Author's Note: This is my first Supernatural story; I just recently got addicted to the show. There were a few cases where I wished scenes would unfold differently, but this is the only one I've written out so far. It should become obvious as you read, but it takes place in the middle of Castiel extracting Gadreel's grace from Sam (Season 9 Episode 11 "First Born")

Even Winchesters Can Change

It's always something with the Winchesters, Castiel thought seriously. The brothers were always getting into trouble, fighting monsters, and getting hurt. Lately, the emotional hurts had taken a heavy toll on the brothers. Though Castiel was an outsider and could see both perspectives, he understood the hurt that Sam in particular was experiencing. Sam was a kindred spirit in many ways; both of them attempted to reach happy endings by taking dark measures along the way. I am the only person who screws up more consistently than Sam.

Today, he wanted to be sure to make the right decisions. If he messed up here, Sam's life would be lost.

It was less than a week since the angel Gadreel was expelled from Sam's body. Dean left with the knowledge that Castiel would start the healing process with Sam immediately. None of them could have predicted that Gadreel left some grace inside Sam—enough grace that could be used to track him if they had enough.

However, the process of extraction wasn't going well. Sam was losing his health once more.

"Sam, this needs to stop," Castiel half-stated and half-ordered as he stared at the suffering Winchester. Underneath his steady hand, Sam's forehead was burning with a fever. No doubt his internal organs were doing the same. This plot to retrieve Gadreel's grace was a long-shot since the very beginning, but with Sam's life beginning to wither away, it became too dangerous to continue.

"No, Cas, keep going," Sam breathed out.

"Your body is reverting back to how it was before Gadreel entered," he explained. "If I continue the extraction, then I will kill you."

"That's…alright…"

"Stupid." Castiel borrowed the insult from Dean, who often said the word to describe the actions of others. He started to move the needle out of Sam's neck, but the brunet reached out and stopped his hand. "Do you not understand that you can only be brought back from death so many times? Dean cannot save you forever."

Sam laughed a single chuckle. What kind of laugh that was, Castiel wasn't sure, but he didn't like it. "Dean always saves me," Sam explained softly. "Even when I don't want to be saved." He stared upwards, as if the ceiling was a bright blue sky lit with hope. "I was ready to die, you know? I wanted to give my life to seal the gates of Hell but Dean stopped me. Then I'm in a coma and I'm about to die again…and I just decide…that's it. No more hopping back and forth. I want to die or I want to live, but if I'm going to live, I don't want…"

It was a wonder Sam even spoke that much. He was fighting the urge to cough due to the needle in his neck, so his coughing came out weak. Blood still began to swim out of his mouth.

"This isn't a conversation you should be having with me. Dean should-"

"Dean ran, Cas. He always does."

"He'd come running here if he knew what kind of shape you're in. How you're dying…" Castiel stared at him with a combination of worry, pity, and confusion. "Do you really want to die here, for the sake of revenge? And to die without Dean by your side?"

"That's not-"

"I've heard enough," Castiel decided. While Sam's hand weakened its grasp on his, he quickly and carefully extracted the needle from his neck. He turned around and set it on a table far away from Sam. He was currently muttering something under his breath, something along the lines of a frustrated curse. But Castiel knew that Sam was too weak to get to the needle in his state. Besides that, he would only be gone for a brief instant.

Castiel left the bunker and reappeared in a bar. He wasn't surprised that was the location of Dean Winchester, but he was surprised at the company he was keeping. "Crowley," he said lowly, looking at the two from behind.

Dean and Crowley both heard the growl, but Dean was much more urgent in turning around. "Cas, it's not what it looks like…"

"It looks like the two of you are sharing a beer," he said in disappointment.

"He has a good eye, that one," Crowley said to Dean.

"Shut it." He looked back at Castiel, obviously trying to find words to explain his situation.

"Never mind," Castiel interrupted. "You need to come with me."

