The summer after he graduated from high school was shaping up to be more peace and quiet than the whole rest of Dean Winchester's life put together. His days—and nights—normally consisted of trying to pull up his D in English between playing peacemaker between his geeky kid brother and his surly father, making sure the latter went to work and remembered to pay the bills, and keeping Jo—the little girl down the street who followed him around like a lost kitten—out of trouble. But now he'd done it: he had graduated, albeit by the skin of his teeth, and he was going to Alabama to stay with Anna Milton's family until September. Although he was slightly ashamed to admit it even in his own head, Dean looked forward to the prospect of two months and a couple states' distance between himself and his everyday problems.

The Miltons were old family friends, though Dean had never met any of them beyond Anna. She'd been visiting her cousin Ruby since they were kids and schooling Dean at pretty much everything from Tag-You're-It to marbles to tree climbing. Dean was pretty sure their mothers had been friends as kids, but he couldn't ask anyone about it. Mary Winchester wasn't something they could talk about, not since she'd died when Dean was four years old. He didn't know what happened to Anna's mom, but if he wasn't going to ask questions about his own mother he certainly wasn't going to go prying about someone else's.

That was just another thing he needed to get away from, though; the oppressive silence from his father had started to grate ever since Sammy—the aforementioned geeky kid brother—had gotten old enough to start asking questions. Questions like "why don't we ever talk about Mom?" Dean needed a break, and so when the ever-perceptive Anna offered him a refuge for the summer, he accepted it with profound relief.

Dean had never so much as set foot outside of Lawrence before, and he drank in the sights with wide eyes the whole bus ride. The further south he went, the more the land seemed to rise up and roll around him, until he felt a little claustrophobic and a little sick; he was used to more open space and less motion.

Anna picked him up at the bus station in a little red Sidekick that had definitely seen better days. The engine sputtered reluctantly a couple of times before finally coming to life, and Dean gave the thing a consoling pat as he tossed his duffel into the back and slid into the passenger seat.

"Poor car," he said. "What is she, '89?"

"Ninety-three," Anna replied. "And don't tut over my car. She'll outlive us all."

"Not wheezing like that she won't," he retorted. "I can look 'er over for you sometime if you want."

"You're here to take care of you, Dean," Anna said, not unkindly, as she backed out of her parking spot—without checking her mirrors, Dean noticed with some chagrin—and screeched out of the bus station parking lot.

"Yeah, but I like messin' with cars. Helps me think."

"Well I'll tell you what," Anna conceded absently. "If after a week of living with Michael, Gabe, Luci, and Raphael you still want to do any thinking at all, you go ahead and mess to your heart's content."

Dean raised an eyebrow at her. He'd never heard Anna talk much about her brothers, and didn't even remember how he found out she had brothers in the first place. He supposed it was just talk. There was always plenty of that to go around.

By all accounts, the Miltons were a strange bunch. There were a whole lot of them, for one thing, and they were all kids and no parents. Sure, most of them were grown, but to a lot of people that made them stand out even more: it seemed odd for a bunch of brothers and sisters to keep living together in one house well after they'd reached adulthood. They were what Dean's neighbor Ellen called eccentric: they all had strange names and strange ways, and they kept to themselves for the most part.

Even knowing all that, though, Dean wasn't quite prepared for the reality of the Milton clan.

After driving for about two hours on the highway—during which Anna refused to let him choose even one song on the radio—the Sidekick finally turned off onto a much narrower road lined with closely-crowded trees. It meandered back for about five miles before Anna finally turned onto narrow gravel road so grown up with bushes and trees that Dean wasn't even sure how a person could tell it was there. He supposed you probably couldn't, unless you already knew it by heart.

The gravel road was surprisingly smooth, and only went back about half a very twisted mile before it opened out into a large, hilly field. The grass was tall and bright green, waving in the breeze as if greeting them. Dean could see that the tree line spread out in a ring all the way around, leaving a large, open area with an expanse of sky overhead while still shielding the whole property from the rest of the world.

The house itself was large, but not grand. It had two stories and a peaked roof. The wide, shaded front porch boasted a line of white wooden rocking chairs and several strange, wild-looking plants with round, purple leaves spilling out of green hanging baskets. To the right was a set of bay windows with old glass in the panes, so warped that he could see the distortions clearly in the reflected light of the sun.

