pushing the covers away and pulling Cas up out of bed. "Come on, let's go get all rested up."
"Is daddy coming, too?"
Sam laughs, almost considers asking Dean if he wants to just to make Cas feel better, but Dean's already flicking off the light. "Nah, daddy has his own bed. He's not getting kicked by any little legs tonight." He grabs Cas' feet and brings them to his mouth, pretending to gobble them, which makes Cas giggle and squirm. "Night, you two," Dean says, patting Cas on the head one last time before turning down the hall.
Sam's not sure if the angels get Dean's message or if Cas just isn't scared by them anymore, but he never has a nightmare like that again.
_______________________________________________________________
"Big day," Dean says, hand on the steering wheel. He gives Sam a knowing look. "You all ready for it?"
"I don't know why you'd imply I wouldn't be," he says, opening the brown paper bag in his hand for the 80th time, just to make sure he packed it right. "Not like I didn't know he'd be going to school someday."
Dean smiles, wide and mocking. "Oh, I can see it happening already."
"See what, Dean?" Sam snaps. "Cas! What is taking so long?"
Dean chuckles and reaches across the driver's seat, grabbing Sam's hand. "Don't take it out on him, he's just a kid."
Sam sighs. "Take what out on who?"
"You've got Empty Nest Syndrome."
Sam laughs. "It's his first day of preschool, how could I have Empty Nest Syndrome?"
Dean just raises an eyebrow and Sam sinks down into the passenger's side of the Impala. "I just. God, what the hell am I gonna do all day if I don't have him to look after? What if he forgets about me? What if he likes his teacher better than me? Or-you don't think he'll get picked on, right?"
Dean laughs, and Sam realizes he's still got a hand wrapped around Sam's wrist. "Sammy, calm down. He remembers me and I go to work every day. You can find a hobby, or maybe help hunters do research like Bobby does. Or something, you'll figure it out. I won't even entertain the teacher thing, and I'm sure there's no such thing as bullies in preschool."
Sam takes a deep breath and exhales. "Yeah, I know. I know. It's just-"
"You're freaking out anyway." Dean grins. "I think that's what being a parent's about."
"You seem to be doing fine," Sam retorts, maybe just a little bitter at how easy Dean seems to have it when Sam actually might work himself into a heart attack.
Dean's eyes go soft and his smile dims. "I've sent a kid off to preschool," he says. "Though, let's hope Cas turns out cooler than that little loser did."
Sam returns his brother's smile. "Thanks, Dean."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Go find out what's taking that little terror so long."
Cas is standing off to the side, in the grass next to the driveway, peering down at his shoes.
"Falling in love with your feet, Cas?" Sam asks.
Cas looks up. "My shoes came loose on the stairs and I tied them myself. Just like you taught me!"
Sam laughs, taking Cas' hand. "That's awesome. You'll be top of your class already."
"Okay, but I don't want to be too far ahead." Cas looks very serious. "Daddy says I don't want to be a geek."
"Don't listen to daddy, ever, okay?"
"Okay!" Cas skips next to Sam as they walk to the car.
The school is a seven minute drive from the house. Sam tags along just to see Cas off and walk him to the door.
"Looks like this is it," Sam says, kneeling down to grab Cas into a hug. "Are you ready?"
"Yup!" Cas says easily.
Sam frowns. "You sure? Because if you're not, you know, you don't have to be. You could always start next year and come home with papa."
"I'm going to make friends," Cas says, walking off into the room.
"Traitor," Sam mutters as he stands back up. There's a pretty lady with red hair who introduces herself to Sam as Cas' teacher, and after five minutes, Sam runs out of questions to ask and finally has to let go, walking back to the car.
"I'm proud of you, Sammy," Dean says in a mocking tone as Sam slams the door.
"Just shut up and drive," Sam replies.
_______________________________________________________________
Sam gets to know the other parents on mornings and afternoons when he's dropping Cas off. Mostly it's moms who are around, hovering just a few minutes extra as they learn to accept that their kids are growing up. In fact, Sam's pretty sure he's never seen another guy there alone.
He doesn't feel emasculated at all.
"I think it's great that you're willing to come do this," one of the mothers says, sliding up next to him as they watch the last fifteen minutes of playtime before they can take their kids home. Sam's talked to her a few times, usually in a group. Her kid is a little girl with blonde pigtails named Stacy.
"Willing to do what?" he asks, not turning to look at her.
"Admit you're just as terrified as we are. I mean, I know a bunch of the husbands all drag their wives out some days just to pretend they're the ones being moral support. But we're all freaking out, and it's great that you're willing to own that."
Sam shrugs. "Dean's the butch one," he says.
She laughs. "Your partner, I'm guessing? I've seen him hanging around the car. Nicely done, by the way, he is gorgeous."
Sam wants to say, yeah, I wish, lady but luckily the alarm sounds then, and Sam swoops into the crowd of preschoolers to grab Cas up. Cas has been loving school so far, spends an hour every day talking excitedly about all the things he's done or learned.
Dean waits until Cas is secured in the back seat and Sam is strapping himself in to turn down the music. "So, I saw that back there."
"Saw what?"
"You could be getting some serious single mom action right now."
Sam snorts. "She thought we were gay, Dean."
Dean's happy expression falls. "Oh." He smiles again, but it looks less amused this time. "What'd she say when you told her I was your brother?"
"I didn't tell her," Sam says. Dean gives him a look and Sam shrugs. "I didn't get a chance before the bell rang. Anyway, who cares?"
"I do." Dean's knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and he's driving so carefully Sam knows it means he's pissed. "God, it's like you want the whole town to think we're fucking."
"Dude, language." Sam points to the backseat. "You want him to say that at school tomorrow?"
"Whatever. We're talking about this when we get home."
"I don't know what there is to talk about."
Dean says nothing, turns back to the stereo and the road.
_______________________________________________________________
Sam sets Cas down on the floor as soon as they get home, giving him an encouraging push to the living room. "Cas, go watch some cartoons, okay? You can put them on as loud as you want."
Cas grins and runs for the door, stopping only to call Sputnik to follow him. The dog runs past Sam and Dean, and Dean walks into the dining room, then turns to face Sam. "I think I should leave."
Sam stares in shock for a full half minute before he finds his voice. "What? Where? What?"
Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't know where, but I think I should go."
"Dude," Sam says. "Because I let one random lady in this entire town think we're fucking?"
"Because I'm in hell," he answers.
Sam laughs humorlessly. "Don't you think, in light of our entire lives, that might be a little melodramatic?"
Dean shakes his head. "No. I mean it. This is torture and I quit."
Sam's knees start shaking. He doesn't know if it's shock or hurt or anger, but he pulls a chair out and drops into it regardless of what's causing the reaction. "You. Wow. Okay. You know, maybe this isn't your dream, but you could be a little gentler here. I mean, fuck, I actually thought we were happy." He shakes his head. "I'm happy. I didn't realize we were torturing you."