"Cas, I can't. Crowley and I are working a serious case, alright? We've got a lead on a weapon to kill Abadon."

"Sam is dying."

Both men on the bar seats straightened at that news. "Moose, dying? What a shocker…"

Dean didn't even bother casting the King of Hell a look of aggravation. "What's wrong?"

"It'd be easier to show you." Castiel stepped closer to Dean, who stood up and abandoned his beer as well as his company.

"Oh come on…" Crowley said in frustration. However, he didn't have any more time to protest. Castiel set a hand on Dean's shoulder and the two of them were gone.

Seeing how his conversation took longer than usual, Castiel wasn't surprised that Sam was no longer in his chair. Instead, he was lying on the ground, half his face against the floor. Sweat beaded his face and permeated the roots of his hair, making him look just as disheveled as he had in that hospital room.

Dean was moving before Castiel could. He ran the few steps between him and Sam and lifted his younger brother's torso, elevating him off the ground. "Hey. Hey. Sammy? Sammy!" he called, looking at his brother's unfocused eyes. "Cas, what's wrong with him?" he demanded.

"To make a long story short…Gadreel left some residual grace inside of Sam. We discovered we could extract that grace and use it to track Gadreel. I extracted some, but as I retrieved more, Sam's health began to decline."

"And you kept going?"

"On his orders," Castiel nodded. When Dean dared to cast him a look of aggravation, he further explained himself. "I stopped short of completion. Sam didn't want you to be here at all." This last secret was even more painful to tell than the last sentence he spoke. "He started saying that he wants to die."

Dean looked like he was smacked across the face. However, he didn't look shocked. "What else did he say?"

"Dean…"

"Dammit Cas, I know how Sam is when he's sick. He rambles and spills all his secrets. If he said that, I'm sure he said a lot more."

"It's not my place."

"Well obviously he's not going to tell me in this condition, so you're the only person who can."

Castiel took in a deep breath. "I interrupted him before he could complete his thoughts," he admitted. "But when I told him he was facing death and you couldn't save him all the time, he corrected me and said that you could and would save him."

Dean lowered his head, shaking it. "That's what this is, then?" he sighed. "Sam thinks he can go and die for this cause and everything'll just…pop back in place?"

"In his defense, it has happened numerous times…"

"Not the point, Cas."

"That wasn't my point, either. Or his. He wants to die and stay dead. Or he wants to live and not die all the time. Neither case is likely, is it?"

Dean didn't have to answer the question for the answer to be known. They both understood that as long as Dean was alive, there was no way Sam was going to die and stay dead. And since the hunter's life wasn't one easily cast away, he wasn't going to live a long life. "Can you cure him?" Dean asked instead.

"In stages, yes."

"Alright, then let's hope to it," Dean said. He began to move as soon as he was done speaking though, confusing Cas. Even after he put one of Sam's arms around his shoulder and began to stand up with him, Castiel just stared. "What?" he said. "You think he'd be happy to realize I'm here? Better just to lug him off to bed and let you get to work. I'll scram."

Fortunately for Dean, Sam was just aware enough to take the steps with him instead of being completely dragged to his room. Castiel could have transported them easily, but he was in no rush to let Dean depart. "You can't be serious," he said, starting to walk with Dean. "Even with my intervention, Sam has a long, hard journey before him. You think my support will be enough? After all the wrongs I've committed towards him, I don't believe that I'm the company he wants."

"Oh, what, and you think I am?" Dean hissed. "I'm the one who let Gadreel possess him in the first place. He's in this shape because of me now, and he's alive because of me."

"You say the latter like it's a bad thing."

"In his mind, I'm sure it is. In mine? I thought it'd always be a good thing, but Sammy doesn't seem to agree."

"Dean-"

"I'm not in the mood for a lecture, Cas, okay? I'm putting him to bed and then I'm getting out of here."