It was painted a bright blue, with pale gray trimmings and shutters and a sunny yellow door. The second floor had several small windows, all open to reveal different colored curtains fluttering in the wind. Dean couldn't help but smile; it looked solid, and cheerful, and homey, like a family who loved it lived there.

Anna drove up the narrow dirt driveway that wound around to the back of the house, where Dean could see one other car parked neatly with its nose toward the low-roofed outcropping attached to the back of the house. She pulled the Sidekick in beside it, put it in park, and killed the engine.

"Take a deep breath, Dean," she said. "Prepare to face the madness that is my family."

Dean privately thought that she must be exaggerating, but sure enough, there were people spilling out of the house already, seemingly from doors on every side. Before Dean had even set foot out of the vehicle there was a hand clapping him on the shoulder and a jovial voice greeting him by name.

"Dean Winchester! Welcome to Hell, buddy! Ten bucks says you won't survive ten minutes of an Alabama summer."

The speaker was a young guy, maybe Dean's age or a little older, with a long, sharp nose and floppy brown hair. He had an air about him of mischief: crooked smile, shifty eyes, even the cheer in his voice seemed strangely false, as if he were trying to distract Dean with it.

"Gabe," Anna said, her tone a warning and a confirmation all at once. Dean grinned, guarded but determined to be friendly, and stuck out his hand to shake.

"Nice to meet you," he said. "And I dunno about that, it gets pretty hot in Kansas."

"Oh, I'll bet it does, Dean-o, I'll bet it does. But you know what you don't have in Kansas? Those infamous southern thunderstorms, with all their humidity and heat lightning." Here, he took the offered hand and Dean felt a shock and heard a loud bzzzt that made him yank his hand away and jump back.

Gabe cracked up, Anna rolled her eyes and groaned, and a grave voice spoke up behind him.

"That stopped being funny when we were children, Gabriel."

Dean jumped again, surprised, and turned to see a pair of wide, unfriendly dark eyes regarding him solemnly.

"Welcome, Dean," he said, oddly formal. Dean nodded and tried to utter a thanks, but then he found himself confronted with yet another Milton. This one was tall, broad-shouldered with neat black hair and assessing blue eyes. He exuded an air of confidence that Dean immediately found intimidating, but he only shook Dean's hand and introduced himself as Michael with a welcoming smile before putting a casual arm across his shoulders and turning him toward the house.

"Okay guys, it's been a long trip and Dean here is probably tired. Anna and I will get him set up in a room and you can all interrogate him at dinner."

Dean didn't like the sound of that, but as Anna and Michael led him toward the house ahead of the rest of their siblings, Michael leaned in conspiratorially to mutter in his ear.

"Don't worry, they're harmless. Mostly. Except for Gabe. Anyway!" He turned to Anna and raised his voice a bit. "Where shall we put our guest?"

"I figured Cassy's room would work, it's not like the little weirdo ever uses it."

"Perfect. I hope you like stairs, Dean!"

"Oh yeah," Dean said, already wondering if he'd made a huge mistake. "Love stairs. Who doesn't love stairs?"

"Good, he likes stairs. Then he won't mind ladders."

Despite his early misgivings, Dean had to admit that it was the most relaxing group of people he had ever been around. They were isolated from the world and perhaps slightly codependent, but it seemed to work for the most part, and even their constant banter and playful bickering was oddly restful. Like any family, they had their quirks and their freaks and their fights…but those were their fights, not his. He could observe quietly and then graciously pretend nothing had happened, like any good house guest. It was a relief, considering how many times a day he was used to breaking up fights between his dad and his own argumentative little brother.

It took him a few days to really meet the whole family and learn everyone's names; there really were a lot of them. Anna had four older brothers and two younger ones, and an older sister named Hester who was severe and silent, and who rarely said anything to Dean but seemed to dislike him the instant she laid eyes on him. He stayed out of her way.