"Don't play with me," Dean says, voice cool. "Don't act like you don't know what you're doing, not telling them. Letting everyone think-it's pretty passive aggressive and petty of you, Sam. 'Oh, haha, Dean, guess what this crazy lady at school today thought, sure was crazy of her.' I know you know, and I don't get why you're doing this, if you think it's going to make me confess or what, but fuck it. I'm leaving, so you can stop worrying about it."
"What are you-?"
"I know he told you."
"Who told me what?" Sam raises his hands. "Dean, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Castiel, he told you. The day he came and fixed you. I know he did, you've been acting different ever since. He took one look at me and knew and he spent his last five minutes clueing you in. Man, I love that kid to death, but if I could get my hands on that angel…" He shakes his head. "That day he tried to convince me to tell you, and a part of me suspected he'd already told you. So I know that's why you act like I'm going to jump on you if you get too close. I get it, believe me, I get it. But I can't live like this, Sammy."
"Can't live like what? Castiel didn't tell me jack. You should tell me whatever it is you think I know, and then we can have a conversation, because I feel like I'm only getting the least important half of this discussion."
"You're not wrong, you know. I'm almost happy. It's so close and that's the whole problem."
"The reason you can't stand to live like this is that you're almost happy? No, yeah. That makes perfect sense."
"It wasn't so bad before. When we never got anything we wanted, so what was one more thing to have to go without? But now…everything is so close to perfect, and it would be so easy to-everyone already thinks we are. Not just the neighbors and the parents at school. Even Cas is always asking why we can't all share a bed or why you and I don't kiss like the other parents and if it means we're getting a divorce like one of his little friends told him we were. It's the only thing screwing this up, and it's big enough that I can hardly enjoy the rest of this. I'd rather just leave and be miserable, Sam. I'd rather not have you at all than have to keep fighting this when you're right fucking there."
Sam pieces it all together, surprised that his mouth doesn't hit the floor. "You want me."
Dean looks away. "Of course I want you, man. I've always wanted you."
"You-you want me." Sam stands and takes a step toward Dean, suddenly feeling a buzz of energy power through him. "Dean, you want me. We're so stupid. We're so, so fucking stupid."
"What do-?"
Sam muffles Dean words with his lips, and Dean stands stock still for ten seconds before his brain seems to catch up. He has a hand tangled in Sam's hair in moments once he does start moving, and Dean doesn't kiss like anyone Sam has ever kissed. It's not a first kiss, it's not tentative, there's none of the regret or guilt Sam was afraid he'd find. Dean kisses like it's his life.
Sam pulls away. "Jesus, Dean," he mutters. "I stopped touching you because I was scared you'd figure me out."
"So you've-you've wanted this since-"
"Pretty much since we found Cas." Sam goes back in for another kiss and feels Dean smiling into it.
"I've wanted this forever," he mutters, but before his mouth crashes back on Sam's, there's a bark at their feet. "Not now, Sputnik," Dean says.
Sam pauses, forgetting about the kissing for a moment. "Hey! You just called him Sputnik."
Dean makes a face like he doesn't get it for a moment, then he frowns. "That doesn't count! You kissed me! It’s cheating. I call a do-over."
"No way!" Sam says. "After three years, I won! I named the dog!"
"Oh, whatever," Dean says, shoving Sam away. Sam refuses, holds onto him as he tries to fight his way free. He kisses Dean whenever his mouth gets close enough to land on his brother's skin. "Quit slobbering on me or I'll call you Sputnik."
"Daddy, I wanna play racecars."
Dean groans and looks down at Cas, who has apparently wandered back out of the living room. "Right now?"
"Right. Now." Cas answers, placing his hands on his hips and looking very stern indeed.
Sam laughs, resting his forehead on Dean's shoulder. "I should start making dinner anyway."
"Ugh, but we haven't even…" Dean looks at Cas again, remembering to censor himself. "Oh man, I am so not going to work tomorrow."
"You're going to call out of work so you can mess around with me all day?"
Dean grins. "You know it."
"How does one phrase that excuse, pray tell?"
"I'll just tell 'em I hurt my back and can't make it," Dean's lips curve up, slow and seductive, "won't even be a lie by the end of the day."
"Isn't that a little premature?" Sam asks.
Dean barks out a laugh, then leans in close and brushes his lips against Sam's for a moment. "I'm never premature," he teases.
Sam's entire body flushes. "God, stop talking about it and-"
"We can't. Your kid wants to play racecars, remember?"
"Oh, now he's my kid," Sam mutters.
Dean sweeps Cas up in one arm, throwing him over his shoulder. "That's right. Your little monster."
He begins to march toward the staircase, turning his back and Cas on Sam. Cas grins upside-down at Sam and waves as they disappear.
Dinner goes the way it usually does, and they end up putting Cas to bed early. They find themselves in Sam's room, sitting in the glow of the TV, much the same as every night. Only now they're making out and the TV is blabbering on unheeded, and Dean's hand is snaking up Sam's shirt, and Sam is really fucking okay with that.
"Nightmare," a little voice announces from the doorway. Sam and Dean break apart as Cas comes to the edge of the bed and climbs up and between them without anyone telling him to. Dean makes a whining sound and sinks back into the pillow on his side of the bed. Sam just hands over the remote; he knows defeat when he sees it.
Cas falls asleep after about half an hour. Actually they all do. Sam wakes up as the TV is shutting off and Dean is sitting up to go.
He smiles at Sam when he sees him waking up. "Dude, you weren't exaggerating," he says, sounding horrified. "That show literally is just animal sounds."
"Told you," Sam murmurs, half into his pillow. Dean bends over to give Sam a quick kiss and is careful not to wake Cas as he kisses the child's forehead.
"Time for bed, I guess," Dean says. "Was a pretty big day."
Sam rolls his eyes and tugs Dean's arm down. "Where do you think you're going?"
Dean smiles, even looks relieved. "Nowhere," he says, relaxing back down into the mattress. "Just try and make me."
He curls an arm protectively around Cas and brushes his fingers on the skin of Sam's thigh that he finds when his hand reaches the other side. Sam likes that so much he mimics the action, creating a wall around Cas. He places his hand on Dean's hip and they feel the bed shake as Sputnik jumps on at the foot, the last member of the house to settle down.
It's crowded and maybe even uncomfortable and Sam can't help thinking they have to be the weirdest family on the planet. Still, he can't imagine a better one.
End.
Want more? There's now an EPILOGUE of sorts!
PART TWO
Dean gets home later than usual the next day, his arms full of a squirming ball of fur.
"You weren't joking, then? About the puppy?"
"I never joke about serious things, Sammy," Dean says with a grin. "What do you think?"