"That's not an option." Castiel momentarily disappeared, leaving Dean in utter confusion. What, did you poof off to go pout, Cas? he wondered. It didn't really matter. He took Sammy to his bedroom, laid him down on the bed, and then rose. Looking down at his fragile little brother, every part of him pleaded against logic. He spent his whole life trying to keep his brother alive, and now that he was dying, he was leaving.

The door to Sam's bedroom closed behind him and locked. He turned around and found the culprit standing there.

"This bunker is now on lockdown," Castiel declared at the door. "Dean, you are not allowed to leave until it is obvious to me that you and your brother have made amends. I'll bring you both food."

"Dammit Cas, locking me in the bunker is one thing, but forcing us in the same room? That's insanity."

Cas momentarily seemed to consider Dean's words, but he didn't respond to them. Instead, he simply vanished, causing Dean to curse him out yet again. But even Dean realized that there was no point in howling at the angel or ordering him to change his mind; Cas always preferred to make his own decisions and not follow the directions of others.

Dean sighed, turning and sitting in a chair in the corner. It seriously pissed him off how empty the room was. What did Sam have against making a place homely, anyway? What, did he not like the idea of sharing a home with Dean? He lifted a hand and set it on the back of his neck, realizing the latter was ridiculous. The "home" issue started long before Sam found out about Gadreel.

At the thought of Sam, Dean looked over at the bedridden kid. He was too out of it when he dragged him in the room to know he was there…surely he was too out of it to realize anything about the world. Dean stood up, again standing over his younger brother. He lowered a hand to Sam's forehead and frowned. Naturally he was burning up. His face was grimy with sweat, hair filthy, and body looking like it ran out of energy. "Alright, Sammy," he said quietly. "If I'm stuck here, guess I'll make myself useful."

"Cas," Dean called into the air. "I'll play along, alright? Let me out of the room and I'll help nurse him back to health."

*…*…*…*…*…*

Dean was true to his word. Five days into lockdown, he was still in the bunker. He was complaining to Cas about how they needed to make a food run and how he was the only one who could go, but Cas countered him and told him that he understood how supermarkets worked and how he could go buy more food. While Cas was out, Dean did try to unlock the bunker. Unfortunately, he couldn't solve anything before Castiel returned.

As soon as Cas was back, he acted like he had been waiting for food the whole time. He started making soup right away and Castiel put the food away. The angel obviously knew the truth, but he didn't bother commenting on it. Dean put the soup on a tray with crackers and a glass of ice-cold water before he returned to Sam's room.

Even with Cas beginning the healing process over the past few days, Sammy still wasn't doing well. He was too out of it to realize it was Dean who was taking care of him, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because Dean knew Sam would send him away if he was aware, and a curse because when he was sick, Sam said things out loud without thinking of the consequences.

"You'd make a good big brother, Cas," Sick-Sam had once said to Dean. Naturally he believed that Castiel was taking care of him the whole time—who else would have been there. "Dean calls you a child a lot. You are kind of a kid but that's okay. Better that than being hardened like Dean…"

On another occasion, he spoke more of his older brother. "Dean can really piss me off sometimes, you know that Cas? He goes on all these hunts and works so hard to save people all the time that he thinks he always has to save me. What if I don't want to be saved? I want to die so bad, Cas. I can't take this life anymore. You couldn't just let me go, could you?"

Dinner that night… "I think I said something stupid earlier," Sam said. "About living and dying. I keep changing my mind…I want to live, but only if it's a good life. Not like this crap. I had something with Amelia, but then drama got in the way. And she got to keep the dog. I'd love to have a dog again, but I doubt Dean'd want a dog in here, 'cause we'd have to use the impala to take it to the vet. That'd seriously make him mad…You don't know what he's up to, do you, Cas? I mean, you didn't tell him that I'm dying here, did you?"

….I wonder where the nearest animal shelter is, Dean thought as he pushed Sam's door open with his shoulder. If the kid wanted a dog that badly, then he guessed it was okay. They'd have to bring him on all their jobs though, since they couldn't keep it in the bunker forever with no yard or food.