Of the four older brothers, Michael was the eldest and clearly the head of the family. Raphael—the unfriendly stare of disapproval from his first day—was younger than Hester but older than any of the other boys. He was a steady, quiet, solemn person for the most part, but his younger brothers could have him in stitches if he felt there was no one nearby who he ought to impress. Gabriel and Luci were both older than Dean, and although Gabe was closer to a middle child he often acted like the baby of the family. He had an unquenchable sweet tooth and seemed unable to go a single day without playing a prank on one or another of his siblings—or Dean, who was quickly growing into his favorite target. They all groaned and yelled and made him clean up his messes, but it was clear as day that they all loved him for it. Even Dean, who was mightily sick of his pranks before the week was out, had to admit that he was funny…as long as he was being funny using someone else.

Dean had teased Luci about having a girl's name only once, and the look he'd gotten from Michael had made it very clear that he'd better never do it again. He wondered what God-awful name the guy had been given, that he would actually prefer to be called Luci, but he didn't ask. Luci was weird, even by Milton standards. There was something faintly manic about his pale, round face, watery blue eyes and sandy, straw-like hair, and about the way he was forever asking questions and debating his older brothers. He would routinely throw up challenges to the kinds of ideas that Dean—and practically everyone else in the room—tended to just take for granted. This usually ended in long, drawn-out debates with Michael about the nature of right and wrong. He honestly reminded Dean a bit of Sammy.

Dean didn't see too much of the younger three kids at first. Little Uriel was a joker like Gabe, but he grew shy around strangers and buttoned right up. As soon as he noticed Dean was in the room, he would shut his mouth and narrow his eyes and look so much like Raphael that Dean almost had to laugh at him. He managed not to, but just barely. Inias was by far the youngest, not more than seven or eight years old. He was a pale, shy little thing that looked a bit like Luci and a bit like Gabe. He kept close by Hester's side, but sometimes he would smile at Dean from behind her skirt. Once, he even waved.

There was one more member of the Milton family, but at the end of two weeks Dean had still yet to meet Cassy, the sister whose room he was currently crashing in. When he asked Anna about it she just smiled and said, "Oh, Cassy? Silly thing's probably out following the path of the flowers, or climbing trees, or talking to bees."

At Dean's questioning look, she merely smiled.

Dean spent his first few days just enjoying how it felt to go to bed when he felt the urge and wake up with the sun. It streamed through the gauzy white curtains of the guest room windows and fell on his eyelids, warming his face and coaxing a smile out of him before his eyes had really even fully opened. He always slept like a rock and woke feeling fresh and ready for the day, and the day never disappointed.

He went fishing in the nearby lake with Michael and Luci and traded jokes with Gabe, who only came along for the sunbathing. He'd stretch out on the dock on his back with his legs crossed in front of him and his elbows propping him up behind and just smile up into the sun, eyes closed. He seemed to have a sixth sense that told him whenever an errant sibling—or guest—was coming to splash him. Even Michael, who could move so silently it was almost eerie, couldn't sneak up on him.

"Try again, big brother," he'd say, opening one eye and smirking up at a dumbfounded Michael.

"Cassy's the only one who can sneak up on Gabe and you know it," Luci needled him lightly as Michael returned sullenly to their perch on the bank.

"Yeah, well…lucky for Gabe, Castiel's too busy being one with nature to come play." Dean thought Michael was inordinately bitter for someone who had merely failed to prank the prankster, but then again, that was Michael. He didn't take defeat very well.

It was nearly the end of the third week before Dean met the infamous Cassy.

Dean's room was a small, low-ceilinged attic that had at some point been painted and polished until it felt like a cozy bedroom. The bed was shoved into one corner, where a small square window facing east let the sun in every morning. There wasn't much else in the room other than a blue rug and a sturdy oak dresser, nothing to suggest the owner's personality unless you looked for the tiny details.

Dean had begun to pick up on them the first night: the small, neatly-carved shapes and symbols in the bedposts, the top drawer full of random bits and baubles, the small stack of books—Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, On The Road, Night, Treasure Island, To Kill A Mockingbird—shoved under the edge of the bed. Dean didn't go through the drawer beyond eliminating it as a possible place for his clothes; it felt like something private, and he didn't want to be a snoop. He did leaf through a couple of the books, to find notes scribbled in the margins in pencil, too messy for him to make out more than a word here and there.