He holds the dog out. It yips and Sam would swear it's smiling. It's big for a puppy, obviously bound to be huge once he's grown up, which is exactly what Sam was hoping for. His ears are floppy and he's got black spots over brown fur, and Sam would want to steal him if he weren't already technically his dog.
Sam reaches out, putting a hand between the puppy's ears and giving its head a good rub. "What's his name?"
"Are you ready for this?" Dean pauses. "Fido."
"Fido," Sam says incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"
"I know, right? What do people even get paid to do at the pound? 'Cause it's not naming dogs."
Sam doesn't even know where to begin, and he's pretty sure Dean's trying to get a rise, so he lets that one slide. "So what are we really gonna call it?"
He's rewarded for his restraint by a disappointed look in Dean's eyes. "No pouting? No forty-minute spiel on the plight of the animal worker and how they deserve my respect?" Dean sets the puppy down and picks Cas up instead. "You're not no fun anymore. It's breaking my heart." Cas greets Dean with a palm over his face, and Dean laughs as he dislodges the little hand. "Hello, good sir? How are you today? Did you see your new friend?"
Cas points at The Puppy Formerly Known as Fido and claps, and Dean sets him back down on the floor. The dog sniffs for a few seconds, Sam tenses, ready to intervene if it goes badly, but then the puppy is the one being climbed on and it seems to be adjusting to its lot in life fairly generously.
"He kinda looks like Sputnik!" Sam says watching as Castiel flops his body over the dog's back. "More white, but…let's call him Sputnik."
"Sputnik? That sounds like a potato."
"It's not a potato." Sam remembers to rein in his attitude. Dean wants to annoy him. Sam is going to be the bigger person. "It's a dog."
"I know who Sputnik is," Dean replies. "Why don't we just call the dog Commie?"
"I don't see you making any grand suggestions."
"I got the damn dog!" Dean defends.
"Yeah, well," Sam replies. "Until you think of something better, I'm calling him Sputnik."
Dean never does think of anything better.
_______________________________________________________________
If Dean's secret plan with getting the dog was to put Sam in a situation where he's forced to go outside on his own at least once a day, it works. At first Sam's nervous about it-sure, they've been living in Saratoga for six months and nothing bad has happened, but Sam hasn't really left the protective bubble of his house much, let alone without Dean. Still, it's good for him, he can secretly admit that much. Cas loves going out regularly, not just on weekends when Dean is home, and Sam starts getting to know neighbors, even has a few casual friends.
He makes it a point to spend at least an hour outside with the dog every day unless it's raining, and after a couple of months he's comfortable enough to go grocery shopping and run quick errands during the day while Dean's at work.
He changes the routine on Halloween, though, just goes for a stroll around the block before Dean gets home so he can spend the time he's usually outside getting ready. Cas isn't old enough to trick-or-treat, and Sam knows Dean will never let him hear the end of this, but he's stupidly excited anyway and can't help himself.
"Honey, I'm home," Dean calls from the door. Sam hears Sputnik's claws scratching on the floors as he runs to greet him. "What's up, Trotsky?"
Sam pads into the living room with Castiel in one arm. "Hey, Dean."
Dean stares, a look of abject horror on his face, and blinks about once a minute. Finally he steps forward and says, "What the hell did you do to our child?"
Sam smiles. "Is this the cutest thing you've ever seen or what?"
Dean pokes at the costume as if the fabric will bite him. "Where did you even get a trench coat this small?" he asks. "Please, please tell me you did not sew it. Sam, the cooking channel is one thing, but-"
"I don't watch the cooking channel!" Sam says with way too much conviction. Dean doesn't know, Sam's pretty sure. There's no way he can know. He can't prove anything. Sam coughs and tries to relax. "I mean, why would I watch the cooking channel?"
Dean gives him an 'I'm on to you look.' "Oh, right. The 'internet' taught you all those recipes."
Sam nods.
"And Paula Deen had nothing to do with your sudden passion for butter."
Sam raises an eyebrow. "Hate to say it, man, but if you know who Paula Deen is, I may not be the one guilty of cooking channeling here."
Dean tsks. "You forgot to change the channel before you turned it off last week. And you know I've learned how to use the TiVo, right?"
"Oh, whatever!" Sam says. "Like you aren't enjoying it."
Dean smiles triumphantly. "I am. Just had to hear you say it. Now, give me the holy tax accountant. We have more important issues to discuss."
"And what are those?"
"Did you sew this costume? Because if so I am throwing you out and buying a new brother. Cooking is one thing, but this…this is well made, Sam. I cannot have it in my house."
"It's probably worse than that," Sam admits, letting Dean take Cas.
"What could be worse than the thought that while I'm at work all day, getting all manly and covered in sweat, my protégé is at home, crying over Nicolas Sparks movies and sewing?"
"I didn't sew it," Sam says. Dean lets out a relieved breath. "I, uh, bought it online."
"That's not so bad," Dean says.
Sam covers his face with one hand. "From a Supernatural fan website."
Dean's eyes get bigger; he looks down at Cas with disgust. "Oh, for shame, Sammy."
"I know, I know!" Sam laughs a little hysterically. "It's just…I really wanted to try the joke out. And I couldn't find anyone who would sell me a trench coat that small and then I remembered that Chuck's publisher had printed a few books even after he told her not to, and I wanted to see if anyone had thought of this, and they had and…" Sam lifts his hands.
"Just stop talking," Dean says. "Just stop. You know I'm never going to let you hear the end of this, right?"
"Yeah, I figured."
"Good," Dean says, bouncing Cas on his side. "As long as we're clear."
Sam sticks his tongue out. "Whatever, I hate you. I want to leave the house at 7, so if you plan to shower or get in a costume, I suggest you do it while I make dinner."
"Well, obviously I'm dressing up," Dean shifts his weight and gives Sam a piercing look. "Are you dressing up?"
"Of course not," Sam says. "You know I hate Halloween."
"Awful lot of trouble to go through for a holiday you hate?"
Sam pokes Cas in the tummy and gives him a kiss on the forehead. "Aww, but look how happy he is." He stands up and smiles at Dean. "And if you think this is bad, you should see the costume I've got waiting for the dog. That one I made myself."
"You have too much time on your hands," Dean says.
"Well, obviously," Sam replies heatedly, and Dean winces, realizing he said the wrong thing.
"No, look. It's great. I think it's great. What's the dog gonna be?"
Sam averts his eyes, feels his cheeks burning. "I might have made him a cardboard spaceship."
Dean laughs like it's the best thing he's ever heard. "All right, you freak. Go make me dinner. But next year I'm doing costumes."
"The kid's getting wings and a halo and Sputnik is going to be Che Guevara," Sam guesses.
"You suck," Dean says. "Now I'm not even excited."
"Will it make you feel better if I pretend to forget this conversation ever happened?"
"A little," Dean admits.
"What if I agree to dress up next year?"
Dean grins. "Now we're talking."
"Cowboys, huh?"