Upon entering the room, Dean saw Sam sitting up in bed with a book in his hand. He wasn't sure how he got it, but it didn't matter. "Alright, Sammy, time for lunch," Dean said, confident that this would be another day being mistaken as Castiel.

Sam set down the book and reached for the tray. "Yeah, thanks, Dean."

Dean stood up straight at the mention of his name. He looked at Sammy and saw that despite the hollow look of his eyes and the grime, his little brother looked more aware than he had previous days.

"Let me guess," Sam said. "Cas told you I was dying and you came running?"

"He kidnapped me," Dean corrected. "And put the bunker on lockdown so we're forced to work out our issues."

Sam sighed. "What a child."

Dean smirked halfheartedly. And you scold me for calling him a child… "Yeah, well, you know Cas."

"He's been taking good care of me, though," Sam said, further solidifying Dean's hypothesis that Sam didn't know the truth. "He came in here one day and gave me a scolding."

"Wait, really?" Maybe Cas did pop in sometime, because Dean never did anything close to scolding.

"Yeah," Sam chuckled. "Started talking to me about peanut butter and jelly and humanity. Good talk, actually. Kind of made me start thinking…"

"Well, try not to think too hard and burn yourself out. Let's at least focus on something important, huh? Like convincing Cas to unlock the bunker and let me get out of your hair."

Sam shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillows. "You can think about that if you want."

What's that supposed to mean? Dean thought with arched brow. Didn't really matter. "I'll leave you to your soup." He turned around and walked out, automatically heading towards the kitchen. Cas said that he knew what he was doing with putting away the groceries, but he wasn't sure that he actually did.

By the time he got there, Cas was putting away the milk. "Generally, it's good to put the refrigerated items away first, Cas," Dean said smartly.

"I doubt the milk was going to spoil that quickly," Castiel said. "There are more valuable things to talk about than groceries right now. I see that Sam is doing better."

"Yeah," he agreed. "He's aware enough to know I'm here now."

"How did he react?"

Dean wasn't sure himself, so he had no clue how to put it into words. He shrugged, uncommitted. "He said you scolded him the other day. What'd you say to him?"

"I told him that I don't understand why you two are so eager to put your lives on the line and seek out death."

Dean tried to make a joke of many things, but this was one thing he couldn't laugh off. He was going to be the one to seek out death with the trials, but then it fell on Sam. Sam said that he was willing to do the trials because he saw a light at the end of it all, but in the end, he must have lost sight of it, because he wanted to die in that church. "I don't think he picked up on that part of it. He seems to have heard something about PB&J and humanity…"

"Yes, he did hear that," Castiel agreed. "It seems foolish now, but a peanut butter and jelly sandwich had a large role in changing my heart."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked skeptically.

"As a human, the taste of the peanut butter, jelly, and bread blended together. As an angel, my taste has changed so that I taste every molecule individually. My favorite food is now disgusting to me."

"I'm…sorry to hear that?" How am I even supposed to respond to this?

Cas cast him a look of both devastation and hope. "I learned a valuable lesson from my time as a human. I learned what it is to truly feel regret, and to be fragile and lost. I changed during that time for the better. I gained wisdom. And if there is hope that I, an angel, can change, then I believe there is hope for the Winchesters. That is the message that I gave to Sam."

"All that because of a PB&J, huh?" Dean joked, though the humor fell flat. When he met Cas's eyes, he knew exactly what his angelic friend was saying. This was a message that he needed to take to heart as well. "What am I supposed to change?" he asked defensively. "If you're gonna say I should stop protecting Sammy, I'm walking away."

"You should change and listen to what Sam wants," Castiel said. "If he wants to die, that's his right."

Dean's blood boiled as he quickly closed the distance between himself and Castiel. He grabbed onto Castiel's tan coat and swung him to the side, shoving him against the wall. "Don't you ever say that!" he growled.