These details were tantalizing, seeming to raise more questions than they answered about the mysterious Cassy, the final Milton sibling who apparently lived in the woods and stayed gone for days at a time without arousing any worry. He wondered if she would be friendly, like Anna and Gabe and Michael, or if she stare steely-eyed with disapproval at him, like Hester. Or she might be something altogether new; the way they talked about her, Dean got the feeling Cassy was a mystery even to her own family.

When Dean woke up on Thursday his first thought was that it must be cloudy out, because he immediately missed the warmth of the sun hitting his face and turning the insides of his eyelids red. He hazily contemplated what a day trapped in the house with the entire Milton clan would be like, and whether it would be rude to just stay in his room. Dean had managed to avoid Hester so far, and he didn't fancy the thought of spending all his waking hours under her disapproving stare. Seriously, he had no idea what he'd done to offend the woman—

Dean froze. He'd felt a puff of warm air against his skin, accompanied by the soft sound of a person sighing. His eyes snapped open.

There was an unfamiliar boy standing by his bed, leaning over him and blocking the sunlight from the window. He was slight and slender, but not delicate so much as lean, in that way that suggested he spent a lot of time running. His heart-shaped face was deeply tanned and slightly smudged with dirt, as if he'd just come in from a trek in the woods. He had apparently been staring rather intently at Dean as he slept, head tilted slightly to one side. The light from the window pooled behind the dark, messy hair that fell over his forehead, and it looked almost like a halo. His eyes were very blue.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to stare?" Dean grunted, pushing himself up into a sitting position and squinting as the movement put the sun full in his open eyes. He vaguely wondered how on earth a strange boy had gotten into the house and all the way up to this room without being seen, and then wondered why he wasn't more disturbed by this whole situation. Some dude had been watching him sleep, for goodness' sake. Before he could work himself out of a half-asleep stupor and into the appropriate level of panic, though, the boy spoke.

"No," he said. His voice was both very soft and very gravelly. It made him instantly seem older than he looked. Dean shifted uncomfortably under his stare.

"Well, it is." He drew himself a little further back, propping his back against the wall behind him and feeling more awkward than he thought possible as the boy just continued to stare at him.

"I apologize," he said finally. "You're in my bed."

"I—what?" Dean blinked at him. Then—and he wanted to smack himself for not getting it sooner—it finally clicked.

"Cassy? I mean…sorry. I'm Dean." He held out his hand for the boy to shake, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. The boy took it, but didn't shake, just held Dean's hand in a firm grip as he continued to stare at him with those large, blue eyes.

"Castiel," he said emphatically, and Dean just nodded. What was he supposed to say? Oh sorry, that's just what I've heard all your brothers and sisters call you. And by the way, until five seconds ago I thought you were a girl.

"Dean Winchester," Castiel was saying. "The boy from Kansas. You're Anna's friend."

"Right," Dean said. Silence settled again for a moment before he realized that he was just staring back at Castiel, still holding onto his hand. He pulled away and scratched at the back of his neck, directing his eyes toward the dust motes floating in the beam of light from the window.

"Well. It's, uh, been real nice meeting ya, Cas. I should probably get up and get dressed, though, so…"

Castiel tilted his head a little farther, brow furrowed, before his expression suddenly cleared.

"Would you like some privacy?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," Dean said, thinking is this guy for real? It figures that the missing Milton would be the weirdest of them all. This guy made Luci look downright ordinary. Or maybe he was just used to Luci by now.

After he'd dressed and shaved Dean shuffled downstairs to the bright little kitchen, where the Milton siblings were slowly filtering in from their various corners of the house. Despite regularly being host to nine hungry people, the kitchen was cozy and neat, with a gas-burning stove, oven, and sink squeezed into one corner and a long, narrow counter that ran the length of two of the walls. The fridge looked like something from the Cold War era, and the table in the center of the room was small, square, and could only seat four people at a time. As a consequence the Miltons never ate what Dean's dad called a "sit-down dinner." They would simply meander in and out in twos and threes instead, or crowd around the counter space and eat while standing up. On clear nights they sometimes ate while lounging on the porch, listening to crickets and taking turns telling Dean incriminating stories about one another.