"Stop guessing!" Dean says, throwing the hand that isn't holding Cas in the air.
_______________________________________________________________
Every few weeks, Dean still goes out. Sam's not surprised, not really, Dean was never good at abstaining and the fact that they've got a kid doesn't really change much. Sam's always around to watch Cas. Dean's got no ties. The only difference is that Sam gets unreasonably jealous now when Dean's hookups used to produce only amusement or the occasional annoyance when Dean didn't focus enough on a job.
There's a knock at Sam's bedroom door, and Sam jolts up, only realizing he was half asleep when he sees Dean in the doorway. "Did I wake you?"
Sam sits up, looking around. The TV is buzzing with some documentary about the Civil War Sam's only half-heard. He smiles at Dean, and allows himself to think that Dean looks gorgeous, because he's still fuzzy from sleep and not at all in his right mind. "I'm up," he says, but it slurs into one syllable.
Dean laughs. "Sorry, man."
Sam shakes his head. "No, no, I should probably change and brush my teeth and stuff anyway." He rubs his eyes and yawns. "Did you have a good night?"
"Yeah," Dean says, relaxing against the frame of Sam's door. "You?"
"Fine," Sam says.
"Cas sleeping?"
"Miraculously. There was a marathon of that farm show he likes so much on earlier, the one that's literally just farm animals making farm animal sounds." Sam shudders. "I thought he would never fall asleep."
"The horror," Dean says.
"Mmm, you should see my battle scars."
Dean fidgets uncomfortably in the doorway, and Sam wonders if he should invite him in. But obviously Dean knows he doesn't need permission to come into Sam's room, so if he's in the doorway, that's where he wants to be.
"You meet any girls at the bar?" Sam asks, trying to sound uninterested.
"A couple," Dean replies, cocky grin that's all Dean and Sam wants to die. He has no right to be upset, obviously, but all he can think on nights like this is, I bought you that bed, how can you bring some girl home to it?, as if he's Dean's cuckolded wife and not his brother who should give not one damn who Dean does or does not sleep with or where he does it. "But, I uh. I dunno. Wasn't really feeling it."
Sam manages to refrain from looking too happy about it. "Maybe next time?"
Dean shrugs. "Whatever. I'm getting too old for this shit." He kicks the doorframe lightly, and Sam decides to cut Dean's foot off if there's a scuff there tomorrow.
He frowns. Ever since Lisa and Ben, Dean's not really been himself with girls. A distant ache pulls at Sam's chest, and he thinks of Jess, of how long it took him to accept he wasn't gonna get that again and of how much he would give for Dean not to have to feel that way. "If you want to go back to them," Sam finds himself blurting out, "now that you really are safe and she won't remember any of the…Cas would be better off with a real family."
Dean's eyes flash. "I thought we weren't gonna talk about that."
"I know, it's just-"
Dean finally takes a few steps into the room, sits on the opposite side of Sam's bed. "Sam, I'm not going to pretend that wasn't great while it lasted. But it's over now. And…we're Cas' family. This is a real family."
"But you-"
"Anyway, I just stopped by to say goodnight," Dean interrupts. "So, goodnight."
Sam watches him stand and thinks, stay, please stay, oh god, don't leave. He can't bear the idea of Dean going to bed angry at him just because he couldn't shut up for five seconds. Dean doesn't hear his silent pleas, and Sam manages to hold them in until Dean has one foot out the door.
"Hey," he says. Dean stops and turns to look at him, clearly worried about what stupid thing Sam will say next. Sam smiles apologetically and lifts the hand he's holding the remote in. "Wanna stay and watch some TV for awhile? I'll let you control the remote."
Dean's smile begins as a quiet one and spreads slowly. "Really?"
"I mean, I was planning to watch Lifetime all night, but I can compromise."
Dean laughs, sitting back on the bed and grinning. He stays until well past midnight, and it's familiar and comfortable and new all at once. Dean's default is to stop on anything that has something blowing up as he channel surfs, so they end up watching Die Hard, making commentary until Sam's too tired to talk and Dean notices and lets him rest.
Dean comes up the next night with a beer for each of them and this time he hears Sam's silent begging, stays without being asked. It's stupid: they have a bigger TV with an impossibly comfortable couch downstairs, but sitting here on top of the blankets, still in street clothes, and getting buzzed-it makes Sam's room more like a motel than anything. Somehow, after 8 months of living in it, that's the first time Sam really feels home.
_______________________________________________________________
There's a bark from the door and then the telling, "Good evening to you, too, Comrade Stalin. Committed any human rights offenses today?"
Sam's already in the living room watching cartoons while Cas crawls around on the floor. Dean walks further into the room and gives Sam a nod in greeting.
"I don't know about human rights offenses," Sam says turning on the couch. "But he did chew your shoes."
Dean stoops down and begins to play with the dog, letting Sputnik lick his face. "Why do you hate America, Comrade?" he asks as a tongue swipes over his right eye.
"Why must you do that every time?"
"Do what?" Dean asks innocently.
"The dog name thing!" Sam complains. "You're only going to confuse him."
"He always knows who I'm talking to."
Sam shakes his head, allowing a laugh. "What are we going to do if he goes missing? I can see the signs already. 'Answers to Sputnik and Comrade Stalin.'"
"And Toto," Dean offers helpfully. "I tried that the other day just to see if he would go for it. That dog'll give it up for anything, Sam."
"Did you try Lassie, too?"
"Yeah, that's the only one that didn't work. He turned tail and ran off for his food dish. I think he wanted to be sure I didn't confuse him for someone helpful."
Sam shakes his head. "You are disturbed in every possible way."
"At least our dog will get found," Dean points out. "Who's going to forget a sign that says, 'Call it what you want, our dog is a name slut'?"
"In some weird, twisted way that makes good sense." Sam pauses. "Oh, God. You're making sense. I must really need to get out."
"I've been wondering about that lately, actually," Dean admits, dropping onto the couch and kicking his feet up on Sam's coffee table. Sam tries to glare them off, but Dean doesn't notice. "Don't you ever get tired of being stuck with just me and these brats for company?"
Dean points at the 'brats' and Sam glances in the direction he's indicating. Cas is drooling on a building block and Sputnik is knocking things over with his nose. There's nothing in the world Sam would rather be looking at.
"Come on." Dean claps Sam on the back, encouraging, and Sam can see where this is going. "Let me stay home and watch him, give you a night off. I promise not to break anything."
Sam sighs. He knows Dean, and Dean is not going to give up on this. If he's decided it's time for Sam to face the world, the real world, not the dog-park-and-then-back or the sure-I'll-go-to-a-restaurant-in-town-but-only-if-you-come-too world, it's time. Anyway, Sam is getting a little high strung lately.
"I've got a few friends who live down the block," Sam says. "Their retriever and Sputnik play at the park sometimes, so we talk. They've invited me to dinner a few times."