"You think I like saying that?" Castiel asked seriously. "I want Sam to live too. But ultimately, it is Sam's decision. Have you considered how he feels in all this? He has been possessed numerous times and had all control of his life ripped out of his hands. The least he can hope for is the right to choose how he dies."

Dean shook his head. "No," he said simply. He didn't care if Cas was right. He didn't care if Sam technically did have the right to end his life however and whenever he wanted. "He's my baby brother. There's no way I'm letting him die!"

"Are you saying this for Sam's sake, or for your own?"

"What?"

"It doesn't take much to see how you despise being alone. If Sam did die in that hospital, you would have been isolated. Kevin and I were still alive, but we're not Sam. Can you even live without him anymore?"

There ain't no me if there ain't no you. That's what Dean had said to Sam when trying to convince him to turn away from Death. "I don't want to hear this anymore," he said, releasing Cas's shirt and backing away.

"Why not, Dean?" a new voice from the doorway said. When he turned his head and looked over, Dean saw the sickly Sam standing there, leaning against the doorway with his shoulder. "Is it because it's finally getting through to you that he's right?"

"How long you been standing there, Sammy?" he asked as he turned his head away.

"Long enough."

"You should be in bed. Or at least sitting down."

"And you should be listening to what he has to say."

"I've heard it a hundred times. I'm not gonna change my mind now."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, taking a step forward and standing shakily on his own two feet. "Why not?"

"Because that means my work protecting you's been for nothing. Dammit Sam I'm not going down that road. You're better off alive than dead."

"That's my choice to make. You don't even care that I don't want to be saved. I've been thinking of taking up the trials again to shut the gates of Hell."

If Sam wasn't already so fragile, Dean would have slugged him right then and there. He would have grabbed him by his throat, swung him down to the floor, and punched him in the face over and over again until his mouth was so full of blood he couldn't say such terrible things. "Sam," Castiel said before Dean could. "That's unwise."

"No offense Cas, but you know how much I screw up too. At least with that screw-up, I do some good."

"What the Hell are you talking about, Sam? You've done plenty of good," Dean interrupted.

Sam set a hand against the wall, briefly squinting his eyes and blinking to regain focus. "I could live a hundred years as a hunter and I could never do anything as good as close the gates of Hell. I want to make up for all the wrongs I've done and all the people I've hurt! Kevin…"

"Kevin's on me…"

"Who's the one who didn't have the guts to finish what he started with curing Crowley?" Sam challenged. "Who couldn't sense the freaking angel possessing him? It is on me, whether you want to admit it or not. I've killed too many good people…I need to do more good than harm, but nothing will ever be good enough."

Sam suddenly collapsed, falling to his knees, gasping for air. Dean rushed over to his little brother, Castiel doing the same but remaining standing as Dean knelt down and grabbed Sam's shoulders. "Sammy," he said. "Sammy!"

"I'll heal him now," Castiel said, bending over and setting a hand on Sam's head. Even after Cas worked his magic, Sam's breathing was still hoarse and uneven.

"Back to bed, Sasquatch," Dean said, using a nickname that he forsook a long time ago. He grabbed one of Sam's arms and wrapped it around his shoulder. With all the times he took care of Sam, this felt normal. He hated it whenever Sam was sick or hurt, but he liked feeling useful. He felt like a good big brother as long as he kept him healthy and alive.

He half-dragged-half-walked Sam back to his room and plopped him down in his bed. There was still a full glance of water there, as well as the soup. It didn't look like he even tried to get anything into his system. Are you starving yourself, Sammy? he thought miserably. You really want to die that badly? Looking down at him, he opened his mouth to confront him. He shut it just as quickly when he saw his brother passing out.

You'll get your scolding later, he sighed, walking over to the corner chair and sitting down. You just wait.