The mornings, though, were usually quiet, and this one was no exception. Gabe was already at the stove, overcooking the sausage and putting too much cinnamon and sugar on the toast. Uriel had let his hair down enough, sans Dean's presence, to fall asleep again with his head on the table. He was drooling a little. Anna was leaning on the counter in front of the coffee pot, watching it drip just a little too intensely. Anna was barely human before she'd had at least a cup of plain black coffee, and watching her, Dean could suddenly see how that staring thing of Castiel's might run in the family.

The rest of them were nowhere to be found. For all her severe demeanor, Hester was anything but an early riser, and Dean was pretty sure Luci liked to spend an hour pacing in his room before coming down. He seemed the type.

Dean plopped himself in a chair and reached for a box of cereal.

"Hey Anna," he said. "Leave some elixir of life for the rest of us, okay?"

"Unnhh," was Anna's only response.

Castiel appeared just as Dean was finishing his coffee and toast. He slipped in silently and sat down between a fully awake Uriel and Luci, who looked as if he'd forgotten to sleep. Dean did a double take; Castiel had cleaned up. His face was clear of dirt smudges, his hair had been flattened out a bit, and he'd changed into, of all things, a white button-up and a pair of suit pants. Judging by his siblings' incredulous expressions, this was not normal Castiel attire. Dean raised a questioning eyebrow at Anna, who merely hid a knowing smile behind another sip of coffee. He gave her a half-hearted glare and turned his attention back to his cereal.

No sooner had Dean rinsed his plate and placed it in the sink than he felt a hand grasp his sleeve and drag him backwards, away from the sink so fast he nearly stumbled and fell.

"Hey! What—"

"Have fun, boys," Anna called through her laughter as Castiel dragged Dean out the side door and down the hill, across the open field toward the trees.

When they were almost at the tree line Castiel stopped so suddenly that Dean almost ran into him. Releasing his sleeve, the strange boy turned to him and reached out a hand.

"Come with me?"

"Uh…" Dean hesitated. "Where are we going?"

"I just want to show you something," Castiel said, eyes wide and earnest and fingers wiggling slightly in invitation. Without really considering it, Dean reached out and grasped Cas's hand in his.

His skin was warm and oddly textured, smooth in some places and heavily calloused in others. He squeezed Dean's fingers and shot him a quick smile that was all white teeth and worrisome mischief before turning and pulling him into the trees.

They half-walked, half-ran for about a mile, Dean stumbling a little too often for his ego's sake. He knew his way around the woods, but not these in particular, and Cas was clearly in a hurry. More than once a tight grip on his arm was all that stopped Dean from falling to the ground. He wondered what on earth could be so urgent.

When they had gone a couple of miles, Dean started to hear a strange whirring noise up ahead. He glanced at Castiel, but his bright eyes and the odd, determined twist of a smile that turned up the corners of his lips gave nothing away. The whirring grew louder as they went, until without warning they broke from the trees once more into another large, open field. The sun was bright in the sky overhead, which was the cloud-whisped cobalt blue of an Alabama summer. A slight breeze ruffled the grass, which had been bleached to a paler green by the constant sunlight and the unusually dry weather. There was a single tree in the field, and a few yards from that was the source of the noise Dean had been hearing.

It was a huge beehive, literally buzzing with activity. The air around it was clouded darkly with bees. Dean could barely take his eyes off this slightly horrifying sight as Cas lead him over to the tree and sat him down under it. It wasn't so hot in the shade, and the breeze immediately had the sweat cooling on his skin. He looked up at Castiel. His face was thrown into dappled shadow by the leaves and branches of the tree, but he was haloed again, in sunlight and the shimmer of distance bees. He leaned down into Dean's space, eyes sparkling with a secret joke that Dean thought he very much wanted to know.

"Watch," he said softly, and then he turned his back and started for the beehive with quick, confident strides.

Dean held his breath. He wanted to call out for Castiel to stop, but before he could make up his mind to actually do it Cas was all but obscured by the cloud of bees. Dean's words stuck in his throat, and he could only watch.