Dean grins. "Fantastic! Next time, you take them up on it."
Do I have to? Sam wants to ask but instead he nods.
The next offer comes a few days later. Sam goes over to Julie and Tim's place for a Thursday night dinner thing they have every week. There are a few other couples, and Sam feels awkward immediately when he realizes he's odd man out. Still, he makes good conversation, meets some nice people, gets another invite for next Thursday from Julie when she's escorting him to the door at the end of the night.
"I'm sorry if I didn't make it clear-we didn't mean to make you come alone. There's a girl named Sophie across the street from you guys who babysits, she's a sweetheart. I can get you her number if you want to bring your boyfriend next time."
Sam's eyes nearly explode out of his head. "My-who?"
"Your boyfriend," she says, leaning in with a pretty, sly smile. "Come on, Sam. We all know."
Sam swallows hard. It's not like it's surprising that people think that, it's not like people haven't been thinking it pretty much since Sam turned 16. It never used to bother him. In fact, it used to amuse him just because of how freaked Dean got. Now it hurts.
"No," Sam says. "He's not my-I mean, we don't…"
"Are you sure?" she asks, eyebrows crawling up her forehead.
As if Sam isn't painfully aware of just how much he is not fucking Dean. "Pretty sure I'd remember."
Julie laughs. "Oh, well, then. Sorry! To, uh. That mistake." She shrugs. "You can still bring him along if he wants to come."
Sam envisions Dean sitting in a room full of middle aged couples playing charades, getting drunk on wine and hitting on married women in front of their husbands. It garners a chuckle, definitely a mental image worth saving, but it's still probably the worst idea in the history of bad ideas (including the time Dean came home with the pineapple and the neighbor's lawnmower back when Sam was in high school, and that turned out to be a pretty terrible idea).
"Thanks, but, uh, Dean's not really the type. He'd probably never forgive me if I made him come to something like this." He realizes how that came off the moment it's out of his mouth. "I mean, not that this wasn't lovely! It was! Dean just can't hold a real conversation for five minutes at a time."
"Ah," she says, clucking her tongue. "Well, you two like poker?"
"Actually, yeah."
"Tim and a few of these guys play every few Sundays. I'll make sure to let you know when they're due for it."
"Sounds great. Thanks so much. For, you know. Inviting me to stuff."
Julie waves his gratitude away. "Our pleasure." Sam turns and she grabs his wrist. "You know, before you go. If you're really on the market, I have a friend who would be absolutely great for you. She's smart and funny. Her name's Amanda-I can invite her next time we do this."
Sam considers it for a moment, then remembers he hasn't so much as looked at anyone but Dean in so long it's kind of really pathetic. "I'm, uh, don't really, thanks, but-"
"It was worth a shot," she says, laughing a little. "Couldn't let a looker like you go without at least trying to do a friend a favor."
The last thing Sam sees is a wink and then he's on his way back down the street, glad he came out, but eager for the warm light he can see shining out through his living room window.
_______________________________________________________________
"Dada?"
"Daddy's at work," Sam mumbles. "You're gonna have to settle for me. Honestly. I do all the work and it's still Daddy you ask for."
Sam pauses. Reflects for a few seconds. Turns slowly to stare at Cas.
"Dada!" Cas says again.
"Oh my God!" Sam says. "Holy shit! You said something!"
Cas turns his head to one side and drools out some of his oatmeal. Sam wipes at his mouth. "Say, 'daddy,' Cas."
"Dada."
"Good enough! Now say 'papa.'"
"Dada."
"You suck," Sam tells him.
"Suck!" Cas parrots.
"Oh, lovely," Sam says with a sigh. "Come on. Say 'papa,' Cas."
"Transubstantiation."
Sam stares at Cas. "What…did…you…?"
"Dada?" Cas says again, no sign that anything out of the ordinary just happened as he grabs for the bowl in Sam's hand.
"Yeah," Sam says, still dazed. "All right."
He walks on eggshells after that, still a little creeped, but Cas is acting like a regular baby again with no signs of angelic residue, so Sam ignores it. And keeps trying to get Cas to say papa. Because, goddamn it, why does Dean get to be dad?
"I brought KFC," Dean announces on his way through the door. "I am the best ever. No, Fidel. The chicken is people food, not dog food."
Sam approaches with Cas and hands him to Dean as he takes the bucket. "He's been asking for you all day."
"Well, of course he has. He's a man of taste."
"No, Dean," Sam says, slow to make sure Dean picks up on the significance. "He has literally been asking for you all day."
"Huh?" Dean asks, just as Cas tries to climb onto his shoulder and cries, "Dada!"
Dean's eyes go wide, he begins to smile, and then his lips turn down. "I…I missed his first word?"
"His first three, actually." Sam gives him a sorry look. "But it was dada, not papa. That's something, right?"
"I guess," Dean says solemnly. "What was the other one?"
"The other two. He still hasn't said papa. I'm only a little upset."
Dean laughs, knocking Sam as he passes him. "So, what were they?"
"Suck," Dean grins and tries to high five Cas, "and transubstantiation."
"Transa-what now?"
"Transubstantiation. I think it was his highly religious way to tell me to hurry up and feed him."
"Sam, are you sure he wasn't just mumbling out baby talk and it sounded like that? I mean, as far as I'm concerned, that's not really a word."
"I wish I could convince myself that's what happened, but he sounded as clear as my theology professor sophomore year. It was terrifying."
"I wonder what other neat tricks he can do." Dean sits Cas in his high chair and gives him a penetrating look. "Can you fly, Cas? Because I could really use a trip to Hawaii, and planes aren't really for me."
Cas blows a raspberry.
"Just keep it in mind," Dean says. "Consider it with some of your other options, check your finances, and we'll see how you feel in January."
"Dean, why do you always insist on talking to him like an adult? You know he doesn’t get a word of it, right?"
"I guess not. Maybe," Dean says, turning to look at Sam over his shoulder. "But whenever I try to baby talk, I imagine Castiel doing that unimpressed staring thing he used to do. You know. The one where it was like: stare, stare, stare, blink, staaaaarrreeeee." Sam stares until he needs to blink, and Dean smiles. "Yes, that! Exactly."
"He can't fly," Sam says, ignoring Dean's continued attempts to recreate Castiel's staring. "He's not an angel. There are just a few things every now and then."
"I know," Dean says, his voice gentler than it needs to be. "I know that, Sammy, I was kidding around."
"Anyway, it was weird. I didn't like it. And I want to be Dad."
Dean snorts, slapping Sam on the back too hard. "I called dibs."
"You can't just call dibs. That isn't fair." Sam sounds petulant, every bit the little brother he tried to outgrow 10 years ago, and Dean deals with it exactly the same now as he did when Sam really was a whining kid. He ignores it.
"Cas, can you do me a favor here? Sammy wants a little attention. Could you say, 'mama' for him?"
"Papa," Cas says.