*…*…*…*…*…*

Sam legitimately slept for a long time, having exhausted himself by standing up and moving around. He knew what it was like to fall deeper into this sickness, and now he was experiencing the opposite. Thank goodness Cas was there to heal him this time around. The only unfortunate thing was that Dean was also around, and he was being himself. When he wasn't listening to logic, he was hovering over Sam. Sam feigned sleep for a while when he realized Dean was in his room, because he wasn't in the mood to be harassed. As soon as Dean was out, Sam rolled out of bed and shut himself in the bathroom to shower off grime and sweat.

He only heard parts saying I want to die, Sam sighed as the warm water splashed against his worn face. It wasn't even true. He would have been alright with dying in that church, because his death would have accomplished something good. But now he was alive, and no matter how much good he did with his life, it could never measure up to the good he would have done shutting the gates of Hell.

Nevertheless, he wasn't naïve. Dying now wasn't going to do any good. He would stick around and do the best he could to help people as long as he could. He was just depressed. Dean certainly wasn't helping anything. He thought maybe they could patch things up—that's why he stumbled out to the kitchen. But when he overheard Dean talking to Cas about how he didn't regret anything, he started to doubt what Cas told him before: Winchesters couldn't change. Ever.

Sam stood in the shower for a long time. He was tired again by the end of it, but it was worth it to have just a few moments of privacy. When he couldn't take standing anymore, he got out of the shower, dressed himself in fresh sweatpants and a V-neck, he sauntered back into his bedroom. He half expected Dean to be standing there, waiting for him, but he wasn't.

He walked through the halls to the long table where he generally did his research. Out of instinct, he opened up his laptop and began to do some research. There had to be something nearby that he could take care of, something simple like burning some bones.

"What are you doing?"

Sam jumped, blinking hard as he turned around. "I'm looking for a case, Cas," he said to the angel.

"You're not ready for anything. Besides, this bunker is on lockdown until you and Dean resolve your differences."

"And you know what, Cas, I was willing to do it. I stumbled out here earlier to talk to him, but Dean'll never budge. Until he can see things from my eyes, I don't think that he'll ever change."

"Are you suggesting some kind of…body swap spell? Because that is not an area of expertise for me…"

"That's not even close to what I was suggesting," Sam said, waving his hands vehemently. That was actually the last thing he wanted. "The point is, Dean can't change, alright? He could if he stopped being so self-righteous and pigheaded, but you and I both know that's not happening. So if you could just accept that and let him get on his way, we can get back to business. Did you try the tracking spell for Gadreel?"

"No. I knew that you would want to be a part of the process."

"Then let's go," Sam rose to his feet, straightening his shirt as he did. "What are the ingredients?"

"Sam, I'm not stupid. As soon as we know where Gadreel is, you'll want to go after him. We'll complete the tracking spell as soon as you're able."

"Fine, Cas. Whatever." He looked around, realizing just how quiet the bunker was. "Where's Dean?"

"He had a very specific request. I allowed him to leave the house on the condition that he left the impala in the garage. I knew he wouldn't travel far without it."

"Alright, so what's this errand of his?" Sam asked, grasping the back of a chair for support.

"It's not my place to say. As soon as he returns, all will be made clear."

Sam hated secrets above all else, but taking out his anger on Cas wasn't going to accomplish anything. "I'm getting back to my research," he declared as he returned to his seat. Upon seeing Castiel's disapproving look, he pleaded his case. "At least take Dean out for a run every once in a while. It's not gonna do our relationship any good to be together all hours of the day."

"Your feedback is noted. For now, I'll heal you further." Cas walked the distance between them, stopping right beside Sam as he set a hand on his forehead. As surely as he could feel the power leave him, Sam could also feel his internal body begin to cool. Sam took it in for a few moments, sighing a "thank you" afterward.

After that, Cas left him alone. He disappeared, really. Sam didn't care where he went; he was just grateful for some peace and quiet as he scoured the internet for a case. He found half a dozen cases of bizarre occurrences, but none of them were close enough for Dean and Cas to investigate. And none were simple enough for him to automatically finger as ghosts that needed bodies burned. He extended his arm on the table, aside his laptop, and then rested his head for just a moment.