The hive was in an uproar. They buzzed angrily, converging on Castiel en masse. Cas showed no signs of distress or pain; he simply kept walking, right up to the hive itself. He stood on tiptoe and reached a hand up and inside. Then, movements still slow and deliberate, he pulled back and seemed to fiddle with something at his hip for a moment. Finally, he turned around and walked, a little more slowly, back towards Dean with a proud smile on his face.

Dean's mouth ached. He realized he'd been biting the inside of his cheek.

Castiel walked right up to him, completely free of bees, and held out a glass jar with a flourish. It was half-full of honey.

"Here you are, sir," he said jovially, suddenly a boy again. "This is for you."

Dean couldn't speak for a moment. When he finally did, his voice was harsher than he'd meant it to be. "Wh…why did you do that? You coulda been killed!" Castiel immediately looked crestfallen.

"I'm sorry," he said gently, drawing back the hand holding the jar to cradle it against his stomach. He tilted his head down, but his eyes never left Dean's.

"Don't you want the honey?" He asked in that same gentle voice. "I got it just for you." Dean was too busy scanning the bared skin of Cas's arms, neck, and face for tell-tale welts. Noticing this, Cas gave him a small, reassuring smile and leaned in a little.

"It's alright, I do it all the time. I never get stung." His voice dropped a little, seemed suddenly very small against the backdrop of the hive and the breeze. "Don't be mad at me, Dean."

Dean finally spoke. "Ah, Cas. I'm not mad at you."

"You're not?" Cas seemed immediately appeased. He smiled that small smile again and sat down across from Dean under the tree, crossing his legs and placing the honey jar between them. He found Dean's eyes again.

"Is it bad…what I did?" Dean scooted forward until his knees were almost touching Cas's.

"Nah." And there was that smile again, but tinged with uncertainty.

"Really? You looked as if you thought me insane." Dean smiled a little at that and shrugged his acquiescence, but at Cas's worried look he quickly reassured him.

"No, no, I've heard there were people who could charm bees. I'd just never seen it done…before today." It occurred to him that he and Cas were sitting kind of close, and staring at each other again, but he couldn't bring himself to pull back or look away. "You're just a bee charmer, Cas Milton, that's what you are."

Castiel really smiled at that, and Dean was once again presented with a lot of teeth and eyes fuller of mischief than even Gabriel's. It could so easily be a disconcerting smile, but Dean felt himself charmed instead. He wondered for a crazy second if he might be part bee.

Cas's smile softened a little. He unscrewed the jar and stuck a finger in to scoop up some honey. It was paler and cloudier than the stuff Dean was used to seeing in stores. Cas presented a sticky, honey-coated finger to Dean.

"Would you like to taste?"

Dean leaned forward without really thinking about it and took the offered finger into his mouth. The honey melted onto his tongue. It was light and sweet, with an unfamiliar tang that he thought tasted like the white dandelion blossoms he used to chew on back home. He pulled back, and his eyes locked with Cas's and wouldn't look away.

"Well…" Cas asked. "Did you like it?"

"Y-yeah," Dean said shakily, before leaning forward to kiss Castiel's lips.

Dean didn't understand what he was doing, or precisely where the urge came from. In seventeen years he'd never kissed a boy before, but he really wanted to kiss this boy. His eyes were wide open as he pressed against Castiel's bottom lip with his tongue, tentatively asking permission. Cas's eyes were open, too, and Dean watched them go a little wider with surprise and then crinkle at the corners in a smile before they closed and Cas opened his mouth to kiss Dean back. Then there was a hand in his hair, pulling him closer, and a lean body leaning forward into his until he was on his back, hands gripping Cas's elbows, fingers sliding under the rolled-up sleeves before he moved to grip his waist instead. He had one moment of hazy certainty: he was definitely part bee, because this strange boy had charmed him without even trying. After that, all his thoughts were dedicated to memorizing the shape and texture and taste of Cas's lips against his.

He tasted like fresh honey.

Author's Note: Although very similar to one shot, this version of The Bee Charmer has been expanded and edited to be the setup for a much longer story. Thank you so much to my INCREDIBLE Beta (yes that deserves a capital B), ohamandalynn. I would never have had the gumption to continue this if it weren't for you. And yes I will send you the next chapter...someday soon. I swear!