"See?" says Dean, sitting up. "He totally gets what I'm saying."
But Sam's not really paying attention to him. "He said papa!" Sam says, pulling Cas out of the chair and holding him up above his head, rubbing their noses together. "That's my good boy."
Cas coos as Sam lowers him. Dean smiles, but Sam realizes he still looks a little bummed. "You're gonna be learning to walk pretty soon, huh, little guy?" Sam looks up at Dean, making sure to meet his eyes. "You'll be here for that."
"Promise?" Dean asks, though Sam knows Dean doesn't really doubt him.
"Cross my heart and hope to-"
"Let's not tempt fate, Sammy."
_______________________________________________________________
"I know what you want from me," Dean says as Sam's hanging his coat. "You can't have it."
Sam feels a little prick of dread, but he continues through it, finds Cas sitting at the table with orange smeared all over his face, bib, the rug. Sam doesn't know why he bothers with the rug anymore. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says. He tries to think back on the last few days. He's been pretty good about hiding his crush, or at least he hasn't been any worse than usual.
"Oh, sure, play innocent. But I know you want this baby carrot," Dean points to the plate on the table where one last, uncrushed carrot has been spared Cas' wrath, "it's mine and you can't have it."
"You know I'm an adult now and that if either of us has to trick the other into eating vegetables, I have to trick you, right?"
Dean flicks him off. "I'm serious, though. These things are delicious. And so convenient. But there are none left for you. Tough break, dude."
Suddenly, Sam really wants to mess with Dean by taking that carrot. He slips his left hand onto Dean's back and leans in very close, placing his face on Dean's shoulder and whispering right against his ear, "Wanna know a secret?"
Dean's body goes rigid, he turns his face toward Sam's. "What's that?"
Sam smiles, snaking his other hand onto Dean's plate while his brother's distracted.
"It's my carrot now," he says, pulling away. He stands and takes a bite. "Wow, you're right, Dean. Very good carrot, thanks."
Dean grabs him and pulls him into a headlock. "Pain in the ass little brother."
"Stop it!" Sam says, flailing his arms. "You're going to teach our son violence and profanity all in one go."
Dean lets go of him with a shove. "Oh, yeah. Hide behind the kid, Sam. Real brave."
Sam tries to look innocent. "How was your night, Dean?"
"Eh," Dean says. "Pretty fun. We found some movie with talking dogs and cats and Chairman Mao-"
"Sputnik."
"Philemon," Cas offers with a giggle.
"No, Cas, dear," Sam says. "No naming the dog for you."
"Right, where was I? Oh, yeah. Ho Chi Min barked at it for like an hour."
"Wow, that sounds insufferable."
Dean gives Sam a flat look. "Not worse than your night. Was it wine tasting and trivial pursuit or cranium this time?"
"Bite me," Sam replies.
"Now, sit down. Watch this awesome trick I taught Cas."
"He's not a dog, Dean. You don't teach him tri-"
"Shh!" Dean says, waving a hand in Sam's face. He picks up a spoonful of crushed carrots. "You hungry?"
Cas nods.
"Want the carrots?"
Cas nods again, looking more annoyed this time.
"You can't have them."
"What? Dean, you can't pick on a two-year-old."
"Here, hold this," Dean says, sliding a Bible across the table until it's right in front of Sam. "Pick a verse, any verse."
Sam turns it over. "Where did we even get this?"
"I stole it from a nightstand in a motel back during the Apocalypse." Dean smirks as he lifts his head. Sam lets out a long breath and rubs at this temple. "Don't give me that look, it was useful!"
"But why is it at our table-?"
"Pick a verse!"
"Um." Sam flips the Bible open to a random page. "Leviticus 5:1."
"No, no. That Leviticus guy was an asshole. Pick something else."
Sam chuckles as he flips through more pages. "When did you become a Bible scholar, Dean?"
"So much free time, Sammy," he whines. "I don't know how you do it all day every day. This house gets boring when it's just me, Lenin, Cas, and cartoons. Now pick a verse."
"You missed me. That's sweet." Sam dodges Dean's playful hit by hiding behind the book and hopes that's not some kind of sin he's about to find out about. "Micah 6:8?"
Cas begins to recite the passage word for word from the top of his head. Dean gives him the last of the carrots when he finishes.
"Wow," Sam says. "The whole thing?"
"The whole thing." Dean wipes Cas' chin off.
Sam turns to another verse and Cas recites that one, and another, and another until he realizes it's actually getting late, and, while Cas still seems to think the Bible is the greatest toy ever, Sam is going to scream the next time he hears anyone say 'lord.' "Bedtime," Sam announces.
"Aww," Dean and Cas say in unison.
_______________________________________________________________
Cas doesn't have nightmares. Or, at least, with his third birthday quickly approaching and not a single nightmare to speak of, Sam has taken it for granted that some side effect of his cosmic origins wards them away. Maybe the part of his brain that stored the entire Bible and can call upon it without even meaning to is too advanced to let something petty like a bad dream upset it. Or, God-God had looked out for Castiel before, maybe he was finally doing his part as a parent.
Maybe these were just things Sam told himself to try and forget the inevitable. When he hears the crying from down the hall, Sam automatically knows what it means. Deep down he's been dreading it for years.
Cas is sitting up in bed, tears streaming down his face, by the time Sam makes it to his room. He sits on the bed and scoops the toddler into his arms, and Cas buries his face in Sam's shirt.
"They're mad at me," Cas cries. "They're so mad."
"Shh," Sam says, trying to sooth Cas with a hand in his hair, the way Dean used to do for him. God, where the hell is Dean, anyway? He's much better at this stuff. "Shh, baby. What's wrong?"
"The man in my dream," Cas says, still crying. "He said I was bad and that my father was mad. He said they were going to kill me."
Sam hears the door opening and breathes out a sigh of relief. He sits back, settling Cas into bed, and shoots a look at Dean. Dean looks worried, but he seems to get what's going on as soon as he meets Sam's eyes. He nods and Sam makes room so the he can sit next to Cas, too.
"Hey, Cas," Dean says, pushing hair out of his face. "What's wrong, little guy?"
"They're gonna kill me," Cas says. "I'm scared."
"It was a nightmare," Sam tells him. "It was just a bad dream, Cas. No one's gonna hurt you."
"They are! They said so. My father is mad and he's going to hurt me."
Dean looks at Sam and Sam thinks he must be high, because Dean actually smiles a bit before turning back to Cas. "All right, here's what I want you to do. Next time you have a nightmare like this, you tell your father or your brother or your sisters, whoever's picking on you, you tell them that if your father even thinks of trying anything, your dads are gonna kick his ass. You got that?"
Cas nods, sniffling a little as he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Good," Dean says, leaning in to press his lips to Cas' forehead as he tucks the toddler in. "No more waking us up with this, okay?"
"Okay, daddy," Cas says.