The next thing Sam was aware of was something wet and coarse running over his cheek. He bolted upright in his seat so quickly that his chair flew backwards. He panicked as soon as his equilibrium was lost, but the chair never did crash to the ground. Two steady hands grasped the back and shoved it back into its intended position on all four legs.

The first thing Sam did was turn around and see that it was a wide-eyed Dean who caught the chair. But a bark to his left made him look at the original culprit. There was a big dog next to him, with shining black fur, a dirt-colored jaw, and mud-brown eyes. Though Rottweilers were generally unfriendly, this dog was wagging its long tail so hard that its whole body trembled with excitement.

"Um…" Sam started.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean said, briefly setting a hand atop his younger brother's head. "Brought you a present."

Sam stared at the dog, more confused than ever. "You went out and bought a dog? That's what your errand was?"

"Well sure," Dean said, removing his hand and setting it on the back of the chair. He moved around to the side, pressing his free hand atop the dog's head and giving him a good ear-scratch. "Thought we could use a new hunting buddy. Animals can sense supernatural things and they have a good sense of smell, good eyesight—look at this guy, he's got some sharp teeth. He'd be a great attack dog."

The dog shook his head, drool splattering on either side of the floor next to him. "He doesn't seem like a good hunting dog," Sam said slowly. "I think he makes a fine alarm clock, though."

"Well, at least he's good for something. We gotta give him a name, though. I ain't calling him 'dog' forever."

Sam looked over at Dean, who was staring at the dog. "…You're serious?" he asked skeptically.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said, directing the dog's face so he was staring at Sam. He looked up too, casting him what he assumed was supposed to be a "puppy-dog look." "We finally have a house—the next step is getting a pet. What if we called him 'Rotty'? He's a Rottweiler…"

"Yeah, I'm not letting the dog suffer with a name that bad for the rest of his life."

"Alright, any ideas, smart guy? Your best idea is probably 'Spot.'"

Sam didn't respond right away; truth was, he had no clue what to name a dog. There was the one he spent two weeks with as a kid, and there was the dog he owned with Amelia, but he felt like their names were terrible. He opened up a new tab on his laptop and looked up pet names. "Bear?" he suggested dumbly.

"Oh, yeah, that's much better than 'Rotty'…"

"Killer?"

"How original…"

"Neptune?"

"Us naming a dog after a god? I don't want any more gods on our backs, especially not because we disgraced them somehow by having a dog take their name."

"Simba?"

"This ain't Lion King…"

Sam sighed, closing the laptop. "Alright, wise guy, any better ideas?"

"Well, the dog is three years old, so maybe we should just use the name the shelter gave him. 'Kansas.'"

"Kansas?" Seriously? Glancing at Dean, he could see he was actually considering it. A part of Sam wanted to argue, but then he began to see what Dean was getting at. A dog named after their home state, the place they came from. A lot of crap went down in Kansas, but it was always where they found each other again. "Alright," he said, setting a hand on the dog's head. "Kansas it is."

Sam set his hand on the dog's head, feeling warmth and strong muscles beneath his palm. It reminded him so much of the normal life he had with Amelia, but he didn't feel too pained. He accepted that he wasn't going to have a normal life. And just a few hours ago, he accepted that dean would never change. Now, he knew better.

Getting the dog meant a change in the impala's rules. Dogs were not only allowed in the back seat; Kansas would be there often. Maybe Dean wasn't changing his philosophy on always keeping Sam alive, but Sam knew Dean wouldn't change overnight. Just the fact that he got a dog was enough for now.

Even Winchesters can change. I guess Cas was right…

"Kansas woke you up," Dean said, more serious. "You should go back to bed, get some shut-eye. Need a hand?"

Sam shook his head, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. "I'm good," he said softly. He looked up at Dean, giving him eye-contact without any signs of bitterness or anger behind his gaze. "We're good."