Dean stands and goes, waiting by the light switch at the door for Sam to join him. Sam stays seated a few seconds longer. Cas has burrowed under the covers, and while he seems pacified in regards to the nightmare, it's obvious he's still shaken. "You wanna come sleep with papa tonight?"
Cas peeks up over the covers. "Can I really?"
"Yeah," Sam says, pushing the covers away and pulling Cas up out of bed. "Come on, let's go get all rested up."
"Is daddy coming, too?"
Sam laughs, almost considers asking Dean if he wants to just to make Cas feel better, but Dean's already flicking off the light. "Nah, daddy has his own bed. He's not getting kicked by any little legs tonight." He grabs Cas' feet and brings them to his mouth, pretending to gobble them, which makes Cas giggle and squirm. "Night, you two," Dean says, patting Cas on the head one last time before turning down the hall.
Sam's not sure if the angels get Dean's message or if Cas just isn't scared by them anymore, but he never has a nightmare like that again.
_______________________________________________________________
"Big day," Dean says, hand on the steering wheel. He gives Sam a knowing look. "You all ready for it?"
"I don't know why you'd imply I wouldn't be," he says, opening the brown paper bag in his hand for the 80th time, just to make sure he packed it right. "Not like I didn't know he'd be going to school someday."
Dean smiles, wide and mocking. "Oh, I can see it happening already."
"See what, Dean?" Sam snaps. "Cas! What is taking so long?"
Dean chuckles and reaches across the driver's seat, grabbing Sam's hand. "Don't take it out on him, he's just a kid."
Sam sighs. "Take what out on who?"
"You've got Empty Nest Syndrome."
Sam laughs. "It's his first day of preschool, how could I have Empty Nest Syndrome?"
Dean just raises an eyebrow and Sam sinks down into the passenger's side of the Impala. "I just. God, what the hell am I gonna do all day if I don't have him to look after? What if he forgets about me? What if he likes his teacher better than me? Or-you don't think he'll get picked on, right?"
Dean laughs, and Sam realizes he's still got a hand wrapped around Sam's wrist. "Sammy, calm down. He remembers me and I go to work every day. You can find a hobby, or maybe help hunters do research like Bobby does. Or something, you'll figure it out. I won't even entertain the teacher thing, and I'm sure there's no such thing as bullies in preschool."
Sam takes a deep breath and exhales. "Yeah, I know. I know. It's just-"
"You're freaking out anyway." Dean grins. "I think that's what being a parent's about."
"You seem to be doing fine," Sam retorts, maybe just a little bitter at how easy Dean seems to have it when Sam actually might work himself into a heart attack.
Dean's eyes go soft and his smile dims. "I've sent a kid off to preschool," he says. "Though, let's hope Cas turns out cooler than that little loser did."
Sam returns his brother's smile. "Thanks, Dean."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Go find out what's taking that little terror so long."
Cas is standing off to the side, in the grass next to the driveway, peering down at his shoes.
"Falling in love with your feet, Cas?" Sam asks.
Cas looks up. "My shoes came loose on the stairs and I tied them myself. Just like you taught me!"
Sam laughs, taking Cas' hand. "That's awesome. You'll be top of your class already."
"Okay, but I don't want to be too far ahead." Cas looks very serious. "Daddy says I don't want to be a geek."
"Don't listen to daddy, ever, okay?"
"Okay!" Cas skips next to Sam as they walk to the car.
The school is a seven minute drive from the house. Sam tags along just to see Cas off and walk him to the door.
"Looks like this is it," Sam says, kneeling down to grab Cas into a hug. "Are you ready?"
"Yup!" Cas says easily.
Sam frowns. "You sure? Because if you're not, you know, you don't have to be. You could always start next year and come home with papa."
"I'm going to make friends," Cas says, walking off into the room.
"Traitor," Sam mutters as he stands back up. There's a pretty lady with red hair who introduces herself to Sam as Cas' teacher, and after five minutes, Sam runs out of questions to ask and finally has to let go, walking back to the car.
"I'm proud of you, Sammy," Dean says in a mocking tone as Sam slams the door.
"Just shut up and drive," Sam replies.
_______________________________________________________________
Sam gets to know the other parents on mornings and afternoons when he's dropping Cas off. Mostly it's moms who are around, hovering just a few minutes extra as they learn to accept that their kids are growing up. In fact, Sam's pretty sure he's never seen another guy there alone.
He doesn't feel emasculated at all.
"I think it's great that you're willing to come do this," one of the mothers says, sliding up next to him as they watch the last fifteen minutes of playtime before they can take their kids home. Sam's talked to her a few times, usually in a group. Her kid is a little girl with blonde pigtails named Stacy.
"Willing to do what?" he asks, not turning to look at her.
"Admit you're just as terrified as we are. I mean, I know a bunch of the husbands all drag their wives out some days just to pretend they're the ones being moral support. But we're all freaking out, and it's great that you're willing to own that."
Sam shrugs. "Dean's the butch one," he says.
She laughs. "Your partner, I'm guessing? I've seen him hanging around the car. Nicely done, by the way, he is gorgeous."
Sam wants to say, yeah, I wish, lady but luckily the alarm sounds then, and Sam swoops into the crowd of preschoolers to grab Cas up. Cas has been loving school so far, spends an hour every day talking excitedly about all the things he's done or learned.
Dean waits until Cas is secured in the back seat and Sam is strapping himself in to turn down the music. "So, I saw that back there."
"Saw what?"
"You could be getting some serious single mom action right now."
Sam snorts. "She thought we were gay, Dean."
Dean's happy expression falls. "Oh." He smiles again, but it looks less amused this time. "What'd she say when you told her I was your brother?"
"I didn't tell her," Sam says. Dean gives him a look and Sam shrugs. "I didn't get a chance before the bell rang. Anyway, who cares?"
"I do." Dean's knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and he's driving so carefully Sam knows it means he's pissed. "God, it's like you want the whole town to think we're fucking."
"Dude, language." Sam points to the backseat. "You want him to say that at school tomorrow?"
"Whatever. We're talking about this when we get home."
"I don't know what there is to talk about."
Dean says nothing, turns back to the stereo and the road.
_______________________________________________________________
Sam sets Cas down on the floor as soon as they get home, giving him an encouraging push to the living room. "Cas, go watch some cartoons, okay? You can put them on as loud as you want."
Cas grins and runs for the door, stopping only to call Sputnik to follow him. The dog runs past Sam and Dean, and Dean walks into the dining room, then turns to face Sam. "I think I should leave."
Sam stares in shock for a full half minute before he finds his voice. "What? Where? What?"
Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't know where, but I think I should go."
"Dude," Sam says. "Because I let one random lady in this entire town think we're fucking?"
"Because I'm in hell," he answers.
Sam laughs humorlessly. "Don't you think, in light of our entire lives, that might be a little melodramatic?"
Dean shakes his head. "No. I mean it. This is torture and I quit."
Sam's knees start shaking. He doesn't know if it's shock or hurt or anger, but he pulls a chair out and drops into it regardless of what's causing the reaction. "You. Wow. Okay. You know, maybe this isn't your dream, but you could be a little gentler here. I mean, fuck, I actually thought we were happy." He shakes his head. "I'm happy. I didn't realize we were torturing you."
"Don't play with me," Dean says, voice cool. "Don't act like you don't know what you're doing, not telling them. Letting everyone think-it's pretty passive aggressive and petty of you, Sam. 'Oh, haha, Dean, guess what this crazy lady at school today thought, sure was crazy of her.' I know you know, and I don't get why you're doing this, if you think it's going to make me confess or what, but fuck it. I'm leaving, so you can stop worrying about it."
"What are you-?"
"I know he told you."
"Who told me what?" Sam raises his hands. "Dean, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Castiel, he told you. The day he came and fixed you. I know he did, you've been acting different ever since. He took one look at me and knew and he spent his last five minutes clueing you in. Man, I love that kid to death, but if I could get my hands on that angel…" He shakes his head. "That day he tried to convince me to tell you, and a part of me suspected he'd already told you. So I know that's why you act like I'm going to jump on you if you get too close. I get it, believe me, I get it. But I can't live like this, Sammy."
"Can't live like what? Castiel didn't tell me jack. You should tell me whatever it is you think I know, and then we can have a conversation, because I feel like I'm only getting the least important half of this discussion."
"You're not wrong, you know. I'm almost happy. It's so close and that's the whole problem."
"The reason you can't stand to live like this is that you're almost happy? No, yeah. That makes perfect sense."
"It wasn't so bad before. When we never got anything we wanted, so what was one more thing to have to go without? But now…everything is so close to perfect, and it would be so easy to-everyone already thinks we are. Not just the neighbors and the parents at school. Even Cas is always asking why we can't all share a bed or why you and I don't kiss like the other parents and if it means we're getting a divorce like one of his little friends told him we were. It's the only thing screwing this up, and it's big enough that I can hardly enjoy the rest of this. I'd rather just leave and be miserable, Sam. I'd rather not have you at all than have to keep fighting this when you're right fucking there."
Sam pieces it all together, surprised that his mouth doesn't hit the floor. "You want me."
Dean looks away. "Of course I want you, man. I've always wanted you."
"You-you want me." Sam stands and takes a step toward Dean, suddenly feeling a buzz of energy power through him. "Dean, you want me. We're so stupid. We're so, so fucking stupid."
"What do-?"
Sam muffles Dean words with his lips, and Dean stands stock still for ten seconds before his brain seems to catch up. He has a hand tangled in Sam's hair in moments once he does start moving, and Dean doesn't kiss like anyone Sam has ever kissed. It's not a first kiss, it's not tentative, there's none of the regret or guilt Sam was afraid he'd find. Dean kisses like it's his life.
Sam pulls away. "Jesus, Dean," he mutters. "I stopped touching you because I was scared you'd figure me out."
"So you've-you've wanted this since-"
"Pretty much since we found Cas." Sam goes back in for another kiss and feels Dean smiling into it.
"I've wanted this forever," he mutters, but before his mouth crashes back on Sam's, there's a bark at their feet. "Not now, Sputnik," Dean says.
Sam pauses, forgetting about the kissing for a moment. "Hey! You just called him Sputnik."
Dean makes a face like he doesn't get it for a moment, then he frowns. "That doesn't count! You kissed me! It’s cheating. I call a do-over."
"No way!" Sam says. "After three years, I won! I named the dog!"
"Oh, whatever," Dean says, shoving Sam away. Sam refuses, holds onto him as he tries to fight his way free. He kisses Dean whenever his mouth gets close enough to land on his brother's skin. "Quit slobbering on me or I'll call you Sputnik."
"Daddy, I wanna play racecars."
Dean groans and looks down at Cas, who has apparently wandered back out of the living room. "Right now?"
"Right. Now." Cas answers, placing his hands on his hips and looking very stern indeed.
Sam laughs, resting his forehead on Dean's shoulder. "I should start making dinner anyway."
"Ugh, but we haven't even…" Dean looks at Cas again, remembering to censor himself. "Oh man, I am so not going to work tomorrow."
"You're going to call out of work so you can mess around with me all day?"
Dean grins. "You know it."
"How does one phrase that excuse, pray tell?"
"I'll just tell 'em I hurt my back and can't make it," Dean's lips curve up, slow and seductive, "won't even be a lie by the end of the day."
"Isn't that a little premature?" Sam asks.
Dean barks out a laugh, then leans in close and brushes his lips against Sam's for a moment. "I'm never premature," he teases.
Sam's entire body flushes. "God, stop talking about it and-"
"We can't. Your kid wants to play racecars, remember?"
"Oh, now he's my kid," Sam mutters.
Dean sweeps Cas up in one arm, throwing him over his shoulder. "That's right. Your little monster."
He begins to march toward the staircase, turning his back and Cas on Sam. Cas grins upside-down at Sam and waves as they disappear.
Dinner goes the way it usually does, and they end up putting Cas to bed early. They find themselves in Sam's room, sitting in the glow of the TV, much the same as every night. Only now they're making out and the TV is blabbering on unheeded, and Dean's hand is snaking up Sam's shirt, and Sam is really fucking okay with that.
"Nightmare," a little voice announces from the doorway. Sam and Dean break apart as Cas comes to the edge of the bed and climbs up and between them without anyone telling him to. Dean makes a whining sound and sinks back into the pillow on his side of the bed. Sam just hands over the remote; he knows defeat when he sees it.
Cas falls asleep after about half an hour. Actually they all do. Sam wakes up as the TV is shutting off and Dean is sitting up to go.
He smiles at Sam when he sees him waking up. "Dude, you weren't exaggerating," he says, sounding horrified. "That show literally is just animal sounds."
"Told you," Sam murmurs, half into his pillow. Dean bends over to give Sam a quick kiss and is careful not to wake Cas as he kisses the child's forehead.
"Time for bed, I guess," Dean says. "Was a pretty big day."
Sam rolls his eyes and tugs Dean's arm down. "Where do you think you're going?"
Dean smiles, even looks relieved. "Nowhere," he says, relaxing back down into the mattress. "Just try and make me."
He curls an arm protectively around Cas and brushes his fingers on the skin of Sam's thigh that he finds when his hand reaches the other side. Sam likes that so much he mimics the action, creating a wall around Cas. He places his hand on Dean's hip and they feel the bed shake as Sputnik jumps on at the foot, the last member of the house to settle down.
It's crowded and maybe even uncomfortable and Sam can't help thinking they have to be the weirdest family on the planet. Still, he can't imagine a better one.
End.
Want more? There's now an EPILOGUE of sorts!